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Every week in a small town many hours from here, a friend of mine buys chicken from her local grocery store. As is common in smaller towns, the same gregarious, chicken lady helps her from the other side of the deli counter. Last week, the chicken lady introduced my friend to her young, attractive niece en route to Minneapolis.
“You’ll love living in the Twin Cities! There are so many young, fun people.”
-Like who? I don’t know anyone there.
“My friend, Steve. He’s going to be a comedian.”
-I love comedy CDs… send him by the record store.
“Certainly. [to the chicken lady] Can I get the usual?”
Today, I ventured to the record store and walked up to the chicken lady’s niece (according to the surprisingly accurate physical description). She was very friendly, but her eyes glazed over with mild concern as I detailed her Friday drive to Minneapolis and the infamous stop at the chicken counter. She had absolutely no idea what I was talking about! After 60 seconds of awkward conversation, I said my good-byes to the chicken lady's niece and let a paying customer approach the register.
Her parting comment proved why she, not I, is fit for sales: “It was really nice of you to stop in. Say ‘hi’ again if you’re in the neighborhood.” It was a polite lie, but it made me smile the whole run back to my car.