March 29th, 2006


Stop me if you've heard this one...

So, the smartest man in the world, the richest man in the world, the Pope, and a boy scout, jump out of a plane with parachutes. Except the smartest man in the world has the boy scout's backpack instead of a parachute. Oh, wait, because the plane is on fire. And they were arguing who should get the parachutes. And the smartest man wasn't really so smart, so when he took a parachute, he took the backpack... oh, never mind. I'm doing this all wrong.

But that's not what I'm here to tell you about.
I'm here to talk about the draft. No, wait...

Anyway. I was walking through Davis Square with my groceries, when a worried-looking woman stopped me.

"Hello. Oh, I'm sorry I startled you. Do you live around here?"
"Me too, on Thorndike Street, for a week now."

Ah, I think. She is lost.

"Where are you trying to get to?"
"The Nashua Trauma Center."
"Oh. Hmm. No, I don't think I know where that is, I'm not sure I've gone past it."
"The Nashua Trauma Center?"
"Well, do you know what street it's on?"
"I do now, because the police told me."
"You see, I have to get to the Nashua Trauma Center, in Nashua, New Hampshire, in a hurry..."
"Oh. Right. Um, no, I'm sorry, I don't have any spare money."

She headed off again, but if I had been a meaner person, I would have wanted to ask "Are you new at this? Because that wasn't the right order at all." Of course, it was probably my fault for jumping straight to "where are you trying to get to." I can't blame her for getting her spiel derailed.
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