I’m shopping for dried cherries in the grocery store on a recent evening. Modern convenience has crippled me; I panic in aisles filled with twelve varieties of one item, each with slightly different amounts of sugar. With five packages of these damn cherries in my hands, a man approaches me.
“Hi, do I know you?”
Uh, no? No, you do not.
“Hmm, are you sure? You look familiar.”
Well, I work at the Journal Star. Maybe you’ve seen me around.
“I’m Hasan. You seem like someone with their finger on the pulse of Peoria.”
Am I being propositioned? Should I run?
“Are you into energy drinks?”
Now I’m terrified. My damn hand is shaking the bag of dried cherries like a rattle. And no, I’m really not into energy drinks (or anything else you’re selling me.)
“Oh, well, I’m actually not either. But I’m trying to get the word out about a new energy product. Would that be something you’re interested in?”
I’d suggest letting the business desk at the Journal Star know about it. I really have no pull in what we cover.
“Oh, no no, I meant, are you interested in getting the word out personally?”
Sigh.
Hemming and hawing my way around an actual answer, we eventually swap phone numbers. He received digits that were nearly correct.
Sorry, Hasan.
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