Hello My Name Is I Don't Work Here

Last night, I realized that I was completely out of reading material, which is pretty much a fate worse than death for me, especially during TV rerun season. So I hopped in my car and drove to the library in search of intellectual, or at least entertaining, fare. I was standing in the new releases aisle, scanning the spines, when an elderly woman came up to me and said, “Where are the genealogy books?”

Now, I didn’t look anything like a staff member. If I had been wearing my work clothes, which include a nifty lanyard for my ID badge, I could understand it. However, I was wearing jeans, slides, and this shirt. If I’d actually known the answer to her question, I would have just told her, but I didn’t.

I said, “I’m sorry, I don’t work here.”

The crone narrowed her eyes at me and said, “Well, whyever not?”

“Uh…because I work somewhere else.”

Jesus H. Christ.