The karmic benefit of biking home from work: you find a Visa card along the side of the road, look up its owner in the phone book, and return the card, with hopes of good karma to come.
Instead, three bizarre (although not terribly – just slightly out of the ordinary) incidents occur.
Lady at bakery: Oh man, did you gain so much weight when you started working here?
(Mostly I just found this to be a bizarre question to ask someone, although we get this kind of question a lot, never quite phrased this way. I mean, do I LOOK like I gained that much weight? Let’s hope not.)
Well-dressed, Amish-beard-sporting French Canadian: Are your parents originally French Canadian?
Me: No, not at all.
W-D, A-B-S FC: Well your face, it looks very French Canadian.
That’s one I’ve never heard before. I’ve gotten Lebanese or Syrian, Brazilian, and Greek statue, but never French Canadian. Third parties however have since confirmed that I may look somewhat French Canadian. Huh, who knew.
About the same time as the French Canadian incident, a couple from somewhere in the deep south came in a ordered a few goodies. Like any good tourist, Wife was pulling out her camera and pointing it around the bakery. All well and good, until I noticed it pointed at me; “am I in this picture?” Appalled. I don’t want to be emailed around to all their friends, the laughing stock of “Bob and Mary’s trip up Nawth.” “Smile!” I grimaced, handing the bag over as Husband smiled dutifully. I hope I ruined their silly picture.