So today, I get a call from downstairs. “You need to add another quarter to the ICJ (In Canada jar). I was getting my breakfast in the break room, and HE starts this random conversation with me.” As it was related to me, here is how it went down (CK represents the Crazy Kanuck, P represents the person he was speaking to.)
CK: Good morning, how are you?
P: Fine, yourself?
CK: Good. You know, I just don’t get it. You guys have a lot of overweight people here in the States. IN CANADA, I worked in an office where the elevator was purposefully made slow so that people would take the stairs instead. It kept us active and trim. (My note – I highly doubt that the office building would purposefully make the elevator slow. All elevators I’ve ridden on in small buildings are generally slow. Unless you’re riding the one at the Stratosphere in Vegas. That one is very fast and kind of scary if you’re drunk and the world is spinning. But I digress.) I mean, you should really just take the stairs anyway, unless you’re like, an 8 month pregnant woman and the baby is trying to shoot out between your legs.
Me: (At this point, I can imagine the look on P’s face and I’m going between giggles and shock. I mean really – the baby is shooting out between your legs? Thanks for that visual. I think I need some bleach for my brain now, thanks.)
CK: Hm, wow. Your oatmeal smells good. (At this time he ends the conversation and walks away.)
Seriously, how do you get from babies shooting out of hoo-haa’s to “wow, your oatmeal smells good”, and without even saying goodbye? I’m glad I already had my oatmeal before this conversation was related to me.
Later this same day, P goes to ask CK a question. His door is cracked, so it is not fully closed, and P knocks then walks in. As P is walking in, CK is quickly pulling his hands up from under his desk and scooting in as far in towards the desk as bodily physics allows. Hmmm, I wonder if he was “massaging the numbers”?
Now, where's that bleach?