Selling Tickets to the Conch Train, Quitting your Job, moving to Key West, and

Pegged me for Scrantonian. Even when I WAS in Scranton, out-of-towners assumed I was an out-of-towner as well.

Have I slunk sooo low? I betray my roots.

We chatted. I’m old enough stuff like that doesn’t bother me. Well, it intrigues me more than bothers me, let’s say.

He said something about style. He gestured at his hair, making it Big Hair. Show your stuff. He said mid-westerners were a snap. Well, even less-than-observant I can now pick out a Canadian-border state person–or I should say, “pick ooot”

I thoroughly enjoyed standing in line behind a woman who was bragging about her accent and how it was universal and she really HAD no accent–she spoke pure American, no one could tell what state she was from.

Maybe if she hadn’t rambled on so long, I wouldn’t have, but I just smiled and said, “Wisconson, right?”

One of the benefits of listening to people. Really listening. LOL


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