I attended an event at a nuclear power plant yesterday. In the afternoon, I began to have trouble keeping awake. I went to the back of the conference room and stood next to the remains of the lunch buffet. I inhaled fumes from the burning sterno cannisters. Eight of them.
At the opposite end of the room, the mayor of a small coastal city was delivering a rant about economic diversification. I leaned right and whispered to a member of the Governor’s staff, “If he’d legalize all the pot and prostitution in that town, they wouldn’t need to diversify.”
He touched my cufflink and asked, “Is that the state seal?”
“Yes. Rendered in 18 carat gold plate.”
He noticed the seven small pleats sewn into the cuff and said, “All my shirts are by Brooks Brothers.”
“Do you get the no-iron kind?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid to put them in the wash so I have them dry-cleaned anyway.”
“That is very wrong. You need to be punished.”
I make no reply, and we turn to face the podium pretending to give our attention to the mayor.