Raging, Ranting, Raving, and Rhapsodizing

An old man (Bill, evidently) is sitting, reading a magazine, making strange ol' man noises, and making my entire lobby smell like chai. I don't think it's actually chai- the smell must come from some odd combination of various old-man hygiene products. He is here to deliver food from some deli. he is wearing a blue collar shirt with a very bright red, pink, and silver striped tie.

When he came in, he strode up to my desk and declared in disbelief (in sort of a brooklynish accent), "You're not the same lady!" while removing his ill-adjusted monocles, as if to get a better look at me and ascertain that his statement was accurate.

Though the statement begs clarification, I knew what he meant. Someone always fills in for me when I'm on a break, at lunch, gone, or running the mail room for the unreliable guy whose job it's supposed to be. Tuesday was one of those days and Cindy the Temp filled in for me, and thus the source of Chai-Bill's confusion is revealed.

Anyway, "You're not the same lady!", he said. I thought, "In fact, I am, sir. I am the same lady I have always been and ever will be. I know you're just trying to be friendly, oh man who smells like chai, but I feel compelled to correct you on this point. You must be more specific."

Perhaps a better way to pose his query would have been, "You, most esteemed and lovely receptionist, are dissimilar in every way to the lass I confabulated with, here at this very desk, not 48 hours ago. Pray, sweet gentlewoman, make plain this wonder to me, and pacify this old man's bewilderment, that he may have peace in old age!"