People’s reactions to finding out that I’m from the Buffalo area:
1) Oh. Lotta snow up there.
2) Oh? Lotta snow up there?
3) Oh yeah? Me too!
I’m researching my office’s options for buying a new copy machine. One company that I spoke with invited me to their copy machine forum. Yes, a forum. It was held at a swanky hotel, with a full catered lunch. And the entire purpose was to look at their copy machines. Free food? For looking at some copy machines? I couldn’t wait to go. So I went. I petted the copiers. And then I hit the buffet. I didn’t have anyone to sit with, so I just asked another solitary woman if I could join her. “Sure,” she said.
We didn’t have a lot to say to each other, especially since she’s about 30 years older than I am. I thought our only commonality was that we were both shopping for copy machines.
I was wrong. “Where are you from?” she asked casually. “Buffalo, NY,” I said. “Oh yeah? Me too!” she said. I was shocked. But somehow not surprised. I found out that her brother owns a pizza place I used to go to all the time. And then I found out the she grew up on the West Side of Buffalo, where my dad grew up. After a few more questions, she realized she knew my family. She’s a DiRosa. I’m a Muscato. It’s that old Italian connection. In fact, she used to baby-sit for my dad’s cousins when she was 15 years old.
Life amazes me.