Giddyap

I’m standing at the airport rental-car counter. “So,” says the neatly dressed young rental-car guy, “are you doing anything fun for the weekend?”

I pause. “Yes,” I reply. “Yes I am.” I pause again. I consider: Is this a situation that demands full disclosure? Because, well, it just feels weird to tell a stranger what I’m doing for the weekend. It feels weird to tell anyone that I’m going to a Bigfoot conference, period.  (Although, at this point, I’m assuming it will feel completely normal in a couple of days.)

What the hell. I’ll never see this guy again, and he probably won’t deny me my Nissan on the basis of my weekend plans. “I’m going to the Ohio Bigfoot Conference.”

He stares. He blinks.

Oh lord.

“Does that mean something?” he asks.

“Pardon?”

“Do you mean, Bigfoot Bigfoot, or is that a word for something else?” he clarifies.

Now I wonder if he thinks I’m some kind of foot fetishist. “Oh yes, it’s Bigfoot Bigfoot,” I respond.

Another pause. He looks at his computer. Without making eye contact, he says, “Are you a believer?”

“I’m an agnostic,” I reply. “I’m really in it for the people.”

“Well, I’m sure it will be interesting,” he says. He hands over the keys. “Have a good Bigfoot conference!”

Giddyap.

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