Smiley face

I am one of those people with a friendly face. I know this because of my recent rude treatment in New York (see below), but also because I have the world's most random conversations. I will just be sitting somewhere, minding my own business, reading, running errands, and all of a sudden, I find that people that I have never met in my life are telling me about their father's occupation. I have found out the most fascinating information from people in the grocery store, on the bus, on the train, in the UPS store (Kudos to the friendly guy running the counter, though, he saved me from one of my more ditzy moments, and that's sayin' something). I love it. There have only been a few times when I've been a little irritated because people are invading my personal space. For instance, I was waiting to be fingerprinted for my internship (a state requirement if you're going to be working with kids and you have a DCFS contract), and this couple came in to get fingerprinted for their adoption process. I was looking down at my hands, desperately willing them to not start talking to me as I was in a bad mood at the time and not really very chatty, when they sat down next to me. In the space of one minute, they were telling me (THEY. Not just one of them) about their frustrations with their cellular service provider and their wariness about the iPhone. I tried to give them only short answers in return, but this did not deter them, so I eventually gave in and just started talking to them. Friendly people, and I wish them the best in their adoption, something that is always noble and admirable. But SHEESH, why is it that all these people start talking to me?

Because I am friendly, and I smile at them. People are desperate for others to notice them, and all it takes is one eye-contact-making smiley moment from me for the flood gates to open. I am happy to listen, most of the time, because people are my passion, and everyone has an amazing story to tell. Scott never has this stuff happen to him, so he always shakes his head when it happens to me when I'm with him. He is astounded by the sheer numbers of random conversations that I have. I am astounded that he has never had them, but only until I remember that he never looks anyone in the eye in the grocery store, on the train, or in the post office (a lovely guy struck up a conversation with me at the post office a couple of months ago and got all the way to the point where he asked me out to dinner. In addition to the fact that I was flattered, it should also be a testament to the USPS that I was in line FOREVER. I was impressed with his confidence, but obviously declined, as I love my boyfriend. The boyfriend in question, however, was a bit impressed by the actual process of asking someone out in the Post Office, and wanted me to walk him through the whole conversation afterwards).

The moral of my story is: if you want to know the stories of the people sharing this planet with you, all you have to do is smile and be friendly. They'll tell you. And that the iPhone is a questionable investment this early in its production.