It happens several times a day. Maybe it's an Uber driver. Maybe it's a house contractor. Maybe it's yet another medical professional. Or maybe it's three, count 'em three people at my new dentist's office yesterday.
"What do you do for a living?"
"Why did you move here, for work?"
"What happened to your arm?"
"What do you do for a living?"
"Why did you move here, for work?"
"What happened to your arm?"
"What do you do for a living?"
"Why did you move here, for work?"
"What happened to your arm?"
It's these three questions, over and over, apparently until I die. None of the answers are interesting. I'd go so far as to say they're face-numbingly boring. And yet I find myself perpetually discussing these topics, struggling in vain to stifle suicidal impulses.
May we not just sit in silence? I hear it's wondrous.