Oh. My. God.

I’m working on my laptop — actively typing, so it’s not like it looks like I’m just screwing around (although I was — I was entering a comment on Jim’s journal) — when the DJ on the country station comes in.

John: Hey Chuck, are you a fisherman?

Me: Uh… Not so much, no.

John: Oh. Well, come look at some pictures I brought in of a trip I took with my dad last year.

Me: Ooooookay…

And he proceeds to show me three frigging packets of pictures, photo by photo, with a long involved description of each one. I saw:

• A trout
• Another trout
• His goofy looking kids

• A trout

• A skinny trout

• A fat trout

• His goofy kids again

• His dad

• More trout

• John holding a trout

• A trout

• A fishing pole

• Someone’s foot

• A lake

• A pile of rocks by a lake

• A trout

• A fly

• A trout

• A trout next to a net

• Etc.

Oh my God, I can’t wait to get out of here.