Thursday, September 18, 2014

     
                           FIRST "RESPONDEE"


     When I grow up, I want to be a “respondee.” This means someone might just pose a question and even want to know my “response.” Now there’s a concept. I have been on this planet way beyond 307 days, and not one person, not one, has asked me a question of national importance. Someone in college once asked me if I liked weed. That was simply because it was illegal, and now they’re effen eating the stuff.

     A few weeks ago, a call came in on that contraption that still takes up room on my counter. A person (who knows if they were legit?) asked me if he could ask he a question. I got all excited, saying to myself,”Oh, goodie. I’m finally going to be a respondee.” But then he went on to say that he was only looking for people who bought their groceries at the organic market 40 miles away, and did I shop there. Are you effen kiddin’ me?

     A “repsondee” is a random person who gets picked out of thousands of people on the street or from a data base someone created in 1956. I am neither of these. I wasn’t born in 1956, and I don’t hang out in huge crowds on the streets seeking nosy reporters looking for a feckless photo op with a Q & A attached.


     This begs the question:  If asked, what question would I like to answer? Hmm. That is a good question. I’ve got it:  “If you got your wish to be a respondee after all these years, what would you do?” I would run out onto the streets, stumble gleefully through the crowd eating cannibis.