Story hour

Our campus hosts conferences during the summer, so oftentimes our cafeteria is packed full of odd combinations of people like barbershop quartets and nurses, basketball players and quilters, and my favorite, cheerleaders and mormon pre-teens.

Today, the cheerleaders have taken over, so my seating options were limited. I chose a table with 8 chairs around it, which is just asking for strangers to join me. Sure enough, two elderly gentlemen in shortsleeves and ties asked if they could sit at my table. I commented that it can be difficult to find a good spot.

The man to my left said, in a polite southern drawl as he gestured to a ridiculously adorned chili dog, "Well, I'll tell you somethin' Miss. As soon as I take a bite of this, it'll have no trouble finding a good spot." And then he chuckled and patted his belly.

From what I can tell, they sold insurance for a living and were simply on a little jaunt over to our cafeteria for a snack. They spent their (and my) lunch hour telling all sorts of gruesome tales.

"I knew a woman who ran over her son with a lawn mower. It ripped all his insides out onto the grass. He lived, but he's kind of slow, and I bet his mom feels pretty bad."

They thanked me for sharing my table and went on their way.

Good times in higher education.

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