My Name is Not Bill Engvall

I entered the elevator and pushed “4.”

At floor 3, a younger woman entered and turned to face the array of floor selection buttons.

“Going up?” she asked me, as if the ‘up’ arrow on the outside door wasn’t a clear indicator of my usage intentions for the elevator. Not to mention that the “4” on the panel was brightly lit.

“No, I’m going down,” I replied, jokingly.

“You can’t, this elevator is going up.” She said this without a trace of sarcasm or realization that she was informing me of something I knew before I had ever met her. I was like the Nostradamus of vertical travel, I suppose.

She turned to face me and undoubtedly noticed the large “X” on the front of my name badge. It’s only called a name bag because, weirdly enough, its main function is to identify the wearer by name. Additionally, most people have their own name on the name badge they are wearing – and not simply because most HR folks are as humorless as a tribe of accountants without trousers.

“Hmm… is your name X?” She asked, without a trace of mirth or sarcasm.

“No, my name is Bill Engvall, and it is a pleasure to meet you.” I put out my right hand, and she shook it.

I don’t think I have to say it, but for those old enough to recall, I am certain you’ll know which 3 words echoed in my head.

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