As I walked down the hill to the bottom lot to leave, I watched a woman fill the little pantry by the bus stop and parking lot. I spoke to her in English. She smiled and said I don’t speak much English. Because of her accent, I switched to Spanish and she lit up. It turns out she is Dominican and her name is Ilca. I made her laugh at least fifteen times as we talked about prejudice and language. What tickled her most was that I introduced her to the American Salute, one I made up extemporaneously. She howled when I demonstrated it to her and explained that it’s the best way to get to know people who are aloof or non-responsive to salutations. The American Salute is comprised of the conflicting body language of a wild wide smile in conjunction with the extension of either middle finger. I explained to her that it separates the people with the good sense of humor and curiosity from people you wouldn’t want to know in the first place. She told me her name was unusual. When I told her mine she was skeptical that I was being honest due to my sense of humor. For whatever reason, when I’m speaking Spanish, my sense of humor escalates while my sense of propriety goes out the proverbial window. I showed her my work badge and it still took her a few seconds to discern that the singular X on the badge was indeed a real name. Times like these make me proud and glad that I speak Spanish; moreover, that I love talking to people. She said she loves the area that she got to know because of her son but that she struggles with the friendliness of people she meets. I recommended that she pretend to be more outgoing and as if everybody might have something interesting to say, ignoring those who brush her off. And that the law of averages would reward her. She still seemed a little hesitant, so I pointed out that since I was the only X she had ever met, it was likely that I might know what I’m talking about.

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Earlier in the morning, I went to my car to retrieve an umbrella in case a pop up shower happened by my break. The sky was apocalyptic and dark. It was beautiful. When I opened the trunk of my car to get the umbrella that I had placed there after the trip, I heard a roar behind me. I turned and got to see something I don’t witness very often: the roar emanated from a visible literal wall of rain moving incredibly fast toward me. It hit me like a liquid brick. The wind was probably at least 40 mph and blew me sideways. The rain rendered the umbrella as useless as an open mind in Kentucky. Given that I was already soaked, I walked slowly back up the hill toward work as the wind and rain beat me. I could see the trees bending across the street. As odd as it sounds, it was beautiful and felt amazing. Earlier this morning I wrote about witnessing the smaller rain and lightning be born. The later episode allowed me to see the storm’s genesis. I put on a paper scrub top upon my return to work, even though my shoes were filled with water. I left work for a few minutes, not to change my clothes, but rather to pick up some of the plants at home that had been rendered airborne.

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