Or how we make connections with strangers.

A male nurse did a blood draw on me the other day and as he tied the rubber strip around my upper arm, I said, “I’ve had this done about 70 times. You’re competing against some of the best and you know that women are better at it than men. They have the kindness gene. Men are inherently aggressive. In your unconscious mind, you’re stabbing an enemy.”

He laughed, a genuine hearty laugh – I’ve been in the business a long time, I can tell genuine from forced – and stuck me and said, “I’m afraid that was only a C plus. You made me self-conscious.” He chuckled.

In my old age, I believe in small talk as the conduit of civility. I got this from my dad who, though he was a devout Christian, loved to pass the time of day with strangers. The dictates of our faith commanded him to witness to them about Jesus and quote, “For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God,” but he didn’t. He talked about the weather and cars and his boyhood on the farm and ordinary things. This was curious to me as a kid, his friendly chatter with sinners. It’s still impressive to me today.

The same day I got a Covid test from a nurse, in which she pokes the long Q-tip up the left nostril and into the cerebellum. I said, “You’ve done this before, I’m assuming,” and she laughed. I said, “You probably have dreams about it at night.” She laughed again.

Up went the Q-tip and I flinched and she said, “Sorry, it’s harder to give it to tall people,” and then I laughed.