My former boss, John, the one mentioned in the previous post, was an unwilling transfer to our fair state. Having been given the choice between unemployment or relocation, he had moved here from Minneapolis and lived for the day when he could return to that city. He was always quick to express his dislike of our city and his longing for his former place of residence, which didn't really enhance our relationship, since it was my hometown he was criticizing. He would even complain that our winters were colder than those he had known in Minneapolis.
Looking back, though, I kind of wish I'd made the effort to get to know him better. He had a dry wit, an example of which is reflected in Friday's post. And then there was this story that he told me once, after a business trip to another company location.
John's daughter, son-in-law, and two-year-old granddaughter lived near enough to the company location that John was visiting that he could stay overnight with them. He had to be downtown early that next morning, so he had gotten up and fixed himself a cup of coffee and some toast with peanut butter on it.
His little granddaughter, still in the diaper she had worn overnight, had apparently heard her grandpa out in the kitchen and had come out to see him. He held her and played with her a little bit before tucking her back into her bed and leaving for his meeting.
As he was getting into his car, he noticed a little peanut butter on the back of his hand. He didn't want to take the time to go back in and wash it off, so he licked it off. That's when he realized that it wasn't peanut butter.
To this day, it amazes me that John told that story on himself.
He eventually was able to retire and move back to his beloved Minneapolis. I'll bet he's never licked a foreign substance off his hand again.