Since when did the threshold for world-weariness and snark get lowered to 11-year-olds? A portly young fellow of maybe 11 walked up, obviously intending to take the mickey out of me, and attempted to engage me on the subject of our relatively new facility. He was all squints and sneers as he leaned on the DeskSlavePod. I wanted to tell him that he was wasting his time--I've been deflecting better than him for a long time.
HIM: So how come this place looks like it used to be a restaurant?
ME: Pardon me?
HIM: This place looks like it used to be like a restaurant. It's stupid. How come it looks like that?
ME: I don't know. You will have to consult with the architect.
HIM: Huh?
ME: I don't know.
Slight pause.
HIM: So how come you put a big flat screen TV in the teen room?
ME: I didn't. It was here when we opened.
HIM: What's the point of having a TV if it's not even on?
ME: Too zen for me. I have to get back to work. (Busy typing, the screen is suddenly filled with fascination.)
He tried another scintillating conversational gambit, but I ignored it completely.
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