“What do you do?” he asked her.
What do I do, she thought. Geez, I don’t know, I don’t know what I do. Stupid stuff, I play online card games, I watch bad tv, I check my emails a hundred times a day and I don’t know why, it’s not like anything important is going to show up. I go to meetings. I miss my children, but they’re older now and not so much fun. They just like to tell me how to do things. Hah, as if! I miss my dog, I clean house a lot, I smoke too much, I read poetry, I really love poetry. I garden but it hurts my back. I spend way too much time in front of the mirror. I fantasize, I think about him.
She assumed he meant, “What do you do for a living?”
“I work the customer service desk in a print shop,” she replied.
He chuckled a bit. “That sounds like a big headache.”
“Oh, it can be,” she replied and turned away ever so slightly and opened her second bag of pretzels.