I work for my college in the Office of Marketing and Communications. It’s a great gig. I can build my resume, get some valuable experience, make some money, and do it all in accordance with my class schedule. I like the people I work with, and have become the token country girl of the office. For my birthday, they even gave me a card with a little girl in cowgirl boots, a tutu, and fairy wings. Apparently, my co-workers know me too well. (I’ve always aspired to be a cowgirl fairy princess ballerina, so the card was fitting. I’m saving it forever and ever!)
The other day, we had a special luncheon to celebrate all the student employees of the department. There are five of us altogether. At the luncheon, we chit-chatted over Lou Malnati’s authentic Chicago-style pizza and talked about our summer plans. I got some ooh’s and aah’s surrounding my trip to California for the summer, but the most interesting part of the conversation came when our public relations guy, Ted, brought up cattle.
He and his 15-year-old son had been canoeing, and saw cattle along the banks of the river. His son asked if they were “wild cows.” Ted laughed it off and told him no, they weren’t wild, they belonged to a farmer.
This made me chuckle.
Somehow, that transitioned to me explaining that there is such a thing as a “wild cow milking event” in rodeos. I’m sure my co-workers thought I was lying. The ones that believed me probably thought it was a completely pointless and ludicrous thing to do. I never got the chance to explain that there are actually situations where a rancher may have to attempt to get a little milk from an untame cow…conversation veered off in another direction and we all continued to stuff our faces with pizza.
The moral of the story?
There isn’t one.
It’s just an example of the humorous situations I deal with everyday when talking to my city slicker peers. I used to hate living in the suburbs; however, lately, I’ve felt oddly sentimental about these sort of conversations. I’m going to miss them someday.