My name is Skip T. Kall.  I am retired after a long career as a sales clerk, and am enjoying a life of leisure.  At least I think I’m enjoying it.  I used to be religious, but now I’m not.  I wasn’t very spiritual back then, but now I am.  I used to be imaginative and open-minded, but now not so much.  I used to enjoy learning new things, but now I know everything and can’t be bothered.  I used to be active and fun to be with, but now I’m old, worn-out, and kind of crotchety.  Sometimes I think my mind is willing but my body isn’t.  Sometimes I think my body is willing but my mind isn’t.  My kids used to see me a lot, but now they seem too busy to see me at all.

Anyway, this story isn’t about me.  It’s about this strange woman I met recently.  I knew immediately there was something wrong with her.  She was very short, very frail, completely bald, had unusually large almond-shaped eyes and very pale skin.  She also had an intense stare which felt like she was probing my inner thoughts.  How rude!  She seemed so out-of-place that I was compelled to find out more about her.  So, I struck-up a conversation while we were waiting in a long line at the grocery store.

ME:  “Hello.  Excuse me, but I couldn’t help noticing all the fresh vegetables you have in your cart.”

HER:  “Yes, I like fresh vegetables.”

ME:  “That’s unusual.  What do you do with them?”

HER:  “Sometimes I cook them, and sometimes I just eat them raw.”

ME:  “Oh, you mean like boiling them?”

HER:  “Look, mister.  Why are you so curious about my eating habits?”

ME:  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to pry.  Call me Skip.”

HER:  “Okay, mister.”

ME:  “I was only interested because most people buy prepackaged foods.”

HER:  “Well, I’m not like most people.”

ME:  “I can see that.  You have an accent, too.  Where are you from, originally?”

HER (getting annoyed):  “Syktyvkar.”

ME:  “Sick-tif-car?”

HER:  “It’s in the Komi Republic.”

ME:  “Where’s that?  Is it very far away?”

HER:  “It’s VERY far away.”

ME:  “I see.  How did you get here?”

HER:  “In a ship, mister.”

ME:  “Skip.”

HER:  “Whatever.”

ME:  “That must’ve been some ship!  What’s your name, by the way?”

HER:  “Call me E. T.”

ME:  “E. T.?  You mean like ‘extraterrestrial?'”

HER:  “Yeah, like extraterrestrial.  Now, if you don’t mind…”

ME:  “E.T.s don’t exist.  Are all the people from Sick-tif-car bald?”

HER (extremely annoyed):  “Only the ones with cancer.”

CHECKOUT CLERK:  “Would you like cash back on your card, Ms. Tattar?”

HER:  “No thanks, but if you could back-slap this jerk behind me I’d really appreciate it.”

By Robert A. Vella

7 thoughts on “Sunday Humor: A conversation with E. T.

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