The Orange Invasion

They’re hee-re.

FirstFlight (just want it sounds like… the first flight of WinFly) arrived earlier this afternoon, bringing freshies, mail (or so it is rumored) and orange people.

Well, okay, they’re not actually orange. They’re not even John Boehner-colored. But there is a vibrance to them that suggests they have spent the last six months in places touched by sunlight.

As I was leaving work I ran into one of the orange arrivals who worked with me last summer. Great guy, lot of fun, smile, hug and… then we just looked at each other.

“This is weird,” he said at last, voicing my own thought.

“Yeah. It is weird,” I said, requiring significantly more time to form my words. “Because last year… I got here, and then… a couple months later, you got here.”

“Yeah. That was a while ago,” he agreed, coaxing me along.

“Yeah. And then… you went away. And now you’re back. And I’m still here.”

“Yeah, weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Yeah.

And just for the record, I am not the only one who has temporarily (we hope) lost several IQ points thanks to polar madness.

This morning on the egg line, one of my regulars, who always asks for a “scramble with spinach and cheese,” looked at me for a long moment and then said, with the pained pace of someone speaking a language they learned late in life, “I want… an egg… scramble… with… egg.”

And some people wonder why we’re not allowed to spend more than 14 consecutive months on the Ice.

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