Right place, right time. That's where and when I was. It was perfect.

Glass door. Me approaching from one side (to exit). A man approaching from the other (to enter). Man was in a hurry. I saw he was in a hurry and slowed my pace slightly to allow him to reach and pass through the door first. Man apparently did not realize he had to pull the door open from his side. Man tried to push while maintaining his hurried pace. Man's face hit glass hard. Thanks to me being in the right place at the right time, my mind has been burned with a vivid image of the man's face squished up against the glass.

Right place, right time.

A pair of Mormon missionaries just dropped by. I decided not to shoo them away. I figure they get enough door slams that maybe a few minutes of conversation would make their day, so we had a pleasant little chat.

Anyhoo, you know how they wear name tags that say "Elder _____"? Well, the name of one of the dudes was... Elder. Yes. Elder. The name tag said Elder Elder. This amused me.

You know those grand concert halls (for opera, symphonies, ballet, etc.)? You know those elevated box seats along the walls where, traditionally, the upper crust of society would sit looking down upon the commoners on the floor of the auditorium? Well, I scored me a couple prime box seats for an evening performance this Saturday by the Symphony.

Time to put on some fancy duds, shine my shoes, hook the arm of a classy lady through mine, and hobnob with the snooty set.