HIM: Did you go to Clovis High School?
HIM: Oh. You didn't go to Clovis?
ME: No. I've hardly ever been in Clovis, except maybe once or twice.
HIM: What?!? I thought you were from Clovis. There are a lot of white people in Clovis.
ME: ...staring at him, dumbfounded...
Wow. I can see how, in his mind, it would make sense. But, really... wow.
This brings to mind a story about someone who did go to Clovis High School. Back in the old days (2002, in fact), when I worked at the HATC , there was a summer intern who shared my office. His name was Trevor, he was from Clovis, and he actually went to college with my younger brother, at the Supersmart Yuppie School. Anyway. Trevor had diabetes, and I'd see him stabbing himself with either a lancet or a needle on a fairly regular basis. Trevor also had a poorly planned internship assignment that left him with long periods of down time, when he'd read, play around on his computer, or even take a nap. This led to me walking into my office and seeing him with his head down on his desk or keyboard. Knowing he was diabetic, I'd panic and cry out, "Trevor, are you all right? Speak to me!" Because having someone die of insulin deprivation (or whatever) in my office? Not high on my list of things I'd like to experience in this lifetime. And then Trevor would lift his head and stare at me balefully and resentfully, dragged from sweet slumber back to interminable ennui by the blast of my voice. *snicker* As far as I can tell, Trevor never much liked me.
Okay, well, the Trevor thing was funny, but I guess you had to be there.