Yesterday, on the incline (my public transporation and a Pittsburgh tourist draw), I was trapped in a car with four other people. Two of them were your standard frat boys. Maybe they fancied themselves skater boys, I can't tell anymore. The line is blurred.
But I digress.
I had my headphones on, but my iPod was paused. I often use this technique to eavesdrop on conversations, but this time I was the subject of the conversation.
"Her pin says she killed Amanda Palmer," Boy 1 observes, looking at my bag. He's referencing my 'I Killed Amanda Palmer' pin from her first solo album.
"Yeah, that girl from Twin Peaks?" Boy 2 asks. This is a fairly good guess, as things go. I'm kind of impressed.
"Nah, I think it's something else. Look it up on your iPhone."
Boy 2 complies. Type, type, type.
"So?" Boy 1 demands.
"I dunno," Boy 2 says, puzzled. "It's just a buncha profanity."
Priceless. The icing on the cake? Boy 1 shakes his head sadly and comments, "I don't get it. Why don't we know stuff like that?"
I don't know, Boy 1. Why don't you?