I’m waiting for my car.  After 8 hours driving with three kids esconced in the back seat, the back of the Gold Monkey is a bit of a mess.  Actually, I would expect less of a mess from a troop of untrained spider monkeys, but if you’re going to be uptight for 8 hours trapped in a small metal box, you’re going to have a really miserable drive.

But back to the title line.  I’m sitting here working on the laptop while I wait for the guys at the carwash to scrape the french fries and popcorn off my poor, benighted vehicle’s carpets.  A gentleman appraoches me .  Russian, or at least from that quarter of the planet, I’m not good at localizing accents within a country.  He asks me how to fix the internet access in his house.

WTF?

Perhaps I just look like I know what I’m doing, which is a cool trick if you can manage it, but asking me what is wrong with his online access?  Talk about dangerously random.  I gave him the first fix that came into my head (reboot the router) and I do, genuinely hope that helps him out, but MAN.  I must have “Expert” tattooed on my forehead somewhere.  Or perhaps I just don’t scowl enough.