The Jesus guy started off the day. He stood in the doorway of our office and shouted, "JESUS LOVES YOU!" several times at top volume, and then wandered away muttering to himself. We hadn't seen him in about a year. I'm thinking he just got out of jail, or else escaped his keepers. At least he's harmless. Just loud.

Then I got a call from someone who asked how much an airline ticket would be to another state. He wouldn't tell me which city, or even which state, although I asked in increasingly firm tones. Anywhere, he insisted.

"Fine. A ticket to Eugene, Oregon, is approximately $150 before taxes," I said. I don't know why Eugene, it was just what came to mind.

"No taxes in Oregon," he said slyly, "so I don't have to pay taxes."

"That's incorrect," I replied, looking at the clock hopefully. Damn. Hours until lunch. "You're buying the ticket here so you pay California taxes." Forget it, he wasn't going to pay any taxes. He didn't believe in them. Besides, that was too much. How about Arizona?

"I can't get you to Arizona for under $150," I said, entertaining myself by making horrible faces at my computer screen. "How about $88 to LA?"

He almost went for it, until he realized Los Angeles wasn't out of state. "Technically, yes," I said, "but you're not getting out of the state for that kind of money. Tell you what. How much do you want to spend, and I'll tell you where you can go?"

Big mistake. Being helpful netted me a long, rambling lecture on ... well, I don't quite know what. I couldn't understand him. I made vague responses to his impassioned rant. Finally, he told me I was very nice, in fact the nicest person he'd talked to in a long time, and he would come in and see me to buy his ticket.

I guess you know I'm excited about that.

Somewhere in the mid-afternoon a wholly clueless individual phoned to ask which I thought was better, Bellingham, Pullman, Corvallis, or Eugene. "Eugene," I replied promptly, being on something of a Eugene kick. He was dubious. I asked why he was thinking of going to those particular small towns. He had job interviews, he said, and didn't know which one to go to. He just wanted my opinion. He was horrified at the cost of flying up and back the same day. I explained that was just the way it was.

"Oh. Well, then let me talk to another agent who can get me a better price," he said. I considered pitching my voice higher and adopting an accent, but opted to explain that the airlines decide the price, not his agent.

"Could you talk to the airlines, then? That's really too much. Maybe they'll give me a deal," he said.

I gave him United's number. I believe in sharing, especially when it comes to the terminally bemused.

Not too much after that a very drunk lady came in and leaned over our receptionist's desk to ask her a question. I could smell the fumes from my desk, but even if I hadn't I would have known from the expression on Virginia's face that the lady was fresh from the bar down the street. She wanted the posters in our windows. Virginia politely refused. The lady got belligerent. Virginia, being anxious to get a breath of fresh air and not inclined to be yelled at, escalated her refusal. The lady said we were un-American, and she'd be contacting her lawyer.

No, we don't know what that was about, either. But you can't have our posters. It's our inalienable right as Americans to cleave to our posters. Either that or manifest destiny. I'm sure it's mentioned in the Monroe Doctrine. So don't be trying to scam our posters, or you might end up in Eugene. If not Corvallis.

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