…that’s not what I meant…

As I was leaving work TOO late on friday, I met this guy in the elevator. I had never seen him before, as far as I knew. But he knew me.

He said, “I happened to go to Alaska after I heard your story.”

“You did? How did you like it? I’m glad I inspired you to go.”

“I saw a moose, but I thought it was much different to see a moose from the outside. Much less bloody.”

I had ready my story for Diversity Day at the workplace, last spring. I prepared a speech beforehand, about diversity:

“This is a day we are taking to celebrate diversity. Leaving all stereotypical prejudices aside, diversity is just about different kinds of experiences. Experiences are like the tools of life. And the more experieces we have, the bigger the toolbox to solve our problems.”

And I read my story about the moose.

I know that’s what this guy was remembering. My story about the moose.

When I look at these people at work, with their suits and their college degrees, the gap between their experiences and mine seem vast.

I wonder if any of them got beyond the description of the butcher knives to understand that the story was about food.

That food is not always a given.

But this guy in the elevator told me about his vacation to Alaska, and his sightseeing experience about seeing a live moose.

I am amazed that he remembered the story. But I don’t think he got it.

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