So my colleague Shelley sends me a Slack message on a Wednesday afternoon, something about a support ticket he can’t find, and I watch myself do something I’ve never done before:

The thing I keep noticing about my friend Tara is that she has what I would describe, if I were being clinical about it, as a very accurate memory for dissatisfaction. Not in

There was a kid at the Peppermill in Reno last Tuesday, maybe ten or eleven, working a claw machine with the kind of focused intensity you normally associate with surgeons or bomb technicians.

My colleague Darren was explaining, with the measured patience of a man who has explained this same thing perhaps forty times, why we needed to add a seventh column to a spreadsheet that

So there I was in the Safeway checkout line, not doing anything particularly noteworthy, holding a bag of pre-washed arugula I almost assuredly did not need, when the man ahead of me started