The sperm donor who got it wrong

Last week, I told you about my favourite small talk moment. What follows is a faithful account of my most surreal small talk moment. It offers a lesson in why there are some things you just don't need to share with complete strangers.

I was in New York City, looking for the post office. It was clearly marked on the map. A big yellow envelope = the post office. I must have walked right past it. As I stood on the corner of West Broadway and Lispenard Street, a man sidled up. He seemed rather, er, moist. The moisture must have been sweat, because it wasn't raining.

He spoke. It took me a while to realize that it was me he was addressing, so all I understood was that he was asking me for directions to some sort of institute. Me, who couldn't find the post office — with a map. I mumbled an apology. We stood there, on the corner, waiting for the lights to change.

Suddenly, I heard myself asking, "Do you know where the post office is?" He pointed to a building I had walked right past. And I thanked him.

"I'm just on my way to be a sperm donor for the first time," he confessed. I thought I'd misunderstood him. But no. He continued: "Yeah, it's real hard. All the girls wearing thin clothes in this hot weather: it's driving me crazy. I'm gonna explode!"

I couldn't believe he was telling me this. I certainly didn't want to be around when he did explode. I started to walk away. I didn't know what to say. Should I wish him a nice day? Or luck? If only I had had my pocket handbook of social etiquette with me. I said nothing and, trying to hide my haste, I hurried off.

I turned to catch a last glimpse of the sperm donor as he waved and called after me, "You inspire me!" I mean, what?

Still a bit shocked, I came to the building the donor had pointed out. I saw that the sign which had previously read Canal Street Station still read Canal Street Station, and what I had thought was a station was, in fact, a post office.