I looked up, and sure enough, at the table next to us was a man wearing stretchy latex gloves and eating a sandwich. Creeeeeeepy. They were the standard white gloves doctors use. The kind that are a bit dusty on the inside. The ones you can blow up to make cow-udder balloons.
Anna says she watched him sit down and carefully slip them on one-by-one, like he was about to perform heart surgery. His sandwich was open-faced, so maybe he didn't want to get any mustard on his precious paws. Or maybe he's just a germaphobe. Perhaps this is how he eats all finger foods, condiments or no condiments.
Always one to assume the worst, I suspected he was eating one final meal before going on a murderous rampage. A disgruntled former ferry boat operator ready to get his revenge. "I'll just have a quick bite before I shoot up the place, leaving not a fingerprint in my wake."
Anna asked me, "Do you ever find yourself really studying a person in case you have to describe them to a police sketcher?"
I answered, "Yes. All the time. Every day."
When the ferry pulled into Kingston, the man got up, yanked off the gloves and tossed them in the trash. He grabbed his keys from his pocket and headed down the stairs to his car. No rampage. We could breathe easy.
BUT WAIT. There's more.
As we were getting back in our cars to leave Edmonds, Anna shouted across the parking lot, "Remind me to tell you something else. Something to add to your blog about the glove guy."
I just called her to get the scoop. Apparently, when we were exiting the ferry, there was another guy sitting near the door, slowly and meticulously scratching a scratch card with a LARGE SWITCHBLADE.
Come on, ferry people. Get it together!
TGIF,
Margaret
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