On a layover in the Cincinnati airport (which may actually be a bus station that my plane happened to land at), I had about three minutes to pick up a sandwich. I signed my credit card bill with my usual haste (my signature includes 6 letters, tops) and rearranged everything I was carrying. The woman behind the counter stopped me and asked if I was an artist. I replied in the negative and she began listing off other creative occupations. Musician, maybe? I was starved, sleep deprived, and in a hurry so I couldn’t figure out what she was getting at. I wasn’t dressed odd, but I thought to myself, “Maybe I look hip for Cincinnati?”*

Finally she said that my signature is indicative of high levels of creativity. She was sad when I said I do things “with computers (hey, I was tired).” I was interested in this assessment, but when I said something self-deprecating about how messy my handwriting was she said it was so, but in a designed/artistic way.

Take that Queens Board of Elections, who finds my signature too arty to allow me to vote. And now I am sad to have let down an airport newsstand clerk who has an awesome hobby. I didn’t want to tell her I pretty much do the opposite of art, though I do use the whiteboard more than my coworkers.

*Though I spent scant minutes in Cin City, and they were all in the airport, I definitely did get a sense that even boring me was way hipper than your average person coming through the Cincinnati bus station airport.

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