Somehow, I got roped into taking a passport picture instead of doing my ad tags or puttering. I was dealing with a serious Type A lady. She was really nice, the nicest A-type I've ever encountered, but she was very exact and obviously needed perfection. I took her picture eight times. She had to look at each one, and analyze her hair, and make sure everything was right. She finally settled on one. She asked if we had special lighting or a different area to take the picture. We do not. I noticed that she was wearing a blue and white vertically-striped button-up, a pair of light jeans and loafers. While I was ringing her up, she showed me her driver's license to show me how good that photo was. It was quite good; she looked awesome.
When I got to work, it was noon. And it was about 60 degrees, even though it is November. The sky was cloudy, tumultuous; there were tornado watches and flood warnings. The rain came down hard, then lessened, then came down hard again. There was a brief moment of sun. And then, before I knew it, the sun had set, and the temperature had dropped.
I told my husband to call work if the tornado watch turned to a warning, because I wasn't going to die at work, or be without my family during a crisis such as that. I thought of the end of the world, but also of the movie The Mist.
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