That carbon monoxide. Gets ya every time.

[At work, conversing with a customer on the phone.]

Jillian: “Ok, well let’s get you signed up then! What’s your address?”

Woman: “1234 Blah Blah. I live in a garage.”

Jillian: “Ok — wait, you live — what did you say?”

Woman: “In a garage.”

Jillian: “All right, well, that sounds… cozy!”

Woman: “It was built in 1945.”

Jillian: “Oh wow!”

Woman: “But it’s pretty spacious. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, living room, kitchen. All in about 600 square feet.”

Jillian: “Oh!”

Woman: “Yep, when people ask to spend the night, I have a spare bedroom for them. I tell them, ‘You can stay here, but my bedroom is for me. You’ll have to sleep in the guest room on the floor with all my cats.'”

Jillian: “What? Oh, well, uhh, I’m sure it’s nice to have that spare room.”

Woman: “Yes, yes it is. Now, where were we? I’m sorry, my mind is not working like it used to.”

Jillian: “You had just started telling me your address.”

Woman: “Oh, right. I just can’t think the same since I’ve gotten older.”

Jillian: “Well, uhhh… That’s ok. I suppose that happens to all of us!”

Woman: “Perhaps, except my memory loss is more from the many concussions I’ve suffered. Those and the carbon monoxide poisoning.”

Jillian: “………So, er, great. What city did you say you live in?”

Wow.