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	<title>The Latte Manifesto &#187; Viscera</title>
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	<description>It’s not about coffee</description>
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		<title>Lucky</title>
		<link>http://lattemanifesto.casablog.com/2008/02/10/lucky/</link>
		<comments>http://lattemanifesto.casablog.com/2008/02/10/lucky/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 10 Feb 2008 05:07:48 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>The Arbiter</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Viscera]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://lattemanifesto.casablog.com/?p=36</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[This morning I went to the lab to have blood drawn for a series of tests that check for coagulation problems. It was 10 in the morning, and as required, I hadn&#8217;t eaten since about 7pm the night before. Mike, an obese man with a habit of laughing raucously at his own bad jokes, spent [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[This morning I went to the lab to have blood drawn for a series of tests that check for coagulation problems. It was 10 in the morning, and as required, I hadn&#8217;t eaten since about 7pm the night before. Mike, an obese man with a habit of laughing raucously at his own bad jokes, spent nearly 45 minutes on my paperwork, during which time I developed a migraine and an acute feeling of persecution. The lab tech was a friendly, notably homely Indian woman named Lucky. Her accent was almost impenetrable. As she assembled the 12 or so vials that she was about to fill with my blood, she said, &#8220;I like your face.&#8221; I panicked and could not manage to return the compliment, instead stammering out a weak thank you and then something idiotic about how I try to smile as much as possible, which is not at all true. I like to think that if I had been in my right mind, I would have replied graciously, perhaps appreciating her name, or her lab coat.

&#8220;I like your face.&#8221; What an odd thing to say.]]></content:encoded>
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