Today, I was Asked the Most Frightful of Questions

The teller at the bank has asked it before, and I am never prepared.

"Did you have a good weekend?" she said to me, as she brushed her blond bangs aside and punched in my account number.

Of course, when someone at a business asks this, they are not truly asking if you had a good weekend. The assumption is that the weekend was good, and that the reply you give is merely a curt, courteous entreating of small talk, an affirmative, a habitual response. My weekend was bad, in many ways, but that would have made things awkward. She was just a bank teller, not a friend. What would have happened if I said "not really"?

"It was alright."

"What did you do?"

Of course, at this point, having already traversed down a dishonest path, I wasn't about to admit to the truth of the matter - that I slept a lot and listened to sad music, while questioning the meaninglessness of my existence. So I simply said "not much," which, in hindsight, was rather true. Little to nothing was accomplished - I spent most of it fretting - and that was about the extent of my weekend.

"A relaxing weekend is nice," she replied, and then handed me my slip, and told me to have a nice day. I replied the same, and walked into the world wishing to poke with a sharp object whoever invented small talk.