"You see, the body replaces every bit of itself completely within seven years. For the past seven years, I have drunk nothing but rainwater, and eaten nothing but dehydrated foods, rehydrated with rain water. I am pure."
Oh, okay, sure. And he knew my name and social security number, so I was prepared to listen to his wisdom, at least for a bus ride. He handed me his business card.
And then the catchesisms kicked in.
"There are millions of people who live in Chihuahua, and Tabasco, who see no humor in their homeland," he said.
"If you pay attention, you can tell as much about someone's emotional and mental state by watching them drive on the road, as you can from their posture or facial expression," he said.
"Inevitably, whenever someone becomes intolerable and annoying, it's because they're in a lot of pain and desperately need help," he said.
Then he said, "I suppose you're wondering how all of this will help you in your career as a television repairman."
"Actually," I replied, confused, "I work in high-tech. I'm not a television repairman right now..."
Then I added politely, "...though I must admit it's a skill I'd love to learn."
He checked his notes and grimaced. "What do you know, your social security number is one digit off, and you have the same name. Who knew?"
We looked at each other awkwardly, then avoided talking or looking at each other for the rest of the bus ride. At the next stop, he took his business card back and headed out.
There was also a giant squid on the bus. We chatted about the weather. But I kind of wish I had a mentor, still.