At lunch, some co-workers and I usually go to the gym.  There we tend to see a man that I will call Mike, even though his real name is much more exotic.  Dare I say, Italian?  Fine, for this post, he shall be “Italian Mike.”

We see Italian Mike in passing, exchange a few pleasantries, and go on our way.  Over time, you pick up a few things.  Italian Mike eats lunch in the hospital cafeteria.  Italian Mike once made a reference to a chiropractor.  Italian Mike once said something that hinted that he attends church.  Plus, he seems like a really nice guy.  All of these random pieces of information has led to speculation about Italian Mike’s profession.

A doctor?  A chiropractor?  A pastor?  Who knew?  We needed more information, so I asked.

Turns out, Italian Mike works for an office supply company.  All well and good, but nothing like the back story that our imaginations had developed.  We were disappointed in ourselves and no fault of his own, we were a little disappointed in Italian Mike’s honesty.

Well, just so happens that a few weeks later, I ran into Italian Mike again at the gym.  The exchanging of our pleasantries went fine, random small talk went fine, I made a reference to work, and Italian Mike asked, “Are you a lawyer?” “No,” I replied.  “I’m sort of an internal consultant.”

Italian Mike looked sort of sad at my reality.  I love my job, but I should have lied.  After all, there’s a fictitious version of myself out there that I need to keep real in the eyes of life’s many Italian Mikes.