Why Can't You Just Conform?

Having spent yesterday at work sneezing and coughing and blowing my nose and various snorting, I called in sick at work today but snuck out to the library to pick up items on hold, and to avoid cabin fever. Checked out my books and caught a glimpse of my friend Loyd in the parking lot, standing by two cars with their hoods up. Turns out he had tried to jump start a car for a Korean gentleman but something was wrong besides just the battery, as the jump didn't work. Loyd had to go home, but I told him, "I'm in sh** at work again. There's a new sheriff in town, and too many chiefs and not enough Indians. They're all so aggressive, they're all just, 'rrraaahhrrr' at your throat."

Loyd always understands when I talk about work. It doesn't take a lot of song and dance for him to get the picture. He told me a lovely story, standing the rain with his shirt getting soaked and the drops of rain rolling down his face, about a bank teller in the 1950's looking at Loyd's signature on a check, and at his name. Loyd wrote his signature again so the teller could see it. Finally the teller said, "why don't you change it?" Then, "why can't you just conform? I did."