"in the garage I feel safe"

I thought I'd post this little memory vignette, as it may cause amusement in readers. My memory is hazy as to details, so -- as a friend and I have determined -- it's more an anecdote than a story.

Anyway.

I was in the writing center several months ago, indulging in the free time we get when it's not mid-terms/finals. There was a crowd of us, really, Helen and Sam and Bonaventure, and possibly one or two others. I had just reeled off some strange fact or piece of trivia, as is my idiom, and Bon said something about knowing everything. Someone -- Helen, I believe, made a joke about how I didn't know anything about underwater basket weaving.

My response was: "Actually, you know, everyone thinks you're underwater when you do that, but really you're not. You just put the basket materials underwater so they soften, then you weave it and take it out to harden."

There was the sort of stunned silence not common anywhere but around me and those like me. Only for a moment, but like the tiny moment of a bullet's passage, it was easy to feel. Then there was laughter.