So a dictator walks into a bar...

Not a soul at work knows of my blog, nor do I intend to share it. I like it that way and I think it makes sense to avoid Doocification. I'm fairly sure I'm safe when it comes to relaying a few things to you.

But worry not. I'm not stupid...there's only so much I can mention before the self-censor comes into play.

So considering I've only been there just short of two months, and there are quite a few employees in our branch, I'm still getting to know everyone. You see, my branch was once a "one branch bank" before it was bought out by the bank I currently work for, so it's a pretty huge area. Especially when you compare it to my former in-store branch that was so tiny, we quite literally bumped into each other.

The people on "the other side of the branch" tend to be older, and male. Most of us in Operations are younger and female. Guess who makes the most money?

But that's not my point today.

We recently hired a new temp teller since the previous one (an itty-bitty gal with a humongous fake rack that threatened to tip her over at every turn) had to leave. Imagine our surprise when the man who showed up to replace her was a good ten years older than the average age of the rest of my tellers, MALE and with a thick accent. He was also wearing a suit and throughout the day, as he observed the tellers, he was consistently mistaken for the manager, or better yet, an auditor.

It turned out that he is Iraqi. I noticed that a lot of people were initially ill-at-ease with him, but I think it was mostly due to his being a bit hard to understand. I inquired about his background, which turned out to be fascinating, and he has since learned to open up with the others.

He made small talk with the men about sports in the lunchroom (which I of course had to butt into since my Bruins are on a roll in the NCAA tourney...yeah baby!), he brought in homemade baklava that his newlywed wife had prepared, and he quickly learned to keep it VERY breezy with the resident Moody Girl. It amazes me to see how well he's done with the varied personalities in our group.

I think that's how he's managed his whole life though.

So today, I overheard him ask my assistant, "Do you want to hear a joke? It's about Saddam Hussein."

My ears immediately perked up to find out what he'd say.

My assistant, an sweet woman who also immigrated from another country, innocently asked, "You mean your president?"

I cringed. And I knew what he'd say.

"No", he calmly replied, "My president is George Bush."

He wasn't mad. Just matter of fact. And frankly, I never thought I'd hear someone say that with so much pride. But to hear what he's been through to finally reside in a country he now calls "his"...well, it's inspiring.

The joke wasn't that funny, and needless to say it made Hussein out to be an idiot. But I laughed because he got such a kick out of it; I don't think I've ever heard him laugh so hard!

Can you imagine the joy he gets...JUST FROM BEING ABLE TO TELL THE JOKE AT ALL?

I can. Because it was written all over his face.

Life is good my friends. Life is good.