Shortly after being hired by “Charismatic Guy” and “Not So Much,” I was teamed with Not So Much, a man of few words. I’d spent several long days with him. In silence. Him hiking through the woods like a gazelle. Me running and tripping over everything, trying to keep up with him. Occasionally, I tried to strike up a conversation, but he always managed to answer my questions in curt one to three word phrases. One day, after a ten-hours of hell, I decided to, once again, see if I could get the guy to talk.
“Do you have any siblings?” I asked, thinking maybe he’d tell me something about himself if I asked about his family.
“Yep.”
“Brothers or sisters?”
“Brothers.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Older or younger?”
“Older.”
Not known for my patience or my ability to keep my mouth shut, I snapped. “You know what? I’m done. Talking to you is worse than talking to a wall. If you decide you want to talk to me then fine, but as of this moment, I’m done trying to force you to talk!” I closed my eyes and set my head against the window of the passenger-side door, preparing myself for a summer of hell.
“So…” said Not So Much, a hint of amusement and respect in his voice.
I opened my eyes, catching the almost smile at the corners of his mouth.
“What do your parents do?”
