COURTESY OF AN INDIANA SNOWSTORM BY LOIS JEAN THOMAS, January 2024 Back in the late 1980s and early 1990s, I worked in Warsaw Indiana. Warsaw is a city of less than 20,000 residents, located in Kosciusko County. Warsaw is home to some great industries. The city is known for its cut glassware company, its orthopedic companies, and for its movie screen production. However, I didn't work in any of those industries, I worked as a therapist at the Cedarwood Mental Health Center. While I worked in Warsaw, I lived in another small city, Goshen, Indiana, with my fiancé Wesley, and our young son Zane. Goshen is about 25 miles north of Warsaw. My commute to and from work was fairly easy, only about a 30-minute drive, except for in snowy, icy weather, which frequently impeded my travels during the winter. Looking back, I can say with a great deal of fondness that my coworkers there at the Cedarwood Center were the wildest and craziest bunch of people I have ever worked with. I have worked at several mental health centers, but my coworkers in Warsaw are particularly unforgettable. The receptionist at the front desk, where the center’s clients checked in, also had the responsibility of managing the clinical records. That meant she was constantly cracking the whip on us clinicians, making sure we had completed all our documentation in a timely manner. She ran the show single-handedly, keeping all the members of the clinical team in line. She had the unlikely, doubly Biblical name of Eve Adams. She kept everything running smoothly, which was no small feat, given the incorrigibility and unmanageability of us clinicians, who consistently broke every one of the rules Eve put on us. She would scold us for not being timely in completing various critical documents. She also had rules about how we were to behave when we came out to the waiting room to usher our clients back to our offices for therapy sessions. I often joked that, if it weren't for the clinicians, who, of course, generated the revenue for the agency, Eve would have been happy about the way the agency was running. Despite the fact, that she was bossy and controlling, Eve was a sweet-natured woman, and truthfully, none of us would have been able to manage our demanding daily workload without her oversight. She was a large woman, probably at least 100 lbs. overweight. Despite that, she was strikingly beautiful. She had long, curly auburn hair that cascaded down her back and over her plump shoulders. Her perfectly applied makeup highlighted her stunning green eyes, and the contours of her plump features. Eve had a penchant for wearing skimpy, low-cut tops in animal print patterns, which showed off her ample bosom. Honestly, I have never seen a woman with a larger bustline. When checking in for their therapy sessions, the agency’s male clients liked to linger at the reception desk, staring at Eve’s bosom. Eve Had more than her share of propositions while she worked at the Cedarwood Center. but she wanted nothing to do with any of her would-be suitors. Despite her provocative appearance, Eve was more maternal than seductive. Despite how much we aggravated her, she called all of us clinicians endearing terms such as “Honey” and “sweetie.” She always had a bowl of candy, each piece wrapped in Cellophane paper, sitting on her desk. Every time a clinician approached her desk to ask a question, she would reach into the bowl for a piece of candy, with her beautiful hand. She had the prettiest hands that I have ever seen. They were plump, smooth, and soft, with Perfectly manicured nails. She always wore red nail polish, and two or three extravagant rings on each hand. She would unfailingly deposit a piece of candy in the clinician’s outstretched hand. We were required to have a psychiatrist on our clinical team, someone who could sign off on all our cases involving insurance, and who could prescribe medication for the community’s population of chronically mentally ill patients: those with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, or severe cases of depression or anxiety. Our psychiatrist’s name was Dr. Jerome Harvey. He was a widower in his mid-60s, a skinny, disheveled little man, who often came to work unshaven, and sometimes un-showered. I can say with certainty that Doctor Harvey was more unstable than many of his patients. When he would walk into the center, we could tell right away whether he was having a good day or a bad day. “How are you doing today, Dr. Harvey?” Eve would ask him. More often than not, he would say something like, “I've been a little down in the dumps,” or, “My anxiety has been acting up,” or, “I haven't had much of an appetite recently. Nothing tastes good to me.” Sometimes he would stand in the doorway of my office to unload his miseries. “I'm sorry about that,” I would say to him. Then, he would walk on in, uninvited. Then he would park his bottom on one of my chairs. where, He would carry on for at least half an hour telling me the details of his miserable life. I would always be relieved if I had a client to see around the time when he Showed up, so that I could have a reason to get rid of him. The other person whom Dr. Harvey bothered relentlessly, was Eve. She did not allow any of the rest of us to loiter in her office. She would say, “I have worked to do now, if you have time on your hands, why don't you go back to your own office and get caught up on some of your paperwork.” But she would allow Doctor Harvey to loiter in her office. She babied him. She would bring him a sack lunch, every day, to make sure that he had something to eat. I envied those delectables sack lunches: Ham salad or tuna salad sandwiches. Apples, oranges. Homemade cupcakes. “You need to keep up your strength,” She would scold Dr. Harvey. She would have him sit on the chair next to her desk while he ate, to make sure that he consumed everything she had brought for him. Then, when it was time to go home, she would say, “Jerome you get some rest tonight. And you need to take a long hot shower before you go to bed. That will help you relax. You need to take better care of yourself.” Of course, What she didn't say was that a shower would help him smell better than he usually did. I think Eve enjoyed taking care of Doctor Harvey, and he certainly benefited from the motherly attention she gave him. From time to time, I would ask Dr. Harvey why he didn't retire. “Wouldn't that relieve a lot of your stress,” I asked him. But he would tell me that he wouldn't know what to do with himself If he retired. I finally stopped trying to help him, and simply did my best to avoid him. Then, there was our psychologist, Dr. Andrew Warner. He was the most knowledgeable and most highly skilled clinician I have ever worked with. He specialized in treating PTSD Cases: war veterans and others who had gone through extreme trauma. He was highly respected in the community. And because of his expertise, Cedarwood Mental Health Center became known as the go-to place for anyone in northern Indiana who suffered from PTSD. I doubt that the center ever adequately compensated Dr. Warner for the vast amount of revenue he generated for the agency. Doctor Andrew Warner was not only an expert On PTSD from his considerable clinical experience. He suffered from PTSD himself. He was a Vietnam War veteran, who’d had half of one leg blown off in an encounter with a landmine. We all came to know that he couldn't tolerate being startled by loud noises, so, we took care not to slam a door or drop a book in his presence. He was a gracious, dignified man, and we all loved and respected him. We knew that his PTSD was a source of embarrassment for him, and we took great pains not to dwell on the subject. He was married to a lovely woman, who frequently drove him to work, especially on days when his nerves were so frazzled that he couldn't handle dealing with city traffic. Doctor Warner was not a handsome man, but you could say that he was attractive, with this neatly groomed salt and pepper hair and beard. He was probably in his late 40s when I started working at the Center. Several years after I started at the Center, I learned that Doctor Warner and his wife had separated, because of her difficulty living with his PTSD. I could tell that the separation hurt him terribly, and I felt sorry for him. Then there was Keith Irving, our addictions counselor. He was in his early 70s and had worked at the center for about 30 years. Long past retirement age, He seemed to be allergic to the idea of retiring. I suppose he was an OK Clinician. He certainly did not have the expertise that Doctor Warner possessed. And he certainly was not a favorite of our clientele, because of his confrontational style, many clients, who were assigned to Dr. Irving initially, requested a transfer to another therapist. And then there was the Clinical team supervisor Stephanie McMillan. She was an uncouth woman in her mid- forties, with a nasty mouth and lewd personality. To be honest, she disgusted me. Just being in her presence made me feel dirty. She was an OK-looking woman, but she certainly wasn't the Femme Fatale that she imagined herself to be. Whenever we had our team meetings, where we were supposed to be discussing cases, we needed help with, Stephanie utilized the time by regaling the rest of the team with the sordid details of her Intimate life with the stream of boyfriends who came into and left her life on a steady basis. Stephanie justified this misuse of time by saying that because therapists had stressful jobs, we needed an outlet for blowing off steam, by talking in an unrestrained way. Sadly, Stephanie directed much of this lewd talk toward Doctor Warner. She was clearly attracted to him and made no attempts to hide her feelings from him, or from the rest of us. I could tell that Doctor Warner was uncomfortable with her X-rated talk. Clearly, he did not reciprocate her feelings. I never thought that Stephanie deserved the position of team supervisor. I thought that position surely should have gone to Doctor Warner. I knew that dignified Dr. Warner was not attracted to the likes of Stephanie McMillan, but she thought he was. She liked to take me aside and talk about the matter. She'd say something such as, “do you see the way Andy looks at me? He's been in love with me. For the past 10 years.” I would see those looks. But they weren’t looks of desire; they, Were expressions of contempt. Clearly, he was disgusted with the way Sephanie behaved. Quite frankly, I worried about Stephanie’s relationships with her clients. I hoped she behaved more professionally with them than she did with her staff. Every time. Stephanie addressed Dr. Warner; she took the opportunity to call him Andy. I thought that was disrespectful, because all the rest of us addressed him the way he deserved to be addressed, as Doctor Warner. Sometimes I would see Stephanie deliberately drop a heavy notebook on the table, and when Dr. Warner would jump, she would put her hand on his back and start massaging him. Then, she would say in a seductive tone, “It’s okay Andy, nobody here is going to hurt you” I knew she had dropped the notebook just to create an opportunity to put her hands on him. I thought her behavior was despicable. I could see it made him very uncomfortable. Unfortunately for the rest of us., one team member did jump on Stephanies bandwagon, and that was, Rev. Keith Irving, who like to recount explicit details about his amorous encounters in his younger years. He was a tubby little man in his early 70s. Prior to becoming an addictions counselor, he had been the pastor of a church I thought his behavior was unbecoming for a man of his age and professional standing. I got to the point where I hated and dreaded staff meetings. Rev. Irving was a recovering alcoholic. However, He still seemed to have addictive issues that he wasn't dealing with, because he seemed to run on caffeine and sugar. He walked around the center with a cup of coffee in one hand, and a doughnut, or another sweet treat in his other hand. At least once an hour, He would stand at Eve's desk, with his hand outstretched, waiting for his piece of candy. Once, I heard Eve threaten to cut him off. “Aren't you worried about Developing diabetes, Keith?” She said. I also heard from Stephanie, That early on in his employment at the center. Keith had been temporarily suspended for keeping pornographic magazines in his desk drawer. She seemed to get quite a kick out of that story. In our staff meetings Stephanie and Doctor Irving would carry on relentlessly, egging each other on. Sometimes Stephanie would try to draw me into the X-rated Conversation, taunting me to reveal details about my life with my fiancée. Truthfully, there wasn't much to tell, even if I had wanted to tell it. I referred to Wesley as my fiancé, even though both he and I had lost interest in making wedding plans. Actually, we had little interest in each other, other than as co- parents of our son Zane. Finally, there was Misty Meadows, my best friend on the Clinical team, a young woman as lovely as her Name. Shortly after I was hired at Cedarwood, she said to me, “I'm so glad to finally, have someone halfway normal to work with. “You have no idea what it's been like to work with all the weirdos here.” Misty especially disliked Keith Irving, as he had a penchant for making inappropriate comments to her. She would often say to me,” I wish Cedarwood would get rid of that old creep.” Misty and I were age peers, both of us in our early 30s when I started to work at the Center. We were bonded together by our common interests, and by our mutual dislike of Stephanie McMillan. Sometimes Misty and I would go out together on a Friday evening after work, to a restaurant or a bar, or to a production at the Wagonwheel playhouse, a prominent cultural center in Warsaw. Sometimes she invited me to her home, a beautifully remodeled brick Victorian home in downtown Warsaw. Stephanie seemed to be envious of our friendship. She would find ways to elbow her way into our activities. Sometimes, it was impossible to refuse Her efforts to join us. Misty and I talked about the Fact that If we didn't humor Stephanie to a certain extent, she might find a way to punish us. As our supervisor, she had the power to make our lives miserable, in terms of giving us the most difficult cases, and giving us low ratings on our employee evaluations which would, of course, make a difference in our salaries, making it impossible for us to get raises. So, Stephanie ended up joining in our Friday night activities more often than we would have liked. For several years, my life working on the clinical team at the center rolled along in its typically weird way. Then one evening in January 1992, as I was leaving the office to go home, Eve stopped me. “Amber, honey,” she said, “Have you looked out the window?” I actually had not and when I did, I saw that we had been hit by a raging snowstorm. It looked as if we already had about 6 inches of snow on the ground. And it kept coming down at a breathtaking pace. When I saw the magnitude of the storm, I knew I was in trouble. All my coworkers were leaving, one by one. I knew that all of them lived in Warsaw, so they had only a 5-minute drive to get home. At that time, I drove a five-year- old compact car with a battery that had the habit of dying at inopportune times. Wesley had a brand-new vehicle with four-wheel drive. But he wouldn't let me drive it So, there was no way I could get home that night without putting myself in danger. So, I put on my coat and headed out into the snow, hoping for the best. I was only a quarter of a mile away from the center When my battery died. I pulled off the side of the road. At that point in time, I did not have a cell phone, so, I didn’t have any way of calling for help. I sat in my stalled car for half an hour, Getting colder and colder by the minute. I thought about Leaving my car there by the side of the road and walking the quarter of a mile back to the center, which was of course closed for the night. But. I could at least let myself into the building with my key. I thought maybe I could stretch out on the sofa in my office, covering myself with my coat, and spending the night there. But just as those thoughts formulated into an actual plan of action, someone driving a Jeep pulled off the road behind me. I watched in my rearview mirror as a man, bundled up in winter gear got out of the Jeep and trudged through the deep snow to my car. I rolled down my window a little bit so I could talk with him. “It looks like you're in trouble,” he said. “Yes, I am,” I replied, “I was heading home from work when my battery died.” “Where is home?” He asked me. “Just up the road 25 miles, in Goshen.” “That's interesting,” he said, “I live in Goshen, too.” “By the way,” he continued, “I'm, Russell Howard.” I put out my gloved hand, to shake his extended hand. “I’m Amber Russo,” I told him. “Nice to meet you.,” he said. “It’s amazing that we haven't met each other in Goshen, It's not that big of a place.” “Have you called anyone for help?” he asked. “No, I said, “I don't have a cell phone, But I was just about to walk back to my office and use the phone there.” “Do you work here in Warsaw?” I asked Mr. Howard. “Yes,” he told me. “I work at Biomet orthopedic company.” “I have another idea,” he said, “I have jumper cables with me. Why don't we see if we can get your car started Then, you can drive back to your office, so that you can make some calls. I'll follow you, to make sure you get there, OK. Where do you work?” he asked. “At the Cedarwood Mental Health Center.,” I told him. “What do you do there?” he asked, “I'm a therapist,” I told him. “Oh, no,” he said, “that makes me nervous, I'm afraid You're analyzing me.” “When I'm off the clock,” I told him, “I'm an ordinary person, just like anyone else.” “Well, you're a nice person,” he said, “and I bet you're really a nice therapist.” “Thank you,”, I said, “And you're a nice person, too, a Good Samaritan, for sure.” “Well, I try to be a decent person,” he said. “Whenever I see someone in trouble, I try to help, if I can.” So, we went through the laborious process of getting my battery charged. Then I drove the short distance to the center. Seeing Mr. Howard’s headlights in my rearview mirror was reassuring. Wouldn't you know it, my car stalled one more time on the way back to the center, when I stopped at an intersection. “I don't think you're going to make it back home in this vehicle tonight,” he said. Let's just get you back to your workplace,” and leave your car there. Since I'm heading back to Goshen. I'll take you home.” We finally made it to Cedarwoods’ parking lot. “I'll tell you what,” he said. “We can leave your car there. Do you work tomorrow,” he asked. “I'll take you home, and I can pick you up in the morning. To bring you back “to work,” he said, “Hopefully by. Tomorrow evening. This storm will be over, and you will be in a better position to get home.” He opened the passenger side door to his Jeep. Disregarding everything, I had ever been taught about getting into cars with strangers, I got into Russell Howard’s jeep with him, and he drove me back to Goshen. During the 45-minute drive through the treacherous weather, we got to know a little bit about each other. “Do you live alone?” He asked. “No, I live with my fiancée,” I told him. “Isn’t he concerned about you driving this little car in weather like this?” He asked. “Not really,” I said, somewhat bitterly. “I have asked him to get a new battery installed, he told me that I need to learn to take care of vehicle maintenance on my own.” “Nice guy,” Russell said, sarcastically. “Sometimes he is,” I said, “and sometimes, he isn't. He doesn't like to be inconvenienced by my problems. He wants me, to be an independent woman, so I try to be.” “I happen to believe,” Russell said, “that it's OK for a guy to be protective. The least he can do for his woman is to look out for her safety to make sure that she has a vehicle that is in good operating Condition.” “That would be nice,” I said. “But that isn't Wesley. He isn't built that way. “And he isn't romantic. He doesn't like to be bothered with things that he thinks are silly. Sometimes I think that he would actually pay some other guy to take me out for a romantic dinner, so that he wouldn't have to.” “So” Russell said, “I guess he won't mind that some strange guy brought you home from work.” “Oh no,” I said. “He'll just be glad, that he didn't have to come get me.” “Why are you going to marry a guy like that?” Russell asked. “Surely you can do better than that.” “Because we have a child together,” I told him. “If you are going to be commuting from Goshen to Warsaw, in the dead of winter,” Russell said, “Then you should always have a packed bag in your car, so that you can spend the night here in town in case you need to. You also need to get yourself a cell phone, so that you can call for help. And have the number of a towing company on hand. Make sure you have a flashlight along with extra batteries, and a supply of snacks and water so that you don't get yourself into a dire situation.” When Russell dropped me off at my house that evening. Wesley didn't even ask me who had brought me home. He was worried about where my car was. I told him it was in the center's parking lot. He was aggravated that I hadn't managed to bring it home. “How are you getting to work tomorrow?” He asked me. I told him that the person who brought me home lived here in Goshen and worked in Warsaw, that he was going to pick me up and take me to work the next day. Wesley was fine with that. So, Russell picked me up the next morning. I was so glad to see him, and we had a nice chat on the way to work. But he seemed a little shaken up. “I wish I could tell you that we could carpool like this every day, that would only make sense, as we could both save on the cost of gas. But my wife would never tolerate it. She was upset last night when I got home a little bit late and when I explained to her what had happened, that I had stopped to rescue a stranded motorist. She asked me if you were pretty. I lied and told her that you weren't. She's a very jealous woman, and I work hard to keep peace in the household. So, unfortunately, and I feel like a jerk saying this, I won't be able to help you out again,” “That's OK,” I said. “There is one thing that I am not, and that is a homewrecker. And I don't want to do anything that would put a strain on your marriage. I'll be OK. I'll figure this out.” And I did. I Arranged to have a new battery installed in my car, on my own. And I followed Russell Howard’s advice. I got myself a cell phone and I started keeping a packed bag and a basic safety kit in my car. Over the next few winters, I spent the night in Warsaw whenever snowstorms hit. Misty graciously told me that I could spend the night at her house anytime I needed to, and I did. So, the problem was solved. Two years after that snowstorm incident, Wesley moved out of the home we rented together, and moved to Idaho to live with his brother, I guess, the two of them enjoyed bachelor life together. When my coworkers learned that I was unattached, they wasted no time in trying to set me up with dates. Doctor Irving tried to set me up with his nephew, to whom I was not at all attracted. And Stephanie tried to set me up with her brother, saying, “wouldn’t it be fun if the two of us could end up being sisters-in-law.” The thought made me shudder. I ended up, deliberately sabotaging the date with her brother, setting him up to reject me, knowing Stephanie would never forgive me if the opposite was true. Then one day, Doctor Warner invited me to have dinner with him after work. I was taken aback. Unlike Stephanie McMillan. I did not view Dr. Warner as a potential love interest. And I was also concerned that if I started dating Doctor Warner, it would create tension on the clinical team. I knew Stephanie would be incredibly jealous, and that she would find ways to take it out on me. Thankfully, I had already made plans with Misty to go to her house after work, and I used my plans as an excuse to Decline Dr. Warmer’s invitation. However, Doctor Warner immediately picked up on the fact that he had made me uncomfortable. He apologized profusely. Then he said. “I don't want stepping over the boundary line to create tension between the two of us. I hope that we can continue to be friendly colleagues.” “Of course,” I said. “No problem at all.” Because he was so gracious about the matter, I had second thoughts about declining his date. “He's such a great guy,” I thought. They don't make many guys like this.” Thankfully, he and I got past the matter, and we continued as usual as colleagues on the clinical team. And none of the other team members ever knew that Dr. Warner had asked me out. I felt it was best to keep that completely under wraps. One day in the late autumn of1993, Eve, stop me as I walked past her office. “Someone left you a note, Sweetie,” she said. “Who?” I asked. “He didn't give me his name,” she said, as she handed me an envelope with my name on it. “He was a nice looking fellow,” she said. “And very polite. Do you have a new boyfriend, Honey?” “No,” I said. “I'm not dating anyone, so I have no idea who it could be?” So, I took the envelope back to my office so I could open it in private. And to my astonishment it read, “Amber. I wanted to let you know that if you have any difficulty getting to work this winter, I can help you out now. My wife and I have separated.” Then, he listed his phone number. The note was signed. Russell Howard. I called the number, that evening. I told him I appreciated his offer, and that I might take him up on it. I expressed my condolences over his marital separation, He told me his wife had filed for divorce. “How are you doing?” I asked. “I'm doing well.” “, he said, “I saw this coming and I'm relieved that it finally happened. I guess she found a guy who will make her happier than I do.” Then he asked, “How are you?” I told him that. Wesley had moved out of our home, and that he’d moved to Idaho “so, it's over between us,” I said. “So,” he said. “I guess you and I are in a similar situation, would it be OK If I would call you from time to time, just to see how you are doing?” “Absolutely,” I said. Then I gave him my phone number. A week later, He called me and asked me to go out to dinner with him, on a Friday after work. That was almost 30 years ago. And ever since Russell entered my life, I have never had to drive a vehicle that wasn't in top notch running condition. The more I got to know Russell, the more it seemed as if I had known him forever. Our relationship developed rapidly, and we got married in June of 2000. So, we have been married for almost 24 years. Wesley pretty much abdicated his fatherly responsibilities with our son, but Russell quickly bonded with Zane, Russell is now his dad. Whenever people ask Russell and I how we met, my reply is: “We were introduced by a snowstorm.” Neither Russell nor I work in Warsaw anymore. Russell works in a rubber factory here in Goshen, And I got a job at our local Community Mental Health Center. So, we don't need to worry about that lengthy commute during winter weather. Before I left Cedarwood Center. Things had begun to change there. First, Rev. Irving passed away. Misty felt so guilty when that happened, because of all the comments she’d made about wanting to be rid of him. Then, Dr. Warner And his wife got back together. I was so happy for him, and glad, that I had never muddied the waters of their marriage, by accepting his invitation to go out with him. Misty Moved back to her home state of New Hampshire and got a job there. That hit me hard, and I really miss her, but she and I have kept in touch since then, through texting, and social media. Russell and I occasionally drive to Warsaw, to go out to eat, or to see a production at The Wagon Wheel. Playhouse. A year after I stopped working at the center, Russell and I were eating at Ruby Tuesdays, where, would you believe it, we ran into Eve Adams and Doctor Jerome Harvey? They were delighted to see us. “I heard you got married,” Eve said to me. “I take it, this is your new husband. If I remember correctly, he is the gentleman who dropped off a note for you a few years ago.” “Yes,” I said. “This is my husband, Russell, and he is the fellow who dropped off the note. After I got that note. Things started happening between us. So, thank you Eve, for passing that note along to me.” “Wow,” Eve said, “I got married myself.” Then she and Dr. Harvey intertwined the fingers of their left hands, And I noticed that they were wearing matching wedding bands. Oh my God, I thought. This can't be possible. Then Eve said, “Jerome, and I got married a year ago.” “Congratulations to both of you,” I said, when I finally gathered my wits. “I wish you the best. in your retirement years.” “Are the two of you still working at the Cedarwood Center?” I asked. “We are,” she said. “We both plan to retire within a year or two. We have many things we want to do during our retirement years. “Are Stephanie McMillan and Dr. Warner still at the center?” I asked. ““Oh yes,” Doctor Harvey said. “They'll probably be there forever. You might find this interesting. After you and Misty left, the center added three more positions on the clinical team, Including another psychiatrist. So, we are busier than we've ever been before. As soon as Russell and I got back to the car, I texted the unbelievable news about Eve and Dr. Harvey to Misty. One of these days when I go back to Warsaw, I’ll need to drive past The Cedarwood Center, just for old time sakes. Or maybe not. Maybe it's time to put some things behind me. AUTHOR’S NOTE This story is entirely a work of fiction. The Cedar Wood Mental Health Center does not exist in Warsaw IN. And none of the characters are real people. I have never known anyone like them. Everyone has a story of how they met their spouse or significant other. This is an imaginary story about how I met my husband. Our meeting didn't happen this way, but it could have. I decided that it would be fun to let my imagination run wild. Let me challenge my readers to write their own imaginary stories about how they met their partners. set your imaginations run wild and see what happens. It can be quite an adventure. And certainly, each one of you has worked a job where you've had unforgettable coworkers. That is another story that can be written.