The flower lady

I was downstairs getting a drink at the water fountain when the flower lady came around the corner.

“Excuse me,” she said in a strident flower lady voice. “What’s the address here?”

I shruged and laughed a little. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know. Can I help you find someone?”

“Well, I’m looking for ‘Desnch… Lench… I don’t really know, but I thought maybe you could help,” she said, shaking her boquet-laden vase at me, coming dangerously close to soaking the carpet. “After all, the sign says ‘Information.'”

“Ma’am,” I replied, biting the corners of my mouth to hide my grin, “This is information technology. Maybe the campus post office can help you out.”

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