When Carl returned from Oregon he was himself again, seeming to have no lingering effects from his brush with delusional pride. That being said, there was something about his demeanor. I waited for Carl to say what was troubling him. But eventually curiosity won out over patience and I said, “What’s eating at you?”
Carl hung his head. “It’s about my career.”
“Despite what happened, I still consider you my publicity manager.”
His smile returned. “Thank you for that. But I mean my other career.”
I scanned my brain but didn’t come up with more than guesses. “Astronomer?”
“Nope.”
“Archaeologist?”
“Nope.”
“World record holder for the longest continuous smile?”
“Still no. I mean my former hope to become a professional skateboarder.”
“Yes, I should have guessed. But why have you eliminated that possibility?”
“When in Oregon, I took a hike and happened on a half pipe. At first I was excited, having never actually seen one. But as I examined the structure, I determined it simply wouldn’t work. The angles, the math, they simply doesn’t add up. Here, let me show you the picture I took.”
It didn’t take long to determine the problem. “Carl, this is a piece of bark.” 
He looked at me, quizzically.
Trying to get my point through, I repeated, “Bark—bark!”
He replied, “You know that it’s an insult to mimic a dog, don’t you?”
I didn’t know where to go from there. “I apologize.”
“Apology accepted. Anyway, I suppose there are still a number of career possibilities from which to choose.”
