This is exactly how you can tell that where I live is nothing like where you live.

As I was walking home from the grocery store the other day, toting my wholesome load of carrots and peppers and low-fat-but-not-quite-skim milk, I passed the lineup for the Bread Jardin, so-called because "Bread Garden" is a well-known string of yuppie fast food cafes around town and they can't use the same name because God forbid and so do the lawyers. The Bread Jardin, however is what the Franciscan Sisters of Atonement call their breadline, which is actually a sandwich line, and good for them, as man cannot live on bread alone but requires turkey with mayo or at least some spam with mustard and lettuce one-st in awhile. And it so happened that on this day the Bread Jardin had yet to ouvrir. Alors, there was a lineup du pain. And as I passed said breadline, I overheard the unfortunately crystal-clear words,

Oh you know him! He's always wearing the proctology gloves!