Cooking angst? Stick it in

We start moving into our new (old) house later this afternoon, and go full on tomorrow.

We love the Brisbane suburb of Annerley (that Amy picked because it was 12 minutes by bike to the University of Queensland and 12 minutes by car to the arena in Acacia Ridge), because of its multiculturalism, home to schools for the blind and deaf (Brantford, Ontario, Canada, my hometown, is also home to the W. Ross Macdonald School, founded in 1872 and the only school in Ontario for blind and deafblind students and the only such school in Canada serving academic students. Wayne Gretzky is a patron.), former home to the Church of Scientology, and a mixture of life-long residents whom I routinely chat with at the shops (our social commons), drug addicts, criminals and newbies as the place becomes gentrified.

That’s a long intro to a brief about thermometers.

I always carry one in my backpack, in case someone needs one, and when we met with our Brisbane philosopher-contractor to go over some ideas, we got to cooking, and I gave him a tip-sensitive digital thermometer (note to Chapman, I need more).

He just rang me up to say a truck had side-swiped his car, we’d be meeting later, but began the conversation with this:

“You’ve changed my life.”

“Really. How so.”

“You gave me that thermometer and now I check everything. My food tastes better, and the angst has disappeared.”

Stick it in.

If I was still a prof, how would I count such an encounter to ensure I measured up to HR or departmental metrics?