I would tell you about the time I drove all the way out to Monroe to interview the co-founder of an animal sanctuary. And I'd describe how, in the middle of the interview, I started getting nudged by this cute little donkey named Pete. And then I'd tell you how I started petting him, and how I didn't notice that he was chewing on my microphone cord. Then I'd explain that I started noticing how I wasn't hearing anything through my headphones, so I checked the cord and found the place where Pete chewed almost completely through. Then I'd tell you about how my interview, who was a television reporter before co-founding this sanctuary, said "you have a backup, right?" I'd tell you how I reassured her I did and sprinted back up to the car to get the backup. Then I'd tell you how I frantically searched through dozens of useless cords, only to realize that I did not, in fact, have a backup. So then I'd tell you how I rescheduled the interview for two days later, and how the nice former TV reporter tried to make me feel better by telling me one of her dumb-mistake stories. "I didn't feel better though," I'd confide to you. I'd tell you about how I got back in my car and drove all the way back to Seattle, shaking my head in disbelief and occasionally muttering "well, fuck".
I'd probably leave out the part where I got lost on the way back to Seattle and inexplicably wound up in some nameless suburb for 20 minutes. Because, you know, I'd want to preserve a teeny bit of my dignity.