It was because we were staggering under the weight of our purses, carry bags, winter coats and Starbucks items that my friend Lois and I sought out a temporary refuge in the mammoth Jacob K. Javits Center in New York City.
Saturday, Day 2 of The New York Times Travel Show, a trade show for the travel industry. We were there as lifestyle bloggers who write about travel. 
We needed to get caffeinated regroup before heading into the cavernous expo hall. Walking and talking and eating and schlepping simultaneously, with a hot flash or two thrown in making us either fan ourselves or shiver, was a little bit too much multi-tasking for us.
We spied a table and several unoccupied chairs and made a dash for it as adroitly as two middle-aged perspiring women can manage, and sat down, congratulating ourselves on finding this oasis.
Seconds later, a young woman approached us, and asked us where the blah blah exhibit was.
Lois and I exchanged glances, and we both shrugged. “I’m sorry, we don’t work here,” Lois said politely. The woman, disappointed, turned away.
Back to our drinks, and it happened again. Once more, we explained apologetically that we were mere conference attendees ourselves.
Why were people asking us these questions, we wondered.
After the third person approached us and was turned away, she pointed to the front of our table. “It says ‘Questions?’” she told us. “So I figured …”
Before she left to find someone more knowledgeable, and between gales of laughter, we begged her to take our photo.
But here’s the thing.
The next person who approached us was looking for the bathroom. Well, we could help with that.
“You see the Starbucks over there?” Lois gestured. “It’s one floor down, just below the Starbucks.”
This was fun. It was pretty cool being the source of information. So what if we weren’t always right? We liked being sought after, appreciated, needed. Admired for this unique information-dispensing quality.
“Where can I get a program book?” someone inquired.
We almost jumped over each other to answer.
“Can I get a plastic cover for my badge in the expo hall?” another asked.
“Yes, you can!” Lois said brightly.
“Anyplace I can get coffee without standing in line for an hour?” a woman asked, as she glanced doubtfully at the Starbucks line snaking like a Disneyland formation.
“Indeed,” I replied. “I got mine at that kiosk over there (pointing) and it was fine.”
“Is the coffee strong enough?” she asked. I nodded and smilingly sent her on her way.
Lois and I high fived each other, and pondered a future in this line of work. Maybe, with time and experience, we could respond to questions of a somewhat more complex nature. Like:
“Excuse me, is Aristotle’s empirical approach to studying nature still relevant today?”
or
“Hi, I wondered if you could explain the migration habits of hummingbirds to me?”
or
“Hey, this may be a dumb question, but you gals look like you know. Einstein’s static universe theory: yay or nay?”
Who know
s? Maybe there is a www.askloisandhelene.com in our future, a kinder and gentler Google. A search engine with heart. Slower to respond, yes, but quick with a virtual hug. Does Google ask about your father’s health and tell you you’ve got a smudge of something on your cheek?
Lois and I need the practice. So go ahead. You ask, we answer! Keep it (mostly) clean and we will respond. Leave me a comment here or on Lois’ post or tweet us using the hashtag #askloisandhelene.
