. . .to a couple of early twenties I know. They are dressed in the clothes of their age and error. . .I mean era. It’s a pleasant conversation. I like them. The don’t ‘umm’ and ‘ahh’ me to death in conversation so that’s a huge point in their favor.
I’m listening to them and, over their shoulder watch someone dressed as a nun (remember, this is the neighborhood where I work so one can never be to sure it’s an actual nun) seems to have taken a severe interest in the couple.
She’s checking them out with disdain that seems to be causing her agitation. I have to assume, because there’s no way she can hear what we’re talking about, it has to do with their dress or comportment (although within their age group it is, to me, far from the worst examples). Whatever it is it doesn’t take her long to make her way to us.
“I’m really ashamed at how you’ve turned out.” Wow! Maybe she’s pissed at me.
The boy turns around and slumps. He says hi to one of his high school teachers. This pisses me off. For one thing, he’s been out of high school for a few years. Two, she doesn’t fucking know him! I do! He’s turned out just fine.
She goes on to chastise us until I’ve had enough. Okay, maybe it wasn’t too long for your average person but I’ll take shit longer aimed at me than I will a friend of mine.
“Hey, sister,” I break in. “Can I ask you a question?”
“If you must.” She chews.
“Have you had a proctological exam recently because, although I’m not a doctor, it’s clear to me somethings crawled up your ass and died.”
I leave her standing there as I usher the kids into my office.
Just another day in the neighborhood in which I work.