Nic Narrates

So there I am, driving along in my boyfriend’s car (which he is so kind as to lend me whenever I choose to drive rather than take the train to work), smiling at all of the Little Faces out for their morning walks, singing along to Lady Gaga (Teeth), you know, generally minding my own beeswax; when I come to a stop at a traffic light. There, in front of me, is your standard issue school bus.

Now, I recognize that the kids in the back of the bus are stereotypically your run-of-the-mill “behavior problems.” They’re your Ritalin kids. Your detention after school kids. Your “Phoenix Stereobox, stop jamming your pencil into Phantacy’s forearm. That’s not acceptable behavior!” kind of kids. That’s right, they’re as special and unique as their names let on.

But the part of my brain that has been oft educated about these sorts of things by my school teacher mother failed me this morning. Selective memory perhaps. An overlooked pocket of lingering hope and optimism maybe. Either way, when I saw that little child’s hand begin to wipe the condensation off the back window of the bus, I thought, “Oh, how cute. He’s going to wave at me.”

Just as I was about to raise my own hand from the steering wheel and wave back with a friendly smile, the eight year old’s face appeared. He wasn’t waving. He wasn’t smiling. He was sticking his tongue out at me.

“Well, look at you, you little brat! Your North Shore mommy and daddy must be so proud,” I thought to myself as I relinquished my hold on the steering wheel. I began to laugh at his own stupidity and poorly chosen attempts to insult. “Kid, look who you’re dealing with,” I would have told him. “Try a little harder when you’re looking to offend someone like me.”

But then, something happened. Something untoward and unholy and unbelievably perverted except that it actually happened. The pre-tween, with his tongue still sticking out, began to wave it back and forth. Which was when his hand reappeared. He raised it to his mouth and…YUP. Tongue still wagging. Fingers split to either side.

Insert record screeching sound here. My previously bemused laughter was swiftly replaced with internal screams of horror. “NO. NO. NO! WHAT THE HELL, OH MY GOD, YOU DID NOT JUST DO THAT. NO. HOLY FUCKING SHIT. MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP!”

Looks like someone is well on his way to his first STD. Good luck with that, Phoenix Stereobox!

Filed under: childhood, people should be nicer to each other, poor choices, romper room, so what if i scream?, toolbaggery, WTF by Nic