Favorite Moment Ever at Staples

I walked in there today during a rare break from work, clad in a black shirt and pants, intending to stay only as long as I needed to. Perusing shiny gadgets was going to have to wait for another day.

After assessing GHz, style, and price differential on phones, I had questions, because I didn't give myself enough time on the various technology review sites for research -- an important step when making such decisions.

So I went off searching for a person in a red polo who looked like they wanted to impart knowledge. On my way up to the counter, I passed a woman pushing a kid in a stroller and a man who trailed her by about two feet. Let's assume they were married, but for the purposes of this tale, it is not important.  Approaching the family, I took note of the kid in the stroller. He was too big for it. Way too big for it. He was sleeping, legs hanging out the front, arms hanging to the side. Let's make the kids walk, shall we?

With my task still at hand, I prepared to walk by them. But it wasn't without an exchange.

"Excuse me, do you have--"

"I don't work here."

"You look like you do."

"Ok."

That was it.  I could have given her a lesson in color. Red polo. Black shirt. Stupid woman who can't make her kid walk.

Speaking of children. Now I like them. I really do. I've known some pretty great kids. But I have a kid anecdote that I will relish for a long time, because my part in it allowed me to let off some steam that had been brewing. It happened last week.

My front door is right on the sidewalk in the heart of Park Slope. I can hear everything that people say as they walk by. It will make a good book one day once I gather some comments and create a story out of them. Living where we do also made moving in a cinch. But we have to get our mail somehow, and to allow this, there is a mail slot that anyone can open right up and drop things in.

Jill has told me a few times of her experiences with unattended children who have opened the slot and peered in. One day she went out and had some words with one of the parents who was standing on the corner talking to a friend totally ignoring her cute little monster. The mother didn't seem to take it very seriously. Jill told me of a few other times this has happened, but I still hadn't experienced it.

Last week one morning, I was rushing to gather the necessary things to walk out the door because I had gotten up on the later side, like I always do by snoozing NPR for an hour. I heard an abnormal ruckus outside, so I investigated. I raced out of my room and that's when I saw these little beady shithead eyes looking right back at me through my mail slot. I ran to the door, but ended up fumbling with the lock. Lock, unlock, lock. Shit. Finally, I opened the door and looked to my right. That's when I saw a mini-monster playing monkey on the bars in front of the apartment building next door. I also saw his mother's face, turned back around with a sort of embarrassed crack of a smile on her face. She was pushing a stroller. Something to tell Jill.

The next morning, I actually got up early to kick start my metabolism with some Kashi puffs, and I turned on the Today show. Then I heard some crack crack crackling behind me, so I turned to look and there was a little thing's face, grubby hands on my mail slot. I put my puffs down in haste and ran over to the door. But on the way, I remembered my go-around with the lock the morning before. I didn't want to repeat that. I needed closure on this situation, so I slowed down as I got to the door, his face still stuck in the slot, and bent down. One split second later, I moved to my left, met the shit face to face and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!

He ran. I laughed. It felt fantastic. Haven't seen him since.