Kinky Days

my bewildered look

I was sitting in the food court today, drinking my red bull and eating too much Sbarro's pizza, when an entire group of  . . . I don't even know what the politically correct word is, sat down behind me.

Mentally retarded?

Retarded handicapped?

Normally mental?

I don't know, and I feel bad about this, because I feel like I should know.

They were quiet and I didn't really notice them until one, a tall black young man, sat down beside me and took the hand I had lain on the table so he could hold it.

I was aghast, stunned, and bewildered.

Do I yank it away like he's diseased?

Do I ignore him as though he's not there and this is completely normal?

Do I engage him verbally and ask what the hell he is doing with my spare hand?

In the end I sat and stared; too afraid of doing the wrong thing to do anything.

Then he said to me "It's okay now, you don't have to be sad anymore."

My knee-jerk response then, at that moment in time, was to take my other hand, wind it back, and smack the black right off this young man's face for daring to discuss my emotional state with me in a public setting.

But his social worker, or foster parent, or whatever the fucking hell this woman was to this young man, came and whisked him away like I was a piece of extraneous floatsem which had mistakenly blown into the path of the young man and could be, should be, whisked away without a second thought because I was, merely, in the way of routine.

This put a serious, fucking, kink in my day.