Good With Children

If I ever needed any confirmation of my antisocial nature, it was demonstrated this afternoon. On the daily walk to the graduate library, a little kid with a skateboard and a dog on a leash approached me. The kid couldn't have been older than 11 or 12. His dog was pretty big. It had some semblance of a golden retriever but it wasn't a purebred (as if I know anything about dogs). As the dog reared up and placed its front paws on my abdomen I could see that its eyes were two different colors, like that teacher I used to work with at International Studies Academy in San Francisco. Okay then, Captain ADD!

Kid asks where the University Bookstore is, and here's where I collapse (figuratively):

First, I point in the wrong direction, toward campus. Instantly, I remember that the bookstore is really two blocks off of campus, so I point in the opposite direction, but now I've already lost the kid's faith. Pointing isn't enough so I ask the kid if he has been there before and if he knows what it looks like, drawing a semi-wary, semi-indignant "yes" from him. Meanwhile, Fido is treating my hand like it's a Tootsie Pop. In an effort to end the conversation quickly I tell the kid to walk three or four blocks north and he would see the building. But when I resumed my own journey I chastised myself as simple and precise directions suddenly materialized in my mind: "It's on University before 45th." Maybe it's because the project is due. I just need to chill out.