I sat at the kitchen table with such an exasperated look that the Big Scoop herself knew something was amiss. "Did they write back?" she asked. "No, and I wrote twice. Are you sure this is the right number?" She looked and checked her scribbling from school. "Yeah, that's what she wrote." Before I could say anything else she asked (not as a statement) "I wish I could just call HER."
In my chair, I was struck by lightning. In our youth (you and me, dear reader), there was 1 phone number to call for an entire family. There was no missing anything because that was it - you'd get a hold of the kid or, worst case, the parents who would let you know what (if anything) they knew about their location. Now? Well, post-Covid I have a ~10% success rate connecting with a normal person to coordinate. The other 90% are just a waste of texts - into the either, never to connect.
Being the Big Scoop's main daily guardian means I am at school in the morning and afternoon and come into contact with some of the most woefully ignorant dipdingles ever created. Swollen moms drive minivans like they stole them around neighborhood streets, often times right into curbs. A father who dressed his son like Rick Nielsen (which would actually be a positive) blithely walked with him right into oncoming traffic - an image burned into my brain. During the various strikes occurring at the start of the school year, this 90% would cluster at the school entrance, squawking and blocking anyone from passing. The dialogue seemed to only be laughter and "I know!" before dropping a cup of coffee on the sidewalk.
It is these very adults that I'm having to engage in some form of communication. No wonder we're striking out! Days, weeks later we meet up: the scoop and the other kids run off. I avoid all banal talk with the adult and say "I texted you twice 2 weeks ago, saying who I am" and so on and I get "Oh!" or a confused look at their phone with "let me check." I use all my reserves to prevent just calling this grown adult such a dumb dummy.
Soon I will have 2 weeks of dealing with such moments. Instead, it tends to be the 2 of us enjoying a swanky diner, wandering in stores, and maaaybe shooting hoops. It wears on me and yet when I review that 90% who are utterly baffled by the self check out line, the rest of us continue to look for human value.
