Scattershot

We need a new dryer.

What makes you say that?

My socks never get dry. Neither do the towels.

Dryer’s are expensive.

What isn’t? Remember Mack, my old buddy from the shipping department at Melco? Lost his job last week. His wife’s got ovarian cancer and he can’t afford COBRA payments. He’s upside down on his mortgage, too, and to top if off his daughter ran off with a gangbanger. He’s pretty sure she’s knocked up. Poor bastard’s dying inside.

Yeah. How long would you say it takes your socks to dry?

///

Amy’s teacher pushed the report card across the table for me to look at. “As you can see, she’s doing well in Language Arts, reading fluency and comprehension are all at grade level.”

“She likes to read. Looks like her writing skills need a little improvement.”

“Sometimes she works too quickly and makes careless mistakes. We’ve been working on revising and re-writing.”

“I’m surprised the kids are assessed on their cursive writing. Who writes by hand anymore?”

“It’s a dying art, I admit, but it’s part of the state standards.”

“Let’s get to the math.”

“Amy has made some real progress with her multiplication tables and division. She still has trouble with word problems, and fractions are – “

“Torture?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Amy struggles, but we work in small groups a lot and I’m sure Amy will show progress by the next assessment.”

“But suppose she doesn’t? Suppose she never grasps fractions or basic algebra? How’s she going to compete for work against the Chinese, the Indians and the Brazilians? Can you answer that? What’s my little girl going to do, work at K-Mart for minimum wage? Have you ever worked for minimum wage? Ever stuffed greasy French fries into little bags? Ever delivered pizzas in a blizzard?”

“No, but I’m not sure what any of that has to do with – “

“It has everything to do with it. Fear is the only reason the state makes you do all these assessments. Fear that our kids will grow up and be unable to compete with the Chinese and the Indians. Isn’t that why you stuff algebra into the heads of third graders?”

“I don’t think that’s what I do.”

“Why do you think all the parents are so stressed out? The white ones most of all. They’re scared out of their minds. They hire tutors for their kindergarteners. But hey, it’s not your fault. I’m sure you do the best you can, every day, rain or shine. Not your fault the system’s rotten. Can’t lay that on your doorstep. It’s all about accountability, but nobody’s responsible, right?”

///

Did you take $20 out of my purse?

No.

Because it was there this morning and it’s not now.

Maybe you spent it and don’t remember.

I’d remember if I spent it. You sure you didn’t take it? Because it’s OK if you did.

I didn’t.

I won’t be mad or anything.

Nothing to be mad about because I didn’t take your $20. Why would I? Maybe the $20 is swimming around in the bottom of your purse, along with the car key you lost last month and the bracelet I gave you for your birthday.

You have a habit of losing things, you know?

Do not.

It’s like that purse of yours has a hole in it.

Does not.

No telling what you’d find if you ever cleaned it out.

Who else took it then?

Nobody took it; you lost it, pure and simple. $20 down the drain at the bottom of your purse.

At least I never lost an animal like you lost Sam.

I didn’t lose Sam. Dell Willits’ truck backfired and Sam got spooked and ran into the street and got run over by the UPS truck.

You lost him.

How do you figure?

You left the house with him and came home without him.

Because he got run over by a UPS truck not twenty yards from where I was standing. He was never out of my sight.

You just don’t want to admit that you lost him the same way you won’t admit you took my $20.

Why do I even bother talking to you?

Because ever since you lost Sam there ain’t nobody else that’ll listen to you, that’s why.

///

He was a homeless man, sitting on a bench outside Rite Aid, panhandling passersby.

Hey, buddy, can I have your tie?

What?

I really like that tie, brother. Let me have it?

Don’t think so. It’s the only tie I own that goes with this shirt.

I think it would look good on me.

Looks better on me because it goes with my shirt.

You ain’t giving it to me, are you?

Don’t think so.

Charity begins at home, man. Don’t you want to be charitable?

Not with my tie, no.

Maybe you can spare a dollar then?

You working me? Ask for this beautiful tie, settle for a buck? That what you’re doing?

Hey, man, time’s are rough and people ain’t generous.