So I'm on the T reading this. Okay fine, it's closed and sitting in my lap, because I'm distracted by my own reflection, if you must know. When we're underground the Red in the window looks pensive. Above ground, whimsical. Pensive. Whimsical!
The guy next to me says, "Is that good?"
My reflection? Hello, it's versatile and awesome. Oh, the book.
"Yeah, it's pretty good. It's for work, so, you know…"
"What's it about?"
Uh, well, Harry and his friends get into a whole bunch of trouble, you see, and... "Well, I'm a—" (sometimes I think better of it and don’t bother giving my fairly weird, million question-inducing job title, short of wearing this incredibly random t-shirt) "—teacher. So it's about working with kids."
Why do people always try to compliment you when you tell them you work with kids? I suppose it's just to have something to say, but it's always stuff like, "Wow, that's really admirable," or, "You must be an extremely giving person." The word "noble" comes up, which is a word that never comes up, unless you're discussing a monarch or something. And the right person, some kindhearted soul who imparts her wisdom to the young, wears a vest covered with holiday-appropriate images, and has never spoken a swear word or a grammatically incorrect sentence, would have the right kind of response, something like, "Well, just seeing their little faces every morning makes it all worthwhile..."
This guy said, "You must really love your job."
And I said, "Well, considering I haven't had to go to it since June, yeah, I really do."
Yes folks, I truly am black on the inside. But you already knew that.