About six weeks ago, Mr. R hopped out of the car, and ahead of me and his sister, dashed across the grassy area between curb and sidewalk, and into school. Noticing nothing out of the ordinary, I deposited him and Lady A in their respective classrooms, got them settled and kissed them good-bye before setting off for a day of teaching.
Just as I got to work my phone rang. I looked down at the number. It was his school. No good announcements ever follow a phone call from your kid's school. Just to mix it up a little, why can't they ever call to say, "Just wanted to tell you that your child drew a picture today worthy of a budding Picasso! Now go get yourself a glass of champagne to celebrate!"
"Um, Keesha," said Ms. J, one of his teachers. "Mr. R stepped in dog poop. And while he was sitting down for group time, he crossed his legs and got it all over his pants."
Oh, shit, I almost said.
"Also, his box of spare clothes is empty, and we don't keep clothes for his class, so he is wearing a pair of shorts we dug up, and his socks." Ms. J, said matter-of-factly. " We put all his stuff in a bag. He's going to need some more clothes." I was sure what she wanted to say was Lady, how the hell you gon' bring into the school a boy whose shoes were laquered in shit without noticing anything? And make us clean it up?
How the hell was I going to do that?! Talk about being up shit's creek without a paddle. "Um, okay, I just got to work," I stammered. "I'll call my mom, and see if she can bring him some pants and shoes from home."
Luckily, my mom came to the rescue, winning the Grandmother of the Year Award by a landslide. She later confessed that after digging poop out of the grooves of Mr. R's boots, she'd lost her appetite for the day. "Now there's a diet plan," she quipped.
As a mom I felt like a negligent asshole for forgetting to bring back spare clothes after washing them for winter break. I was pissed that "they" hadn't reminded me personally -- e-newsletters didn't count. I felt abundantly stupid for letting Mr. R scamper across the grass without checking first. And I wanted to get all Braveheart on the douchebag who couldn't be bothered to clean up after his dog. I longed to launch hundreds of flaming sacks of shit at his windows.
I don't have a dog, but I know that if I had one, I would be religious about picking up my dog's poop. I mean, how hard can it be? You leave the house with the intention of walking your dog, right? No one suddenly finds herself outside with some dog on a leash, thinking, "Gosh, now what happens? Maybe this pup and I are supposed to set up a bikini car wash?"
The "forgot my baggies, paper towels, pooper scooper, special glove, or whatever" is complete dogshit. If you forget, figure something else out, for the love of God. And why do people think that rain gives them a free pass? Hello?!
Which brings me to the heart of this post. The two kinds of people in the world applies to more than just those who pick up after their dogs and those who leave the world a poop minefield for the rest of us. There are people who take everything very seriously, and those who are more, let's say, relaxed.
In other words, there are people who care and those who don't give a shit.
Here are 12 of my favorite ways to finish the complex sentence that begins with:
There are two types of people in the world:
1. those who always, always park conscientiously, paying attention to other cars and/or distance from the curb, and those who park like they just had a Nyquil-tini.
2. those (men) who want you to believe they've got a 20 pound turkey between their legs, and those who make room for others on public transportation.
3. those who text in theaters or have full-voice conversations at art galleries, and those who understand that they could draw more attention to themselves only by lighting a torch and singing an operatic version of "Dick in a Box."
4. those parents (true story) who actually turn off the Academy Awards when their about-to-meltdown kid asks to watch Caillou, and those who would mutter, "F--k that!" under their breath, and "redirect" Little Soandso to another activity. (Guess what I wish I'd picked).
5. those parents who remain reasonably on watch at the playground, and those who never seem to notice that their children are in total mean girl/thug mode with other kids.
6. those who call/text regularly when they are running late, and apologize profusely, and those who were surely at one time proclaimed the second coming, because the world waits for them.
7. those who sit on curbs or subway steps or platforms, and those who would rather just spray themselves with a bubonic plague sample and call it a day.
8. those who, even with a long line behind them, take so long in the stall you wonder if they're redesigning the Sistene Chapel, and those who are in and out in a matter of seconds. AND... those who leave the seat neat and clean and those who get all fire hose when they pee.
9. those who weigh every word very carefully, thinking about every interpretation possible, trying never to offend, and those who always seem to have a foul case of verbal diarrhea.
10. those who know exactly how much money is in their bank account, and those who are just-fine-thank-you with a ballpark figure.
11. those who get into fights with friend's friends on Facebook, and those who can take a deep breath, pray for our country, and go on with their lives. (Sometimes not giving a shizz is good!)