Momnesia

I Was Never Like This, Was I, Mom? ....Mom? Hello?

Augusta, GA. - Through the haze of not-listening-trying-to-work, I pick up a few phrases from conversations around me. Words like "protest" and "crowd" and "sidewalk," and some part of my brain makes a note to ask about it in a few minutes. Then the rest of my brain promptly forgets.

"Hey, Stacey? They're pushing your car."

"What?"

"Those teenagers? They're pushing your car."

I glance outside to Broad Street. There's a crowd of middle-class teenagers holding signs and videotaping themselves. Sigh... Come on. My car's beat up enough already. I don't need an episode of C.O.P.S. to make it worse.

I stride towards the door. J.C. (no, not that one) hurries after me with gentle reproach in his voice. "Um, Stacey...?"

"Hey?" I call politely. They turn, as a group, to look. "Do you guys need us to move our cars?"

"Um..." they look uncertainly at one another, and at the girl videotaping.

"Because we'll be happy to help you - there's no reason for you to touch the cars, but we'll be happy to move them, if you'd like," I say, with what I hope is a broad, friendly smile, and not a look that says I'm going to chomp on their faces if they don't cut it out.

"No, we're okay," one girl says. The crowd is noticeably more subdued. One poor little guy in back looks like he'd run away, if not for the loss of cool points.

"Okay, well, just let us know if we can help," I say, with a merry wave, and walk back in the office.

They disperse quickly.