Wigs are wierd. Ms. Bankler, the lady doing my teaching observation for the state, may or may not wear a wig. It's red and shifty and luscious. I would give her head the benefit of the doubt, but she has such old eyes, I can't totally trust what's above them as being God-given. I think she caught me root-scrutinizing, so I have been focusing now on how impeccably starched her skirt suits are. I think she is what you would call old fashioned. I think I'm what she would call new-fangled. I think most things in Laplace, including Miss Brenda Bankler and her rouge-hued curley cues, are what you'd call out of date. EXCEPT...the brand spankin new navy blue governmental helicopter that flew into the stadium during an all day assembly Wednesday on not drinking and driving. Why did four high schools miss school for a whole day? To laugh at kids soaked in blood sticking out of wrecked car windows and witness two helicopters descend onto the football field as a deterrent to drunk driving. Instead of being effective, what we had was a lot of state troopers in their silly pointed hats bringing out the bells and whistles on all their equipment.
When the M.C. announced that anyone could come down and talk with the troopers, you better believe I took him up on that offer.
"How much does this thing cost?" I asked the helicopter driver (not sure what his title was).
"5.5 million dollars." No eye contact.
"How often do these things crash?"
"Don't ever ask a helicopter pilot that again."
In addition to not staring at the tops of people's heads to see if their hair is artificial and not asking pilots how often they crash, I also had a conversation the other day involving where one looks when someone else has a lazy eye. It's right in between both eyeballs, at the third eyeball, if you will. Just in case you run into these daily dilemmas like I do.
But in emulation of my dearest Sarah Pizzo, I embrace awkwardness. It's the spice of my Cajun life.