As we walked out to the bus today, I walked alongside two of my third grade boys who were having a conversation. I don’t think either one realized I was listening.
“My bus driver smokes. When she talks on the loud speaker, her voice is as raspy as a train. It’s like the bus shakes.”
“Really?” said the other boy. They chuckle.
“Yeah. And she’s so crabby. She’s always crabby. We call her Debbie Downer.” He laughs. “The funny thing is. . . her name really is Debbie! It’s like she was born to be a Debbie Downer!”
I finally acknowledge that I am listening.
“Maybe what you need to do is say something nice to her. That might make her happy,” I suggest.
“Nah. She can’t hear. She’s like 900 years old.”
Nine year olds. What a clear description of the bus driver.
I think I’ll tuck it away for a story one day.