So here I am, sitting at this coffeeshop writing a story about the hand fetishist I met last night when I looked up and saw my seventh grade science teacher talking to one of the city planning people who gather here to hypothesize about things like energy and commerce and grassroots government. We had the following conversation:
Me: I think you were my seventh grade science teacher.
Him: Yeah, I don’t remember your name but your the girl that got expelled for um… well, you know. (Showing my boobs behind the candy machine for $5. Yes, I know.)
City Planning Guy: You were her teacher? You were his student? This is how community happens!
Me: Yeah, I remember one time you were driving to school and someone hit a moose and you stopped and sawed it’s head off with a hacksaw, and the cops came and almost arrested you until you proved that you were a science teacher. Then you showed up for class like half an hour late with this moose head, and then someone poked it in the eye and this stinky stuff sprayed all over everyone who was standing close.
Him: Yeah, I remember that!
City Planning Guy: That really happened? I can’t believe the police let you take the moose head.
Him: Dude, I carry my teacher ID thingy with me. You can get away with so much in this town if you’re a teacher.
City Planning Guy: Really?
Him: Dude. It’s science.
Sometimes I love this place so much.