Almost as useless to modern society as a sacrifice to a sun, the crossing guard still leaves its mark on society. Each day as I walk to work I run into these elite members of society. They may not be the most talented among us nor are they needed what with the “left, right, left” theory. My bias opinion of crossing guards begins with the fact my grandpa cheated on his wife with one, setting forth motion of continuous failed marriages in my bloodline. Know that we have established full disclosure as to why I may not have a high opinion of crossing guards, let me introduce you to the ones I see every morning.
Stubby is an older woman shaped like a tree trunk. She is round, close to the ground, and probably has squirrels defecate on her. I have never called her Stubby at any time other than this because she is pretty much irrelevant and hard to insult since she actually does her job somewhat well. I also see her smoking a lot while she helps children cross the street which feels wrong.
The Hot Grandmother
I am not saying this woman actually is a grandmother. She may not even be a mother. I never have been close enough to her to even tell anything about her as she has marked her territory across the street from my walking route. She looks to be a bit older and in decent enough shape. My theory is that she got pregnant when she was very young and her daughter did the same thing which is why this woman has to work a shit job after retirement. I think I just like her because she has a ponytail coming out from her hat. Hats are very necessary for crossing guards, just so you know. If they ever do get hit by a car and are completely annihilated the family will have something to bury, the hat.
The Cranky Old Guy
My favorite crossing guard is probably the cranky old guy. Sometimes he yells at people for jaywalking and other times he encourages it. He’s hard to read. Maybe he yells because he cares and maybe he encourages it hoping that someone might get hit. Imagine being a crossing guard and never seeing someone get hit by a bus. That’s like a cop never getting to fire his gun. The cranky old guy also has a cranky old guy voice. He says “Come on!” like he has somewhere to be other than headed toward the grave. Since I actually wrote this a few months ago I have developed a good standing with him where we see “Morning” to each other.
The laziest crossing guard of all is the guy who I have never seen step into the street with his stop sign to actually do his job. Instead he kind of waves his stop sign and says “Go ahead” to us pedestrians. I’m not sure why he thinks this is in his job description. All he has to do is step out into the road. Does he not want the powertrip that gives you, to stop traffic dead in its tracks? He’s probably a nice guy and all, but I would at least like to see my tax dollars that I do not pay go to more use.
The Singing Black Guy
There’s a black guy near the school every morning who seems to sing slave songs. I know he has a lot of resentment toward me as my ancestors’ only struggle in history was not having enough potatoes. Don’t get me wrong, a potato famine sound terrible. What did the Irish eat with their hamburgers back then if there were no chips or fries? What did they do with all of that extra butter? The singing black guy is indeed nice and I am now “boss” to him. Maybe he is actually just trying out for a musical version of The Green Mile. He has yet to ask me to take his hand though.
You’re On Your Own Woman
The final crossing guard I see is at the busiest intersection of all. This lady will help pedestrians cross when the walk sign first changes then stop for the rest of the time, when cars are actually more likely to speed through. She basically is letting us mobile-impaired folks know that we are on our own when it comes to getting to our destination without getting Marcellus Wallace’ed. She behaves like I’m some kind of homeless man and she’s me, paying no attention to my existence. Do your job woman. You get to hold an octagonal sign. You’ve won life’s scratch-off lottery.