“Oh, my god,” the man muttered to his companion as they passed us on the sidewalk. “Why do they let people like that out on the street? It’s disgusting.”
They were referring to the students that my paraeducators and I were leading from the school on our daily walk to the local coffee shop. One had Down’s Syndrome. Two had profound autism, and one had a neuromotor disorder that was so complex it didn’t have an official name. They walked slowly, drooled, and had a variety of nervous tics and spasms, but they were wonderful kids. Not one of them was deaf.
Bryce made a low growling sound and stomped his feet for the next block. That meant he had heard and understood the two assholes.
“Yeah, man,” I said. “I agree with you.”
Bryce and I went into the cafe with BeBe and her para, Grace, to place the orders. Giovanni and his para, Kalil, sat outside with Evan and his para, Trevor, because their flailing arms had knocked cups out of customers hands before. The cafe had been happy to replace their orders and mop up the mess. When we had tried to pay for the expense, they had refused, saying they were happy to take care of some of their best customers. That’s why we kept coming back. They knew all of the kids’ names.
On the way back to school with our orders, a woman came up behind us on the sidewalk on her bicycle. “Get out of the way!” she yelled and tried to squeeze between us and the kerb on the right. Giovanni’s arm shot out and knocked her into a car that was parked there. Her handlebar dented and scratched the car door as she fell, spilling her groceries all over the sidewalk. By happenstance, the two assholes from earlier were in the car, getting ready to leave.
“I’m calling the cops on you retards!” yelled the loudmouth asshole.
“Yeah, somebody’s got to pay for all this!” said the woman, clutching her scraped knee amid broken bottles and smashed eggs. Soon, Officer Florentino arrived.
“These kind of people are a menace!” the number one asshole explained. “This is pure negligence. Somebody’s got to pay for all this damage.” Officer Florentino agreed.
“Ma’am, I’m going to write you a ticket for riding your bicycle on the sidewalk.”
He pointed at a sign three feet away that said “Bike Riding Prohibited on Sidewalk” and then pointed at the bike lane right next to where the scratched car was parked.
“What about me?” said the asshole. “My car is where it’s supposed to be, unlike those weirdos.”
Officer Florentino handed the man the woman’s contact information so that his insurance could get hold of her for the damages. Then he wrote the asshole a ticket for his expired license tags and a cracked tail light.
Before we headed back to the school to enjoy our snacks, Officer Florentino told his nephew, Giovanni, that he loved him.
Literature in Small Doses 