You know how zippers are

I was standing leaning on the wrought iron fence waiting for Little g, her after school program was to let out at 1:30PM.

The program administrators say you must get there by 1:30PM or else. The or else is mostly a shame on you finger point but they make a big deal about it. I usually have to wait eleven minutes after the 1:30 bewitching hour because I guess they think their time is worth more than mine. They make a big deal about everything. They also have an attitude that they are doing the students a favor by gracing them with their teaching.

I took a look around at the other people waiting, most were showing signs of being bothered by the cold. Most - which precluded a guy standing much like I was but looking a whole lot more like Snoop Dog. I wondered if I was standing the way I was to look more like a badass.

I really don’t do badass well.

Little g greeted me with a smile and asked “How are you doing?”

“How am I doing? I’m doing good.”

“Just answer one word.”

“Just one word? Then I’m good but I really should say well.” I replied with a smile. She just rolled her eyes.

She makes note of my u-turn made at the nearest intersection. I had parked on the school side of the street which ended up pointing the truck in the opposite direction of Little g’s home. I parked on the same side because a couple years back a student was hit by a car crossing this same street to a beckoning grandfather.

“I want to learn to drive. I want to be the best driver ever” She tells me.

“Is there an award for that?”

“Yes, there is. I want to be a race car driver.”

Well at least you’ll be famous because I’m sure in six years when you can get your license there will still be no black female race car drivers.

After she made her revelation I thought I should get her to F-1 and stick her in a cart.

I walked her up the three flights of stairs to her apartment, she let herself in with a key and tries to take off her coat but the zipper lets loose from the bottom and stops the zipper half way down. I only noticed this when she asked for help.

“Can you fix this?”

“You don’t like it like that?”

“It’s not very fashionable”

The zipper was the type with the metal teeth, I took hold of the tab with most of my might well as much of my might as I could summon to my right thumb and accompanying forefinger and gave a determined yank. I worried that the zipper was going to get stuck and I would have to repeat my procedure after every three eighths of an inch of progress. I worried that on one of the up swings my grip would slip and I would have to explain how I bloodied some little girl’s nose. I worried because you know how zippers are but this zipper had nothing to prove. He had just come undone and took nicely to the redoing.

One quick zip down and it was done.

Sometimes, I worry too much.