Kids These Days

I'm sitting here at the library, doing stuff, and I slowly become aware that I'm being watched. I turn toward the stacks behind me and notice, huddled with the memoirs, two pre-teen girls. They stand up and instead of running away, giggling, as I expect them to (having been found out), they walk over to the table where I'm sitting with my laptop and things as one of them says, cryptically, "There are stalkers among us."

They sit down at my table. Okay, I'm thinking. They're bolder than I assumed.

They say hello and ask if I'm working.

"Yes," I say, lying. Maybe they sense the lie.

"I like your glasses," says the cryptic one.

"I like your laptop," say the other one.

I thank them, twice, then ask what they're doing today.

"We want to do something," says the cryptic one (and I'm thinking you want to give me something or beat me up or run away giggling?) "I could type that for you."

I fake a laugh and say "No, that's okay."

"You got some movies," the other one says, referring to the movies I'm returning to the library, which are in my purse. She emphasizes "movies" as though she means to imply that my life will be in danger if I don't hand them over.

They keep sitting there, and one of them finally says "Don't mind us."

"Well, it's hard not to," I say mildly.

"We'll be going then," says the cryptic one. "Good-bye for now, best friend."

She says this in a way that indicates that "best friend" is some sort of code-word for "person against whom we intend to do mischief" or at least "person we intend to confuse with our erratic behavior."

Well, mission accomplished, girls. Mission accomplished.