Squirt Gun

Last night as I was walking home from work, I passed a six- or eight-foot high hedge near a large apartment building. I saw movement from the corner of my eye and glanced into the hedge in time to see two boys, probably about ten years old, hiding with a large squirt gun. "This could be a problem," I thought, looking away -- and was immediately hit with a blast of water just behind my left ear.

At least, I guess it was water.

My mind instantly weighed two options. One, I could keep walking and ignore them. Two, I could teach them a lesson.

I stalked over to the hedge and yelled in their suddenly terrified faces: "Do you want me to call the cops?! You're assaulting people!"

Those boys tore out of that hedge like their pants were on fire. I circled around the bushes and yelled at their backs, retreating across the lawn: "Do you want me to talk to your parents?!"

Of course, the cops would laugh in my face and I had no way of contacting their parents -- but the boys didn't know that. Dave would say I "went all New York on them." I am a nice guy, I swear -- but I am not going to take that from kids, especially not after working all day amid hundreds of them making mischief in a school library. It was a teachable moment, right?

The last I saw they were running down Edgware Road, a good two blocks away from me, and widening the gap as fast as their legs could carry them.

As I turned to resume my walk I saw that one of the boys dropped his hat in the hedge.

So here's my new hat! It's not really my style, though, I must admit. It's already in the bag for the charity shop.

(Top photo, completely unrelated: I often pass this vintage Citroen DS 21 on my walk to work. I always think it looks like a cowfish.)