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I look around. What office lady?
Callan nudges my hand. “In there, Dad.” He then points to the door that clearly states Office. At least they keep it simple around here.
“Okay.” I glance down at him. “Thanks.”
He starts to walk away from me, up the hall to where I assume his class might be when he turns and smiles. “Thanks for taking me to school.”
“Anytime, buddy.” Kneeling, I motion for him to come back over and he does. It’s not as awkward as I expect it to be, but I wrap my arms around him. “Have a good day.”
“I will. You too.”
I doubt my day will be good, but I’m not about to tell him that. I know he can sense my apprehension and the sadness on my face. He’s too perceptive.
Callan jets the other way, his head down and never looking up at any of the other students around him. Turning, I open the door to the office only to have three women staring up at me. “Can I help you?” a younger one asks, only to flash me a beaming smile and her cleavage. Not only does she actually fucking pull down on her blouse, she leans in as if to give me a better view.
It’s the craziest fucking shit. Want to pick up chicks? Guys, listen up. They’re not at the bars. They’re at the elementary schools.
Drop your kid off at school. If you don’t have one, offer to take the little shit down the road who keeps egging your car. Make him work for you.
And when you get to the school, act depressed. They’ll run to you.
“Can I help you, sir?” Here we go with the sir again and from a girl barely old enough to babysit my son.
I pull my wallet out of my back pocket. “My son needs lunch.”
Another woman to the left of the jailbait walks over and puts her hand on the counter. “Are you a substitute teacher?”
I give her a look of confusion. “No. Do I look like one?”
The lady who strangely resembles Mrs. Doubtfire shrugs. “Not really, but I’d gladly be your student.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
Is she flirting with me?
Another woman, even older than Mrs. Doubtfire, approaches the counter. “Do you have a child who goes here? I’ve never seen you before, and I know all the parents.”
I’m not surprised this lady knows all the parents. She’s like a hundred years old. She probably has them all in that ancient brain of hers.
“Callan Cooper.”
The ladies awe at one another. “Awe, little Callan is such a sweetie.”
While I’m glad he’s a sweetie as they call it, this only confirms those douche bags at the soccer fields theory last night that my son is, in fact, a mama’s boy.
After putting twenty bucks in Callan’s lunch account, I rush to the office to get the permits and then to the jobsite where Brantley and the inspector are.
“Jesus, you look like shit.” Brantley laughs, staring at me with wide eyes as he’s leaning against the counter eating a bagel.
“Yeah, well…” I take a drink of my coffee and lean up against the counter beside him. “I feel like shit. Noah stabbed me with a GI Joe.”
“Man, that kid is a little baller.” He laughs. Brantley claims Noah’s going to grow up to be his hero. He literally takes shit from no one. Never ever think you’ve one-upped my youngest. He remembers everything. He had to get shots one day when he was something like two, and Madison took him. Afterward he wouldn’t even acknowledge her for two days because she held him down. Big grudge holder that one.
“What took you so long this morning? You’re usually here before me?”
He’s right. I hate to be late. I don’t do late. It ruins my whole day if I’m even a minute late.
“Had to take Callan to school.” And then I remember all the looks I got this morning. “Dude, you know how you’re always going to the bars to hook up with women, I think you need to get a kid. You wouldn’t believe how many chicks hit on me while I was there.”