David Sedaris: The Crossing Guard

After the latest shooting in Minneapolis a number of people have said – and rightly so – that this is what happens – and should! –when you get in the way of men trying to do their jobs. In this case it was ICE agents tasked with rooting out illegals, but that’s just one example.

Before I retired I worked as a crossing guard at a cherished elementary school – the one I’d gone to, as a matter of fact. The pay wasn’t much, but it was work nevertheless. So I was at it one day when this car came to a halt and the driver stuck her head out the window. “Excuse me,” she called. “Why are you making me stop when there are no children around?” She looked at her watch. “School won’t be out for another hour.”

It was a warm spring afternoon. Back then, I’d often bring a boombox to work with me and set it on the kerb, not blasting, but just loud enough to put everyone in a good mood. I remember a song called Just The Way You Are was playing. It was popular back then. By Billy Joel.

I approached the car. The driver had her window down so I grabbed her by the hair and literally yanked her entire body out through the hole. That sounds impressive but she was only little, five feet maybe, and so meagre up top you’d think she was a boy. She had a boy’s hair too – short but not so short that I couldn’t get purchase on it.

When I pinned her on the ground she tried getting up, even though I told her not to – and plainly. “Stay down!” I shouted. “Down!”

At this point another crossing guard pulled up, name of Harrison, who worked at a different elementary over to Shelbyville. It wasn’t in the same school district but we knew each other. We all did.

“Is that Billy Joel I hear?” he asked.

I say yes and he said, “What’s going on?”

I nodded at the girl I was holding down. “This little missy was just telling me I had no right stopping her car.”

“I never said that!” the girl shouted. “Let me up,” she said. “I’m pregnant!” “You sure about that?” Harrison asked her.

That’s when I saw that she had long fingernails. Maybe not daggers, but long enough to do damage. My gun was in my lunch bag over beside my boombox, so I asked Harrison to hold her down while I went to get it – just in case. Now, he was maybe 60 at the time and had a bad knee. So what did she do? Pounded on it with her fist! I heard him cry out in pain just as the girl slipped loose and got to her feet.

What with those nails and her car running right there beside her, there was no telling what might happen next. So I took the gun out of my lunch bag and shot her 17 times in the neck. Actually, I shot her until her head fell off and was lying in the crosswalk next to poor Harrison, who was still hollering about his knee.

This was years ago, under a different administration. So when the police came who did they arrest? Me!

I said, “Ya dadburned nitwits, the cuffs should go on her! Look at those nails! They’re weapons is what they are!”

I was free and clear by nightfall. Alls I had to do was explain that she was interfering with me doing my job. I’m not a lawsuit kind of person but on the advice of a lawyer I did take the city to court for arresting me. And I won, too. Used part of my settlement to buy Harrison a new knee, which I regret only because he died three weeks after the operation – got in the way of a deli man slicing beef tongue for a sandwich. Goddam fool.

Photograph by  Leonardo Cendamo/Getty Images