A couple of weeks ago, some dude writes a letter to the Chronicle, panning the Dick Monologues. So I call him (his number is online) and ask if he's seen the show. No. Surprise, surprise.
Now, some guy is posting comments to my most recent Austinist post in which I discuss how I didn't appreciate Henry's high school principal's response to my concerns about a bullet Henry found in school. And how I also was alarmed to learn a gun was found a week later at the school. This guy claims to know me based on having worked at the same company as me ten years ago. I cannot for the life of me remember the guy and seriously doubt we ever had a conversation. But he felt it important to note this "connection" of ours, presumably to lend weight to his argument that I'm a nutcase using a bully pulpit to get Henry's absence excused.
Initially, I took his bait, responding to his first post. I know how stupid this is-- I've been online for about twelve years, used to run message boards for Prodigy, and, as I told the guy in yet another post I made, really one should never wrestle with the pigs, seeing as you both get dirty and the pigs love it. So I'm dirty now, because I wrestled with him not once, not twice, but three times.
Here's a guy with no experience as a parent, let alone the parent of a teenager, questioning my legitimate concerns for my child's well being and, in fact, for the well being of all the students in the school. Anyway, it's been a big bullshit tit for tat exchange and, as noted, I'm one muddy mother.
That said, oh bless the serendipitous universe, after I foolishly posted my last comment, as if this would bring sudden enlightenment to the guy, I headed off to the bank to make a deposit. At my bank, you don't see the tellers in real life, they pop up on little video screens. So I send my deposit up the tube chute thingie (wasn't that a ZZ Top song?) and after a bit my teller shows up on the screen and we have a conversation that goes a little like this:
Her: I have to ask you. Are you the blogger?
Me: I am. Which blog?
Her: The Austinist?
Me: Funny you mention that. I've been catching hell for my last post.
Her: About the school?
Her: I was in high school when school shootings started happening. That is scary.
Her: Sure. I'm just excited it's you! (makes "yeah" gesture with hand clenched while pulling elbow back.)
So yeah. There you go. The bank teller thinks guns are scary, too.