Picture This…

A sunny day in the park. Four benches, two and two, set perpendicular to each other.

Bench one: a screaming elderly man, eating choco-pies and attempting to drink soju. The soju bottle would slowly waver up to his lips as he shouted obscenities and other loud things, then come closer, closer, closer to his lips, tilt, then liquid would cascade down his cheeks, maybe dribbling into his mouth, maybe streaming through days of stubble down to a tattered shirt. Each time a passerby walked in the vicinity, he addressed the loud utterances to them, mumbling, slurring, eventually returning his attention to the bottle of soju.

Bench two: empty

Bench three: Me. Dressed in my conservative school uniform. Gray respectable length skirt, black pumps, black blazer, hair twisted up. Reading a book while waiting to meet a friend.

Bench four: Two thirty-something moms. Chatting quietly while their toddlers played in the sandbox.

I’m enjoying my book, despite the raucous one bench away. All of the sudden I feel it. The presence of someone’s eyes on me. I’m hesitant to look up, thinking it may be the drunk. I can’t stand it. I have to know. I glance up. The toddlers have stopped about three feet in front of me. They are staring open mouthed. When they see me look up, they run to their mothers, who cuddle them and cluck.

Have I missed something here? How is it that I, sitting quietly and minding my own business, attract more attention than the obnoxious drunk?