Triple X (non-fiction)

Just another ho hum dum drum day shift, quiet and stuck serving court subpoenas. Amongst many others, I had a few to deliver in the one project located on the northside of town. (Ever hear the old saying “wrong side of the tracks”? Well, that’s how our town was set up. Southside of the tracks was mostly hood. Northside was mostly well to do people. The difference. Southside the crime was out in the open. Northside it was mainly behind closed doors, invisible till we got a call.)

Anyway, on this particular day I walked up to this one apartment, knocked, and waited. The lady answered, easing the screen door open. I said hi and told her I had a subpoena for court. She was cordial, no problems, but as I’m handing her the subpoena something grabbed my eye and when I looked down at her side I saw a little boy, kind of cute, probably one and a half to two years old. He was still wearing training pants.

I smiled and waved my fingers at him. He looked up, blank stared me in the eye for a few seconds then suddenly formed an X with his forearms and slapped his crotch three times; WACK, WACK, WACK, pumping his hips in time, just like he was the WWF wrestling star Triple H doing his signature Triple X move, which is where I’m positively sure he got it from since Triple H was super popular at the time.

I was a bit flabbergasted, but I hid it until I was walking away wondering what in the hell the next generation would be like. It sure as shit didn’t look promising. Then again, one of my partners was a body builder who did that same shit to us in the squad room.

Roll of the dice, I suppose. Only time would tell.