Who are the people in your neighborhood?

Picture with me, if you will:

A man lounging comfortably in an old lawn chair at the corner of a not-incredibly-busy intersection about a block away from a nearby elementary school. He sports a peppered mustache and a cheap, stiff ball cap that makes you wonder if he’s a frequent visitor to the local bowling alley and that maybe he won the hat in a tournament. He wears glasses, but still squints to see, and several lumberjack-style layers of warm clothing. He keeps a presumably hot, portable mug of coffee on the sidewalk by his feet, nestled comfortably beside the big red stop sign that makes his purpose there apparent. Also, he waves and smiles to every car passing by as if perhaps in a former life he instructed small-town parade participants in how to please their adoring public.

Scenario Number Two:

A “crosswalk” intersection (with a traffic light controlling east-west drivers while letting north-south pedestrians cross the street), this time in front of the middle school. Two ladies, who look older than they probably really are, stand chatting with each other on the south side of the street. They are always bundled up, whether the temperature outside is -13 or 63: one wears her coat completely buttoned and zippered and hooded and sports a scarf and gloves to boot while the other, in an obviously aged, dirty windbreaker, sans scarf, hat, and gloves, just curls her hands up inside her sleeves and rotates regularly between her apparently large wardrobe of sweatpants. Both women are of the heavy variety and both look like my stereotypical version of a WalMart frequenter. Unlike The Waver, these two biddies actually have regular pedestrians that they serve, and it’s always a Grand Moment when they get to push their special button to make the traffic light turn red. They proudly waddle, albeit extreeeeeemely slowly, out into the middle of the crosswalk, stop signs at the ready, as their clientele, if you will, saunter across the street listening to their iPods while trying to keep their lowriding pants on. Student safely across, they waddle – again, very, very slowly – back to the sidewalk where they happily push the special button again, this time turning the light green, and brush their hands together, smiling – another job well done.

So these are the people in my neighborhood...the people that I meet when I'm driving down the street. We haven’t actually seen The Waver since last school year, but my two favorite ladies are out every morning. Even though I have to chuckle in spite of myself every time I see my Favorite Crossing Guards, it is kind of nice to know that Midwesterners – and Hoosiers in particular – are always genuine, pleasant people. Until, as my boss, Elaine, puts it, they start sharing their life story with you and before you know it, you’ve been enlightened on such details as unavoidable alcoholism and Klan membership. But hey – nobody’s perfect, right?