my gentle mall inquisitor

originally posted July 21, 2006
Once a month or so -- as I walk through the ground level of the Burlington Town Center to the parking garage after work -- I’m confronted by a short, plump woman, with close-cropped black hair, wearing a knapsack. She stands in the same spot, just in front of a trashcan near the jewelry store, and waits to ask me the same question: “Do you know what time it is?” She's always alone and appears developmentally disabled. I answer the same each time, give or take a couple of minutes. I’ve become part of her routine and she mine. Déjà vu without the swooning sensation. But whenever I look back, she stares after me as if I’ve given a disappointing or misleading response. And she's resolved to question me again until I get it right.