Tzeporah 2

The 4 to 6 pm shift arrives and we pass over the clipboard. They'll be the last as the drop in centre closes at 6.
At this point, it would be nice to vanish. However, it being a bad area, common sense if not chivalry dictates I offer to accompany my count partner to her car or bus stop.
The silence is glacial as we walk to her car. As it pulls away, I get two simultaneous feelings. One, relief I'm rid of her; two, a chill of foreboding that yes indeed we will meet again.
A woman walking towards me says in tone half sarcastic and half humorous, "so, lemme guess, in the doghouse bigtime."
Taking in the provincial government issue briefcase and the dowdy clothes, what else could she be but a social worker on a home visit?
In the same tone I reply, "it was my understanding you people reserved your condescension for those unfortunate enough to be on your case load. Branching out?"
"In fact, I'm guessing you pi**ed off the princess so much that your social calendar will be free for a while."
"So, tell me, do they actually give you people a course on how to be smart asses when you start? Or just only hire smart asses?"
She laughs, "if you can fit it into your schedule, free Christmas dinner tomorrow evening?"
She doesn't fool me one instant. If she had a real genuine husband or long term boyfriend, one the other social workers knew, she could simply show up alone in case of sudden illness or trip out of town. Fairly obvious she's a closet lesbian and her gay guy friend for cover stood her up.
But then, who cares? Not like I have any talent or interest in a kitchen.
So, I ask, "how to dress?"
"Same as you are or a bit more casual."
We agree on a time and place to meet, as we'll have to arrive together.
The guy sitting across from me smiles wickedly, asks quietly, "I'm ah guessing now, your first fling with a social worker?"
"That obvious huh?"
Waves his arm to take in the crowd, "listen to all that stupidity. Take my advice, run for your life, before it's too late. Find someone sensible or failing that, go off and be a monk; anything is preferable to this crowd."
As we fence around for a topic of mutual interest, we hit on politics. Now on the surface of it, he's a Tory (Conservative) and me, a Rhino (spoof party). As we discuss the long and colorful history of the Rhino Party, I soon begin to suspect he actually votes Rhino; Toryism only being a front he shows his friends.
Now my agreement with the social worker was she'd get us to leave as soon as decently possible; less chance for me to slip and reveal I don't know stuff I should as her "boyfriend". However, he and I are having such a wonderful conversation that she has to pry me away.
Of course we have to leave together, for show. As the car door shuts, she's already berating me, in tone you'd use if you were ten years married, for socializing with the evil slumlord.
Now I could protest that this is a free country, I can socialize with whomever I like. Or say I didn't know that was his line of business (true). Or even point out that since I'm not her boyfriend, she has no right to tell me what to do.
But I don't. Experience and observation has taught me the true futility of arguing with dogmatic zealots.
As she drops me off, I ask myself a question. Given that every woman I run into is a time waster or trouble maker or nut case, does that mean (a) all are so; or (b) that I simply have lousy luck of the draw?
It may sound like a facetious question, but it's not. If (a) is true, that's life, live with it. If (b), well by now I know there is no such thing as perpetual bad luck of the draw. If this happens to you, the Universe is trying to send you a message. And that, I have not yet figured out.