“Here,” I insist, thrusting the page into his chest, “read this and tell me what you think.”
“I, uh, well, okay. Let me set this down.”
I ‘tsk’ and roll my eyes as he takes too long to set the cardboard box he’d been carrying down on the floor.
“Okay,” he takes the page from my hand. “Let’s see what we have here.”
I tap my foot impatiently waiting for him to read. After what seems like an interminably long pause, he shifts his gaze and hands the page back to me.
“Well?” My patience is wearing thin.
“What did you think?”
“Um, I liked it; is it some kind of story?”
“Some kind of story?! You liked it?!” I snatch the manuscript from his hand.
“Uh, yeah, was there something else you wanted me to say?”
“Yes! I want to know what you felt when you read it! Did it make you want to read more? How does it flow? Did you note any glaring grammatical errors?”
“Ma’am, I think it sounded pretty good. I don’t know what else to tell you, but I’ve got to go finish my route.”
“Oh, fine! Go!” He turns to leave and I watch, seething as the brown van disappears around the corner.