So, there I am, eating lunch the other day and this acne-faced teenager sits at the table next to me. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, his face in his phone the second his butt hit the cushion. He pushed his glasses up as his mom talked to him about what he wanted to eat, and the second she leaves, his greasy hair flips back over his face and he’s gone into his phone again.
I go back to reading my book and eating my tacos, looking up periodically to see if the kid ever comes up for air. It must have been a good minute or so, but about the fifth time I look up, there he is, his phone propped up and on the screen, zoomed in, is the girl sitting twenty feet away. The gall! Here this kid is taking photos of some girl he probably doesn’t even know.
I watched as he snapped a few more photos of her and then close down the phone as his mother came back. She was all smiles, none-the-wiser to her son’s proclivities. I tell you, I felt the need to tap her on the shoulder and give her the what-for.
I mean, who does he think he is, spying on other people like that?
Something I wrote for my fiction writing class.