The annual high school prom is done. PawPaw worked it as always and the ladies were sparkling and the gentlemen were handsome. This is my ninth prom, and I can say that I've never had a real problem at a prom. It's something that the students do for a little while, and the last thing they want is to cause any problems. PawPaw doesn't tolerate problems at dances, and ending your evening with a call to make bail from the local jail puts a buzz-kill on the evening. As per usual, ninety percent of the students left after about an hour or so, to go to after-prom parties where the sort of activities they want to participate in are allowed. There is a reason why the old expression "off like a prom dress" resonates a certain truth. I'm sure that the parents don't want to hear it, but hey!
As is also usual, we had the bitter clingers, those who stay until the last dance, who are still there when we turn the lights on, and who we force to help us clean up the hall. If they got their feeling hurt when I impressed their labor, then told them to un-ass the building, that's just another of life's lessons. In a few more weeks they'll graduate and I'll really cease to care if their feelings are hurt. The majority are going to be fine upstanding people, salt of the earth types. There are several who are going to die horrible deaths at an early age, and there are several who will make good trustees for a warden. The Bell curve is a horrible thing, but it applies to people of all ages. Life is tough.
As is also the tradition, I then repaired to the local IHOP and drank coffee with the deputy who provides security for the night shift. We told lies, swapped rumors and generally watched the crowd eating pancakes. PawPaw is home now and will soon climb into the sheets.