Today I volunteered to go pick up my little sister from her school. After the semester ends, she’s transferring fast from the school she originally went to because its parking lots weren’t full of daily drug deals. This place is your classic parochial boarding school (the wolfie is a commuter student) full of prim, proper and well-behaved Christian young ladies.
I pull out my old mix tape of heavy metal that I used to listen to while driving to The Gulag every day, and find an appropriately evil-sounding song. It was Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon,” but you can’t pick and choose, really. I race up the private drive to the school’s main entrance, where I screech to a halt and turn up the volume as high as it will go.
My sister comes barreling out of the doors, stuffs her backpack in the back seat, and hops in the front like she’s just robbed a bank. Meanwhile, I’m watching the faces of the girls who are still waiting inside the building. A lot of gaping mouths. A lot of astonished faces. A lot of girls who are probably wondering what Christianity is coming to when a school that educates them to grow in religious tradition admits a student whose family members are so obviously drinking buddies with Satan. I didn’t expect that reaction. I expected some “what the hell is that weirdo doing?” stares, and one or two crooked snickering smiles at the old-lady car with the Ozzy Osbourne coming out of it.
An immature teenagery prank, yes, but she thought it was hilarious. Maybe if she’s still in school when I get my first paycheck, I’ll go buy a giant stuffed devil doll and hang its head and arm out the window as I drive up. 
