I'm so glad I came to Sunday school

They were teaching Sunday school to all us fourth and fifth graders, and the lesson was all about Rehoboam and Jeroboam and the whole Boam family. We kids were seated in folding chairs, facing the teacher, and the other teacher partners sat with us listening to the lesson. My mind had turned to mush near the start of the lecture, so I was startled awake by the sound of a cow mooing from the back of the room. The teacher, a woman of about 30, stopped and looked past us, and we all turned around to see Mr. Dell gripping his knees and bellowing like an animal.

Mr. Dell's wife was seated next to him and she gently put her arms around his shoulders. He turned and rolled out of his chair and started thrashing around on his back on the linoleum. He stopped moaning and just wriggled around; the adults started clearing chairs out of Mr. Dell's way. Paramedics came and took him away on a stretcher while we stared, and before leaving, Mrs. Dell explained that her husband suffered from epilepsy and apparently had forgotten to take his medication.

The teacher said a prayer for Mr. Dell and seemed shaken by the display, as we all were. Unfortunately, she resumed the lesson, same as before, except that now her eyes were bugged out. I admit that I didn't retain the meaning of the lesson, but then you only remember about two percent of what you learn anyway.

Secret identity

On weekends I volunteer to help a little with the cleaning at a pet shelter. (Link) I get along with everyone there, but there is one room of employees who work in the clinic, and they think I'm mentally retarded. I'm not sure how to respond to them.

Why do they think that? Well, to begin with, I guess I don't look very smart when I'm there; I'm unshaven on the weekends, and because I'm cleaning filthy litter boxes with a bleach solution, I always wear raggedy clothes. Add to that the fact that whenever the people in the clinic see me, I'm doing something menial like emptying wastebaskets while trying to stay out of everyone's way.

At first it struck me as faintly odd how the clinic staff would talk to me, and that they asked me (and only me) to stay out of their room. Something in their tone of voice... a quality I could almost remember... they talk to me like I'm a child!

I have intelligent conversations with the rest of the staff there, so eventually the clinic will pick up on that. Still, my first urge is to go back to the clinic (careful not to set foot inside) and casually produce my business card, but there is no sensible reason to do that. They would probably think I found it on the sidewalk and was trying to act smart.

Is there an online support group for people who have a reputation for being mentally handicapped, but really aren't?
Arnie: I'm smart, I really am!
Melissa: Me too!
Arnie: You sound smart!
Melissa: I am! Honest!
Arnie: Say something smart!
Melissa: Uh, nothing comes to mind right now; I draw a blank, but I know stuff! Lots of stuff!
Arnie: I believe you!

Overheard on the el

One high-school boy to another: "You know that election next week? Is it a presidential election? Cause if it is, do we get a day off? Cause I could use a day off man."