Into The Land Of The Little Swingers

After being driven off the schoolyard by a bevy of snotlockers (https://goccf.com/t/68197) my last time out, I decided that I had recovered enough to brave another go at it. The sun was out, the clouds were gone, and the temp was in the eighties. Time to break out the Garrett 550 and start swinging.

I knew I had a good chance of getting my hands on some loose change if I were to find a tyke, turn him upside down, and shook him, but not being one to manhandle a youngster, I headed for the swings again, knowing that an upside-down kid at the apex of his swing was about the same thing: Loose pockets tend to emit loose change.

Sure enough, I dodged between dangling swings long enough to uncover a couple of quarters, two dimes, and a nickel and a cent and was about to uncover another dime when a shadow fell across my dig. I looked around me. I had been surrounded while concentrating on filthy lucre (a dirty dime). There were four of them, swinging slowly in synchronism, and only one of me. Once again, I was outgunned. But I had my Garrett and they had their dimples. I knew it would be no contest.

"What's that for?" A chubby little hand unclenched its forefinger, which pointed at the Garrett.

I sighed. My day of collecting free money was as good as over. "Finding money."

Their tiny eyebrows rose slightly. The one wearing pink pedal pushers crossed her arms. "You're looking for money? How come?"

"Oh, just because."

Just then the Garrett betrayed me by chiming. The dime chime. I was doomed.

"What's that noise?"

"Oh ... it does that when it finds money."

Immediately the four were at my feet, on hands and knees, flinging handfuls of wood chips to the four winds.

I should have escaped while I had the chance, but I, too, was mesmerized by the dime chime.

I pushed the detector head amongst them until the dime chime set them off again, digging, grubbing, flinging, and finally one emerging with the dime shining between her finger and thumb.

"I found it! It's mine."

I agreed. What could I do? I was their captive, their slave, their swinging partner, and the next fifteen minutes were a jumble of dings, flings, grubby fingers, but no dimes. The curly-headed one commenced to lead me around the wood-chip-covered area with one hand clamped firmly on the Garrett, pointing here and there for me to try for more dimes. Still nothing. It's impossible to get any quality swinging in with a bevy of little girls scampering around you ("I didn't mean to bop the kid on the head, judge. Honest I didn't!"), So I decided to try to escape with my life and sidled off to pick up my bucket (the chubby hand was STILL clamped firmly on the Garrett; in fact she managed to get TWO on it and SWING from it! What a swinger SHE was!).

But the worst was yet to come. One of them managed to find a quarter on top of the chips and demanded that I check it out to see if it was real. I did; it was. Two with money. Two without. Out of my pocket came two dimes I'd found earlier; into two chubby little hands they went. They were satisfied; I had managed to buy them off and escape, and off to my car I went.

And then ... the final blow. From behind me floated a plaintive "I love you!"

I knew then that I was forever their slave. I'd be back. After all, I'd scanned only half of the swing set area. That was the ONLY reason I'd have to return, right? Some day. Soon.