Good Job

It was 11 p.m. and we were hungry. Not unusual to pop out for pizza, right? A little more unusual when you are dressed as the newly dead butler of a haunted house and a green faced witch.
"You guys going to a party?" said the girl as we ordered.
"No, we always dress like this." I smirked through my brown waxed teeth.
I thought we may be a little less conspicious if we got a take away, but it took ages to arrive.
Eventually a party of children walked past on their way out.
"Hey, we've just seen you at the settlement. You were awesome," one little boy said. "Good job."
Suddenly four hours of cackling and door opening seemed worth it. I've often criticised Americans for their over positivity with kids, saying "good job" when they haven't necessarily done anything special.
But late at night when you're tired, feeling like a freak (and looking like one) in a pizza joint, it couldn't have come as a nicer compliment.