Lovely Day for a Chat

She had seen him around a lot lately. Middle-aged man, always seemed to be wearing the same Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, and the same beat-up brown fedora. She was fairly certain that he must have just moved into the neighborhood in recent months. The block had several two- and three-flats that changed tenants every so often.

The guy was now happily walking toward her with a bounce in his step, almost dancing, whistling while doing so. There was something about him that made her uneasy.

He seemed a little too...cheerful. 

She continued on her journey, focusing only on pushing the stroller. She could see her little boy's right leg dangling out of it, and his little head bouncing slightly as she peered through the mesh of the canopy.

It was a perfect day. The sun was out. The temperature was in the low-to-mid-70-degree range. She had rarely felt this relaxed and contented. That is, until she saw Mr. Fedora Khaki Shorts bouncing her way.

They eventually came face-to-face. Instead of walking past her, he had opted to stop directly in front of her, blocking her way.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"Good afternoon," she curtly replied.

"Perfectly lovely day, isn't it?"

"Yes it is." She paused for a moment, hoping that he'd just go on his way. But he just stood there in front of her, smiling at her. "May I help you with something?"

The man knelt before the stroller.

"Well hello!" the man exclaimed. "How old are you, young man?"

"I'm almost seven," answered the boy.

"Seven? You're a little old for mommy to be pushing you around in a stroller, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" asked the boy's mother.

"Mommy won't let me walk when we--"

"Be quiet, Alex!" she snapped at the boy. "Do you mind? We have a play date to go to." She quickly pulled out her phone and checked it. "And we're already three minutes late, so--"

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to tell Alex something."

"Do you mind? Please get--"

"Always remember this, Alex: 'Memento mori'."

The boy giggled. "What does THAT mean? Sounds silly!"

"It's Latin. Do you know what Latin is?"

"No," replied the boy. 

"Latin is a language that nobody uses anymore. It's what you call a dead language. 'Memento mori' is Latin for"--he paused for just a moment--"'remember that you must die'."

"What the hell---?!" shouted the boy's mother. She angrily jolted the stroller to the side of Fedora and moved past him, jostling the boy around like a sailor trapped on a ship in a storm. She then stopped and looked back at Fedora as he got off his haunches. She coolly locked her eyes with his.

"I could call the cops, you know. Saying such things to a child!"

He simply smiled back at her and began whistling again. He happily went on his way with that cheerful, dance-like walk of his.

Such people, she thought. So goddam irritating.

The Polite Society

Max Carver broke into as fast of a run as he possibly could when he spotted the northbound bus behind him. It was barely half a block south and Max's stop was at least a block and a half or so north. If he didn't get to it before the bus did, there would be no telling how much longer it would be until the next bus came along. He was already late enough for the office as it was.

He felt every day of his forty-odd years of walking the Earth as he sprinted toward the bus stop, constantly looking back over his shoulder. The bus was hurtling down the street at increasing velocity. Meanwhile, the faster Max ran to his bus stop, the farther away it seemed to be.

"How is that possible?" thought Max.

The bus was gaining, gaining, gaining...

He finally reached the stop and nearly ran right smack into an elderly lady with a little pushcart full of groceries. She reflexively shrunk away at the oncoming onslaught of Max Carver hurtling toward her, with a frightened yelp escaping her mouth. The bus arrived at just that moment.

"Watch it, jackass!" snapped the old lady.

"I'm...I'm...I'm so...I'm so...so-...sorr...so sorr...," wheezed Max. "So sorry!" Max was relieved that he stopped just in time, just before he would've completely plowed into her. He meditated for a brief moment on what an incomprehensibly ugly scene that would have been.

The bus driver gave Max a strange look as he stumbled onto the bus behind the old lady, panting heavily, and paid his fare.

He plopped into an empty seat and continued his labored breathing. After taking a good ten minutes or so to catch his breath, he pulled out a book from his messenger bag.

HOW TO MAKE NEW FRIENDS AND BEND OTHERS TO YOUR WILL

by 

DON HARVARDLY

Max had been spending the better part of the past month working his way through the book, taking notes on all the advice it offered, in order to, as the title suggested, make new friends and bend others to his will. His uncle had suggested he read it after hearing Max complain about his lot in life, which he found disappointing and unsatisfactory most of the time. 

"Best decision I ever made, reading that book," his uncle informed him. Though his uncle was never what anyone would consider to be a successful man, Max took his suggestion and laid his hands on a copy at the local library. (His uncle was unable to locate his own copy after a thoroughly rigorous search of his home and garage that took the better part of two or three days, or so his uncle said.) Reading was slow going, as Max had a very hard time deciphering what exactly the author was advising. It seemed to be written in a strange jargon wholly invented by the author himself. Max had begun to wonder if the whole thing wasn't some kind of joke. 

Max suddenly thought he heard the man sitting in the seat across from him say something to him. He looked up from his book and locked eyes with the stranger for a moment, but his fellow passenger was silent. Having decided that he was hearing things, Max went back to his book.

"A man don't need to be ignorin' another man who is just tryin' to have a polite conversation."

It was the man sitting across from him. This time Max heard him quite clearly.

"Beg your pardon?" asked Max.

"I said--a man don't need to be ignorin' another man who is just tryin' to have a polite conversation."

"I'm sorry, did you say something to me before? I must have been--"

"All I did was ask you about that book you was readin', if it was a good book or not. But you seemed fixed on ignorin' me."

"I apologize, I--"

"Damn right, you apologize."

Max and the other man continued to look at one another for a good thirty seconds. Then he heard the automatic attendant announce his next stop. "Thank God," he thought to himself as he put his book back into his bag and rose to get off the bus.

"Have a nice day," said his fellow passenger.

"Hey, you know what? You have a nice day, too! Okay? Have a really, really nice day!"

"Thank you. I will."

It was at the very moment the bus door opened, just as Max was about to step off, that he heard the man say, "Prick."

Incredulous, Max turned back to face him. Max looked him right in the eyes.

"Go be a prick on your own time," the man advised Max.

"Prick." Max heard the charge one last time as he stepped off the bus.

It echoed in his mind throughout the rest of his day.