Yesterday’s Friendly Older Fellow and I chatted for some time. Time he was supposed to be working, by the way. I’m distracting like that. He went on for a long long time about the horrors of spending his working years at a battered women’s shelter. I decided not to write down the specifics- y’know, privacy and whatnot. Suffice it to say it was pretty dark.
Friendly Older Fellow: …and it’s great, really. I did my time in the trenches and now I get to perform a service I feel good about, only now I can sleep at night.
Me: Well this city- the world, really- is a better place for it. My wallet thanks you, too.
Friendly Older Fellow: Well thank you. Next, I need you to do me a favor.
Me: Sure
Friendly Older Fellow: Tonight when you get home, I want you to call your mother. Or your father. Whoever raised you, I don’t know your story
Me: Dad’s not great at answering his phone, so
Friendly Older Fellow: And you get her on the phone
Me: …okay…
Friendly Older Fellow: And you tell her she did a great job.
Me: uh… sure, I guess?
Friendly Older Fellow: No no no. No guesses. You promise me.
Me: Yeah, okay
Friendly Older Fellow: Good. You’re not doing this for yourself, and you’re not doing it for me. It’s for your parents, understand?
Me: …yes.
Friendly Older Fellow: Good. Now for the fun part. Your tax refund this year is $1. They’ll mail you a check.
Me: 