The Hat (with apologies to Larryosan)
I first noticed him when I was walking down Hollywood Blvd. He was about half a block behind me. I didn’t think much about it at the time. An hour later I saw him again. He pretended to read a newspaper at the bus stop when I turned around to look.
But I was sure that it was him. It wasn’t that he stood out in any way. He was of average height, weight and gait. He wasn’t dressed flashy or shabbily. What made him stand out was the hat. The hat perched on his head like a lighthouse beacon.
I went back to confront him. “Why are you following me?” I demanded. “What in the world are you talking about?” he replied. “You have been following me for blocks,” I said. “I’ve never seen you before,” he cried as he turned and started to run. I grabbed his arm but he twisted out of my grip. My arm shot up and knocked his hat off as he ran away. It landed at my feet.
Looks pretty good, I thought as I pondered my reflection in a store window.
I took to wearing the hat everyday. I thought that it made me look very sophisticated. I even went out and bought a pipe, though I never put tobacco in it.
At first my co-workers made fun of me. They thought that I was getting uppity and trying to look like a boss. I ignored them. Soon, though, one by one they all bought hats and started to wear them to work.
After work and on the weekends I started hanging out at a neighborhood coffee house. I never spoke. I would go in and point to this coffee pot and that pastry tray. I would overhear the waiters and waitresses gossip about me. I would chew on my pipe, but not light it. I became a notorious neighborhood character. Beatniks would read their poetry and look over at me for approval. A nod of my head would cause them to smile brightly. A shake from side to side would crush them.
My boss came in one day and ordered me to remove my hat. I refused. He told me that if I didn’t, he would fire me. I told him to stuff it. None of us would get rid of our hats, I say. We would all walk out first. Go ahead, he says. OK, I say. I turned to my co-workers who just looked down at their desks. To a man, they removed their hats and put them under their desks.
Cowards! I say to them. 'Fuck you', I say to the boss on my way out.
I don’t need that stupid job, I think. I can find another one better than that. “I am a neighborhood character”, I say out loud to no one in particular. I walk into the local café and order coffee and a Danish. “You’re early, sport”, the counterman says. “I’m not early or late”, I reply. “I’ve got all the time in the world, now”, I say. “How’s that?” he asks. “I quit my job”, I say.
“Smart move” he replies.
.
Finding another job was harder than I thought. My ex-boss kept telling prospective employers that I was an agitator and a troublemaker. My unemployment insurance ran out. I went through all of my savings. I cashed in my C.D.’s and I.R.A’s. I was behind on my rent. I hid from the bill collectors and my landlord. Finally, I was evicted from my apartment. My first night on the street I was robbed of everything but my knife.
I decided to become a mugger. After all, I had to eat. I picked out a likely victim on Hollywood Blvd. I followed him, waiting for the right moment when no one else would be around. He started looking back, but I pretended to read the newspaper. After an hour of this cat and mousing, he turned around and confronted me. He accused me of following him, which I denied. I started to turn and run, but he grabbed my arm. I twisted out of his grip and ran, but he managed to knock my hat off. A block down the street I turned and looked. He was trying on my hat.
The Hat (with apologies to Larryosan)
I first noticed him when I was walking down Hollywood Blvd. He was about half a block behind me. I didn’t think much about it at the time. An hour later I saw him again. He pretended to read a newspaper at the bus stop when I turned around to look.
But I was sure that it was him. It wasn’t that he stood out in any way. He was of average height, weight and gait. He wasn’t dressed flashy or shabbily. What made him stand out was the hat. The hat perched on his head like a lighthouse beacon.
I went back to confront him. “Why are you following me?” I demanded. “What in the world are you talking about?” he replied. “You have been following me for blocks,” I said. “I’ve never seen you before,” he cried as he turned and started to run. I grabbed his arm but he twisted out of my grip. My arm shot up and knocked his hat off as he ran away. It landed at my feet.
Looks pretty good, I thought as I pondered my reflection in a store window.
I took to wearing the hat everyday. I thought that it made me look very sophisticated. I even went out and bought a pipe, though I never put tobacco in it.
At first my co-workers made fun of me. They thought that I was getting uppity and trying to look like a boss. I ignored them. Soon, though, one by one they all bought hats and started to wear them to work.
After work and on the weekends I started hanging out at a neighborhood coffee house. I never spoke. I would go in and point to this coffee pot and that pastry tray. I would overhear the waiters and waitresses gossip about me. I would chew on my pipe, but not light it. I became a notorious neighborhood character. Beatniks would read their poetry and look over at me for approval. A nod of my head would cause them to smile brightly. A shake from side to side would crush them.
My boss came in one day and ordered me to remove my hat. I refused. He told me that if I didn’t, he would fire me. I told him to stuff it. None of us would get rid of our hats, I say. We would all walk out first. Go ahead, he says. OK, I say. I turned to my co-workers who just looked down at their desks. To a man, they removed their hats and put them under their desks.
Cowards! I say to them. 'Fuck you', I say to the boss on my way out.
I don’t need that stupid job, I think. I can find another one better than that. “I am a neighborhood character”, I say out loud to no one in particular. I walk into the local café and order coffee and a Danish. “You’re early, sport”, the counterman says. “I’m not early or late”, I reply. “I’ve got all the time in the world, now”, I say. “How’s that?” he asks. “I quit my job”, I say.
“Smart move” he replies.
.
Finding another job was harder than I thought. My ex-boss kept telling prospective employers that I was an agitator and a troublemaker. My unemployment insurance ran out. I went through all of my savings. I cashed in my C.D.’s and I.R.A’s. I was behind on my rent. I hid from the bill collectors and my landlord. Finally, I was evicted from my apartment. My first night on the street I was robbed of everything but my knife.
I decided to become a mugger. After all, I had to eat. I picked out a likely victim on Hollywood Blvd. I followed him, waiting for the right moment when no one else would be around. He started looking back, but I pretended to read the newspaper. After an hour of this cat and mousing, he turned around and confronted me. He accused me of following him, which I denied. I started to turn and run, but he grabbed my arm. I twisted out of his grip and ran, but he managed to knock my hat off. A block down the street I turned and looked. He was trying on my hat.