THREE OLD MEN AND THE WHITE HOUSE by John Iwaniec aka taxigringo

"I coudda been an actor." You would never think that beneath my confident, assertive face lives a dejected, lonely person. I feel like such a Sad Sack.

June 30th looked like a typical day. After toast and coffee I headed for the park because even I can‘t stand too much of my own company. I used to like watching the pretty ladies walking their dogs, but after getting back nothing but hard looks I quit looking.

I don’t mean to wear it thin, but let me just say that being around people is painful to me. You know it had to take a lot of curiosity for me to approach three old men who where standing in an open area near the walking path. Their behavior was just to weird for me to ignore.

One man reached up to the sky and, then, made like he was putting something into his pocked. He kept doing this over and over. The second man was doing the opposite. He would put his hand into his pocket and act like he was throwing something away. The third man was the strangest of all. With two fingers of his right hand he did a walking motion on his left forearm and just kept repeating.

“What are you men doing?” I asked.

Without looking at me the first one answered, "I'm taking stars from heaven and putting ‘em into my pocket."

The second man said, "Can't you see that I'm taking stars from heaven out of my pocket and throwing them away?"

The third man ignored me. He just kept on with the finger walk.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"These two guys are nuts. I'm getting the hell out of here." At that the three old men busted out laughing.

I'd been had again. Red from embarrassment I hurried away to a street that I'd not been on before.

Now, what are the odds that just as I was thinking about ending it all I saw a white house with big letters: PRIVATE MENTAL HEALTH CARE. Below the sign were two doors, and each had a smaller sign which read PSYCHIATRY, the other PSYCHOLOGY.

I opened the PSYCHIATRY door, and found myself in a room with two more doors. One read PSYCHOTHERAPY, the other PSYCHOANALYSIS. After thinking about it a bit I entered the PSYCHOANALYSIS room. Again there was another room with two doors which read INCOME OVER $200,000 and INCOME UNDER $200,000.

I was shaking as I walked opened the door for lesser income.

Sure enough I was back on the street.
www.taxigringo.blogspot.com