He punched the number, talked while a bus roared by and was done in a matter of five seconds. Looking at his watch, he simultaneously stuck his hand in the coin return slot, obviously hoping for some small windfall. I hadn’t noticed if he also checked it before he made his call. In point of fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anybody do that. Perhaps for the same reason that while its o.k. to rummage in a public trash bins for returnable cans, it is verboten to shoplift full ones. Then again, this fellow was especially well-dressed and I caught myself wondering if he had checked first. Maybe that, and the fact that he was taking the bus, allowed him the luxury of nice clothes.

Another glance at the watch, then to the monitor above his head (which presumably had a digital version of relative time) and once again the watch. What if the two times were different...then what?

Just as I was wondering what he would do to further slow the already hesitant march of time, he sighed audibly over the downtown din and began tapping his foot. I could actually feel the bus driver tapping his brakes as the light turned yellow a quarter mile up the bus mall. I pictured the driver doing the watch watch.

My bus pulled to a stop and I rose as my suited travel mate punched his finger into the coin slot in quiet desperation and joined the line to get on my bus. I felt privileged to be able to ride the same humble bus with this man of such unflagging persistence.

As I battled the fare box he slipped down the aisle without paying or showing a pass. Oddly, my heart sank as I realized he was just riding in fareless square. So much for my entertainment on the way home. I sat near the back and opened my book although I knew I wouldn’t read a word; I’d just taken it out of the library and I can’t remember ever having started a book on the way home. It somehow seems like going outside and starting your car up only to immediately turn it off and go back in to turn in for a good night’s sleep.

Instead, I looked up to see how long it would be before the guardian of time made his next cross check. Alas, he beat me to it; more accurately, he made me feel like a puppet. At the very instant I raised my head, up went his arm. I could see every traffic signal in the city turning from yellow to red. We sat at the light and I was by now waiting for my buddy to grow a beard and produce a scythe from his hip pocket. The light turns green, up with his arm. I suppress a giggle. Maybe he works for the traffic department and is checking to see that all the busses and traffic lights are working in perfect time. But that wouldn’t explain the phone checks. Could he work for some higher power?

We rumble over the bridge and out of fareless square. So that’s where Mr. Tick-Tock gets the money for his threads. I guess you’re allowed if you work for HIM. Like partners in crime we both gaze out at the river and I half expect him to check his watch to see if the river is flowing at the proper CFS but he fools me. Instead he looks to his right at the train station, up at the clock tower, then at his watch and then back at the river. So now at least we know that the trains are most likely running on time, the river is doing its job and the watch still works. I half expected the drawbridge to go up so we could give that a proper inspection.

I realized that I had been totally entranced by this odd man’s idiosyncrasies and was rudely staring at him with what must have been a Buddha-like smile on my face. I looked down at my stomach and it did look a little spherical. Closing my book, I moved past the official time keeper to the front of the bus, sat down and gazed straight ahead. It was a brilliant late summer afternoon , one of those days neither warm nor cool, windy nor calm...somehow just right. For some reason, this fellow had put me in a good mood; oddly, his outward nervousness had a calming effect. Pretending to look at a building as we passed, I glanced back... whoops, there went the arm! Then it struck me. He was wearing his little machine on his right wrist. I looked down at my knees and couldn’t help but wonder if he was wearing it upside-down or if he had to take it of to wind it . And why the old-fashioned watch? Then somehow I lost myself in thought and as if I had awakened from a nap a few minutes later I realized I had missed my stop.

Walking back towards my house, I passed a phone booth. I don’t know why but I couldn’t resist...sure enough, there were two quarters in the coin return. I smiled and was tempted to make a call to just anyone but thought better of it. Instead I resolved to start a special fund to buy a nice watch.

Rounding the corner to our house I was almost afraid to look at the not-so-long-ago-planted cherry trees. They weren’t happy with the weather and probably detested me for not soaking them occasionally. Shaking my head, I walked up the steps and was about to put my key in the lock when I glanced to my right and there he was, sitting on the pew on our front porch. He stood up, looked at his watch, then at me.

"You’re late, Karl. Don’t you have a timepiece?"

"No," I said sheepishly, "but I just found two quarters in a coin return."

I showed him and he smiled.

There was an awkward moment then on the front porch.....for me at least. He just stood there smiling benignly as if he were perfectly content to do just that for all eternity. I felt suddenly as if the tables had been turned; now he was gazing at me, amused. I put my meager "time piece fund" back in my pocket, wondering if they really still sold Mickey Mouse (all rights reserved) watches.

Somehow trapped and at a loss, I extended my hand, "I'm Karl."

"Yes, Karl Schenkey. My name is Harold." He shook my hand briefly but firmly.

"Harold....," I repeated, expecting him to finish it. No luck. "Well Mr......"

"Harold"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Harold. Would you....."

"No. No mister. Just Harold, please."

"Oh," I said, bewildered by his little game. I half expected him to say that I wouldn't get any points because I wasn't putting it in the form of a question and was tempted to try, "Who is the man on my front porch?" but I had a feeling I knew what he'd say.

"Well, Harold, would you like to come in?" I didn't know Mister Mystery from Adam's off ox but at this point I didn't know what else to do.

"Why, yes, thank you."

I actually felt relieved. At least we were making some sort of progress. But I somehow felt like a little boy sitting on a sidewalk watching ants who looks up to see a grizzly bear observing him. Unlocking the door, I led him in. Seeing him standing there in our tiny house in such impeccable clothes bordered on comical. Our house is tidy but furnished in the "we-didn't-have-much-left-after-the-down-payment" style. Harold nearly corralled me into the kitchen and, making himself at home, sat down at the table.

"Can I get you something? I'm afraid we don't have anything like wine or liquor, but...."

"Oh, Karl, I didn't come here to drink. Did I miss some kind of tavern sign outside?"

I was taken aback. Not only did I not have a comeback, but he didn't even give me time:

"As they say in the movies `I'll just have what you're having'."

Realizing he had a smart aleck streak in him I was tempted to empty my bladder into two champagne glasses and set them up but opted for orange juice instead. I sat down across from him in Christine's chair since he had taken mine. Thank goodness Christine wasn't here; she'd be giving those "Who is this guy?" looks. I took a sip of orange juice.

"So, Harold, how can I help you?"

"Well' Karl, I'm here on business."

My heart sank. I almost wished I'd been drinking something else.

"Business? I don't believe we've had any business dealings. Are you a lawyer or something? Is there some problem?" I asked, truly bewildered.

"Why, no, Karl." He laughed heartily, "Do I look like a lawyer?"

"Yes." I couldn't help it.

"No, no, Karl. Put yourself at ease. You act as if you'd done something illegal. We're going to have to work on that. We have to talk about your employment situation," he tried to comfort me; I didn't like the "we" and especially didn't like the "employment word.

"Employment. Are you from Social Security?"

"Karl, relax! I'd like to offer you a position in my firm. It's that simple."

"Me?" Allen Funt had just died but I had heard that his son was now carrying the torch. I half expected the camera crew to pop out of the oven. "You want to offer me a POSITION?" It sounded obscene. Who was this guy? "Christine should be here," I thought. She would ask the obvious questions.

"Yes, Karl. What do you think?"

"Well, I didn't even apply for a job. I'm on disability....just doing odd jobs here and there. I didn't....."

"Karl," he interjected, "you don't really have to be on disability, do you? You're encouraged to go to work, if I'm not mistaken. I simply want to present you with an opportunity. You will be well compensated; more than you get now, by far and you're perfectly suited. You won't have to spend any more time at it than you choose. The salary is fixed with regular raises. I mean monthly."

I gulped. I wished I hadn't missed my stop - I could have beat him home and locked the door. I'd be safe in my chair, reading my book, listening to music. Instead, here I am on Harold's version of "What's my line."

"O.K., Harold," I took a deep breath, "let me get this straight. You don't know me. You want to pay me good money to do a cushy job seemingly at my leisure. Next thing you're going to say is full bennies and...."

"And six weeks' paid vacation and what I like to call `well pay'. You get it whether or not you're ill. But I do know you - you're Karl Schenkey and the job is not `cushy' as you put it, but you are extremely well-qualified and I'm sure you'll do quite well. Your eyesight is good, your hearing is good and you are literate. Correct?" He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly as if now everything was perfectly clear.

"O.K., Harold. I almost feel flattered by your glowing assessment of my abilities, but I hope you don't mind if I ask some questions."

"The first answer is $120,000 per year to start. Raises start after two months; cost of living plus 1%. It may not sound like much, but if you do the math and com...."

"compound it....." I finished his sentence.

"See? I told you that you were qualified. The next answer is that I'll give you an advance today and we'll meet tomorrow to discuss the nature of the position. If you don't like it, you keep the first month's pay and we bid one another farewell. If you like the idea, you'll get your next month's pay in one month. I pay in advance. Fair?"

I nodded slowly. The whole thing was slipping way too far into the realm of the absurd.

"Harold, I'm sorry, but...." I trailed off, unsure.

"Yes, Karl?"

"How did you find me?"

"Do you have a phone directory?" he asked, matter-of-factly.

"Of course." I got it out.

"Have you ever looked yourself up in the phone book?"

"What for?!" I was convinced he was a nut case.

"Try it."

I felt foolish, but I did it. There I was.

"Well, did you find it?"

"Sure. And?"

"What does it say, Karl?"

"Harold, stop playing games." I was getting upset. "Why are you toying with me? It has my name, address and phone number."

"Yes, and a black dot - No Solicitations. I came in person."

"O.K. So you found me. But why me?"

"Because I wanted to offer you a position in my firm."

The Greek letter pi was taking on a new meaning. I gave up. All right, we'll meet."

"Splendid!" He handed me a check, already made out and signed: `Harold'.

I felt a sudden urge to pee. I excused myself and beat a hasty retreat.

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