“Excuse me sir?” The little man was polite, despite the strain in his voice (screaming from the pain, as he felt inclined to do, might nonetheless offend the several shoppers who were about their own business and so the man tried to compose himself as well as he could in the present circumstances). “Excuse me. Sir?
“Yes?” The word was garbled from the bit of the little man’s flesh that was in the mouth of the Dahmerphile who was currently making a meal of fresh calf. The Dahmerphile sounded slightly annoyed, as is often the case when a person is interrupted during a meal.
“Well,” the little man was less sure of how to proceed. “Perhaps you could desist in your actions? I’m quite in need of my leg at the moment and the loss of blood is likely to make me faint soon.”
“In need, you say? More need than I, a hungry man? Or perhaps you suggest that there is something wrong with my choice of meal?”
“No! Certainly I’m not suggesting any such thing!” The little man tried to forestall the consequences of his words, inflammatory as they might have seemed in retrospect, but it was to no avail. The Dahmerphile pulled a card from his pocket and pressed the neat little rectangle (only a small smudge of blood on the corner) into the little man’s hand.
“The name of my attorney sir. I expect you’ll be hearing from him!”
The Dahmerphile presently bent down and with one last warning glance and a scowl, proceeded to continue with his lunch. The little man was torn, already having had insulted the other man and incurring that which he feared most; litigation and public denouncement as one of those people who were INTOLERANT, though he of course was not. Perhaps if he thought of something else he could find a remedy that would avert the dreaded repercussions of getting sued and being subsequently branded a SUBVERSIVE PERSON. He hated to think what he would do if he had to wear the big SP letters around his neck for all to see-
“Ah! You truly have no consideration!” The Dahmerphile angrily stood and glared at the little man who lay on the sidewalk. The little man snapped from his reverie in time to realize his second mistake. Before he could open his mouth, the Dahmerphile was pulling a second card from his pocket.
“Here I am, trying to enjoy a meal, a busy man I am, a hard-worker and there you are, keening and fussing, thrashing about. I nearly chipped a tooth! Here!” The Dahnmerphile thrust the second card at the little man, who, with difficulty (he truly, at this point, had lost a great deal of blood) took the card. “The name of my lawyer's attorney! This is appalling. Most egregious sir.”
The little man watched as the Dahmerphile straightened his coat, lifted his nose to the sky, gently wiped blood from his chin and walked away, stiff legged with obvious anger.
|"Done broke, ain't it, then?"|
The little man looked at one of the cameras, hanging as it was from a tree only feet away. No use pretending the incident had not occurred. The little man considered his situation and wondered if passing out would be offensive to anyone.
He was uncertain.
The little man decided, if indeed he could decide as half his calf was gone, that he should not worry about the future and simply pass out. Complaining and fretting certainly would be offensive and that, dear friends, he most definitely did not want to be: offensive.
So… the little… man… faded… to… black…
The least offensive option available. And none of those who passed by disturbed him, lest they themselves seemed offensive because, clearly, it would be most disagreeable to be labeled a SUBVERSIVE PERSON or be called INTOLERANT.
And such another day passed with few being offensive and everybody accommodating, as best they could, everybody else.