515591

by Chris Mysen

First, there was collecting different aluminum cans, but I got bored of that pretty quickly.

Then, I decided to watch birds, but there are not too many bird where I live.

Finally, I settled on psychology.

I love psychology, it makes me feel powerful. I like being able to understand the thoughts of any one person at any given time. I work at home, so I learn a lot about the regular passer-bys. I feel like I know some people as if they were a relative, despite the fact that I might not know their name.

Most people call me Adam Smith, but I never liked the name and prefer Ned. I live in a small residential area in New Jersey, right across from New York City. Small apartments comprise most of the buildings where I live. The only exception to that is a small soda shop named Phillies.

Ahh, Phillies. I love Phillies. People pile in at about four oclock every day and are not all gone until early the next morning. I like to practice my psychology on Philliesians a lot. The people there are so diverse and so numerous that I just cannot resist. Psychoanalyzing people brings me joy, but occasionally, in the early morning hours, I get depressed when I look at different people there.

One night, after a depressing day of clouds, I decided to do some soul searching. There were too many people at Phillies for me, so I took a quick nap. The quick nap turned into a five hour rest. When I woke up at two in the morning, only four people remained in Phillies, including the soda jerk. Willie, the soda jerk, was a scrawny little thing who has no social life whatsoever, like me. I figure he lives at his parents house a block or two away. He sometimes eats scraps off the plates he cleans off of the counter, so I guess he does not make too much money.

There is also the guy staring out the window, whom I recently termed Joe the Speed Demon Sanders. I am not sure if he is actually living, though. I have yet to see him move on his own power. I never saw the couple before and hoped to do some analyzing, and this is my interpretation of their personalities.

The man, let us call him Andrew, has a nervous twitch of his left ear. In addition, he taps his leg in anticipation a lot. Either he wants to end the misery we shall call his date, or he has an important appointment to engage. As to the latter, two in the morning is hardly the best time to initiate a social interaction. The antecedent seems more likely because of the rather overt flirting occurring between the soda jerk and Andrews date, whom we shall call Filease from now on. Andrews gaunt face and dark eyes rival an apparition of the devil. I would guess that his last couple of weeks at the coal mine did not serve him well.

As to the coal mine deduction, his socks spewed coal dust with every step, twitch, and muscle spasm. Moreover, hand prints from zealous work mates mar the otherwise immaculate flashy blue suit. To top off this gruesome scene, Andrew does not appear to own any grooming equipment. His nails are over an inch long, except for the right index finger which is worn to the cuticle from biting. Furthermore, his normally wonderful brown hair is actually part black from the lack of a decent washing in a couple weeks. Not to say that Andrew is a slob, though. Andrews line of work just does not lend itself to consistently good grooming habits.

Filease (Phil-eece) seems to have noticed Andrews attitude toward cleanliness and decided to attach herself to the only other living male in the room. One can assume that this date was arranged by a close friend of both of Andrew and Filease, whom now takes on the name Newt. Newt does not come off as a man of wonderful abilities of coordination and insight into desires. Anyway, Filease flirts with the jerk to make herself forget Andrew and possibly get to dating the jerk.

There is a problem, though; Filease does not have the fairest of grooming habits either. No one else dare be in a soda shop so late, leaving Filease as the only person to converse with. The jerk, Bill, who also knows Newt, but does not really like him, has no life so he talks with anyone he can. Filease appears to be wearing the only fancy dress she has, but did not bother to wash anything on, of, or near her body for the date. Plus, she did not decide to color coordinate her bright green socks, her blue-green purse, her purplish-blue flats, and her sleeveless red dress. As to her face, Filease decided to match the face of her date(Andrew).

Since she does not work anywhere (her pale white skin shows no signs of wear or even sun) so she does not accumulate dirt that fast, but a half year of not washing does nothing for her complexion. That does not matter to Bill, though. Bill does not care to date Filease, just to talk.

So I shall recap that dreary, yet somewhat comical night. Newt set up Andrew, the slob, up with Filease. Filease, another slob, does not see her own uncleanness and sheds Andrew. She sheds Andrew for Bill, a desperate soda jerk just hoping to talk to a living female. The problem is that Bill has no real desire for a date, but Filease does. It appears that Fileases only hope for a date in Phillies is the corpse in the corner. The corpse, though partly rotted, looked better than any of the people in Phillies, whom all look like they just finished up a year long course in being mowed over by heavy machinery. Sometimes life just seems to complicated for me.

I guess you can understand why I like to keep out of the business of the people in Phillies when the place is jam packed. Who knows what would happen to me if I tried to figure out the background, lifestyles, and thoughts of forty people all at once. I am glad to live the simple life of Adam Smith, in a court off of Elm Street in New Jersey.