The graying man continued his brisk pace as he walked along the park trail.
"I told the lawyer that it wasn't an offer! It was a joke! He owes me much more than that for the damage to my property!"
He yet again had something to yell as he made his way past the park bench.
Clay glanced up from his book as the man turned his back to the bench. Spending a chilly morning on a park bench with his thoughts and a book was usually such a peaceful experience. Typically only to be disturbed by strangers like the man who had at this point marched along the park loop to outside Clay's range of hearing.
Of course, since at least the mid 2000's, one has needed to adjust perception to accommodate for the occasional Bluetooth talker. Those folks who had conversations that they carried on with thin air. Well, actually with someone on the phone, but the phone was nowhere to be seen. Often out of sight as well was the small ear piece that was both speaker and microphone. Due to the hidden nature of the conversation, it could be hard to tell whether the person was on the phone or whether they were addressing someone on a bench nearby.
It was becoming more common lately due to the rise of good bluetooth headphones. Pretty convenient technology. Clay recalled the last time he had been the Bluetooth walker and talker at the park. It was hard to remember if he had possibly disturbed anyone's peace. The conversation had been with his mother though, so that made it important. He and his mother had caught up. They talked about her dog. He had gone over his latest cooking and baking projects made from her recipes. They also made plans for her upcoming birthday.
In Clay's estimation, well-worth disturbing a few strangers' peace. If only he could remember whether there had been any strangers in the park at the time. Surely there must have been.
Lifting his head to take a sip of coffee, Clay's eyes moved up and then down the lamp post across from the bench.
The graying man was off in the distance now. Halfway along the park loop. He would make his circuit and be back around to the bench. Just in time to deliver the next snippet of the one-sided conversation.
Buzzing of phone.
Phone out of pocket.
Into his hand.
Look at the text.
Oh.
Just a spam email to his work mailbox.
Phone locked and into his pocket.
And there's the woman with the dog on another lap around the park. Regular lap dog that thing. Both lady and dog walked by the decoration that was Clay without much care or acknowledgement. The lap dog marched on wearing his puffy jacket to keep out the cold. Clay made sure that the next sip of coffee was full of as much silent judgment for dogs in jackets as he could muster.
Very carefully.
Phone out of pocket.
Into his hand.
Take picture of dog.
Post to group chat.
"Chili dogs served at the park today."
Phone locked and into his pocket.
He opened the book again and considered reading. But the graying man was approaching. Timing his next sip, he got a better look at the man up and then back down again on the coffee sip follow through.
No talking this time around the park. The person on the other end of the phone must have been speaking at the moment. The man was a bit more disheveled than Clay had first thought. He had a wiry gray beard that was bushy and a tad unkempt. Same thing could be said about his long hair that came out from under his baseball cap. If it weren't for how ordinary the t-shirt and jeans were, Clay would have thought him even more of the aging biker type. But maybe he was anyways. Hells Angels probably don't require leather 24/7. Or do they?
Clay's eyes reached the peak of his next sip and then he noticed it. The light at the top of the lamp post was on. That couldn't be right. It was late morning. The sun was shining brightly without a cloud to be seen. The timer or sensor or whatever mechanism those lights operated by must be broken.
Buzzing of phone.
Phone out of pocket.
Into his hand.
"Ha Ha" reaction to chili dog picture.
Well, since the phone was out, a picture of the lamp post was called for. It looked like there was a sticker on the post, so Clay got up to take a closer look.
"Is there a problem with this light? Call city maintenance at 303-444-8338"
Suppose that means today's a day to be a good citizen. Well, maybe not a "good" citizen, but at least an interested citizen. Interested in whether a human would respond to a call like this on a Saturday. Interested in how many days or weeks it would take for this wasted electricity to be addressed.
Clay looked up at the light bulb a little closer. Upon inspection, it turned out that it was a genuine incandescent bulb. Not only a waste of electricity, but greater waste than an LED would have been. Clay upgraded from a mildly interested citizen to a concerned citizen. He wondered whether wasteful lighting like this was common in this city. Now that he was a concerned citizen, should he write a letter? Do concerned citizens still write letters? Guess he'd ask the Saturday technician at the end of this phone call.
Clay tapped on the phone app of his phone. He pulled up the keypad and punched in the number listed on the light post's name tag.
He put the phone up to his ear to listen to the dial tones.
"Thank you for calling Westminster city services!" the overly cheerful and enthusiastic recording said.
"Para ver las opciones en español, presione 9."
"For trash collection information, press 1."
Clay pulled the phone from his ear and pushed the speaker button.
"...parking services, press 2."
"To report a road issue, press 3."
"To report a city park issue, press 4."
Clay summoned the keypad again and pressed the 4.
There was a brief pause.
The recorded voice continued.
"For current park hours, press 1."
"To report a pet rule violation, press 2."
"To report over-full garbage cans, press 3."
These phone choices always seemed to put your concern so far down the list.
"To report a sprinkler or water issue, press 4."
"To report a lighting issue, press 5."
He pressed the 5 this time. Again there was a brief pause.
"Please type in the 5 digit identifier shown on the lighting fixture sticker."
Seems that the imaginary Saturday technician was entirely imaginary.
Clay took a look up at the sticker. Bringing his eyes back down to the screen of the phone, he tapped in each digit.
5-5-0-2-8
There was another pause on the phone line.
"Thank you! A technician will be notified that the light may have an issue. Have a wonderful day."
The phone conversation was over, and Clay hung up the phone.
"I just don't care anymore! That contractor ruined my life!"
The old man on the walk and talk was still deep in his phone conversation. He had made it around the park once more. On his walk along the looping concrete pathway, he was just about to pass behind Clay since Clay was still standing next to the lamp across from the bench where he had left his book and coffee.
"You don't understand what this has done to me!"
A pause. As the man stared into the distance ahead and listened to the reply.
"No. Listen! This is beyond the point where reparations do me any good. That man must suffer for the harms that he's caused me. He’s undoubtedly harmed others in the same way. He's a liar and a scoundrel. My house is unlivable and. IT. IS. HIS. FAULT!"
At least you have a house, was the first thought to cross Clay's mind. Houses were not a thing that Clay could foresee owning in his near future. He figured he was quite stuck in the cycle of renting. However, the old man did look like he was in that demographic of older folks who could in one way or another have a house. It was helpful that they had had at least some real estate back when these things were affordable. Whether or not this man's house had any value left was another question though. From the way he was yelling, you'd have thought that his contractor's idea of renovation was strapping dynamite to the house and blowing it up to create a more open living concept. More than likely, the man just liked to complain. Probably just had the wrong color carpet installed or something trivial like that.
Clay had turned towards the man as the man continued to walk. From this new angle, Clay could more clearly observe that the man's ear was free on this side and that the wireless headphone was in the other ear. That was a slight bluetooth talker courtesy. Wearing only one earpiece meant that a person like that could be flagged down and talked to by someone present at hand who was not participating in the ephemeral conversation.
Though, speaking of people present at hand, the lady and the lap dog were no longer so. Clay started looking left and right, but there was no trace of them. They must have left part way round their last lap. Honestly, surprising they had been in this park in the first place. Even with it being broad daylight, the park was a tad sketchy and in need of a bit of repair. As evidenced by at least the old and broken lighting, but more recently by a small contingency of homeless people.
Clay glanced a bit to the left to the other end of the park loop from where he was. There stood a couple of shopping carts filled with crap. They were still there as they had been for the last few months. Close to becoming a permanent fixture. Just as much as the light fixture was.
Many homeless people are crazy. In fact, they likely all are. The folks with signs on street corners really are just professional beggars, and they always go home with a tidy sum at the end of the day. The real homeless are mentally incapable. And the incapable often didn't even beg. They would instead engage in collecting trash off the street. They seemed to find some value in the trash, so into their stolen shopping cart it would go. One man's trash is another man's treasure. Litter-ally.
The old man on the phone had made it to that spot on the other side of the park. Now that man became invested in another man's treasure. He had strolled right up to one of the shopping carts as if he owned the place.
Very oddly, he started rooting around in the cart.
Clay certainly would never have been that bold or curious about the trash of the homeless. He typically wouldn't even have wanted to get close if he was passing by on the street or path. For all he knew, there could be needles and knives around or in those things.
Buzzing of Phone.
Look down at phone.
Text from mom.
Double tap.
"For my birthday, would you be a dear and bring rolls as well? Love, Mom"
Quick reply.
"Sure!"
Phone locked and into his pocket.
Now this man had been pacing through the park, ranting on the phone, and digging through trash. Of all the life disrupting people in the world, this man was the one to take the cake.
Turning his back to the display of disregard, Clay walked back to the bench across from the lamp, sat back down, and picked up his book once more. On taking his next sip of coffee, Clay glanced at the man off in the distance. He saw the man putting his hands into his pocket and drawing out his phone to fiddle with it. It looked like he may have taken a picture of the garbage carts, but it was hard to tell from where Clay sat. The phone made its way back into the man’s pocket, so the man could continue along his circuit around the park.
All that action with the phone likely meant that the ranty call was over. It might also mean that the man was over too. Or rather that he might be done causing chaos in this poor park and would soon be content to leave it to its devices.
The lamp caught Clay's distracted gaze again. In a way, incandescent light bulbs had a homey feeling to them. The whole world used to be colored by this incandescent warm yellow. Clay could remember reading under the dim yellow glow of such a light late into the night as a child. The same lights had been with him at each family meal. Even some old Christmas lights on his family's tree had been that way. Those hot lights were constantly threatening to burn out or catch fire. Consuming large quantities of electricity just to make people feel together, safer, and unafraid through the night. But to Clay's mind, the nostalgic and homey feelings had no place in the world any longer. Too inefficient and energy intensive. Besides, nowadays, LED light bulbs had connectivity features and programmability that could provide a directed lighting experience. They could even mimic incandescence if that was really what you wanted. It was only laziness that would ever leave a light like this around when the modern equivalent was so much better.
The man approached on what was likely his last lap before he headed home. As Clay looked on, he thought about whether the lighting in this old man's damaged home was in need of replacement too. Incandescent lights were so ancient, he probably could have found a replacement LED bulb in that grocery cart full of trash.
Clay's mind was about to let the man and thoughts about him leave. However, in his last people watching note, Clay happened to see that in rummaging through the cart, the man had moved his hair about. Now Clay could see the man's right ear. He could clearly see that there was no headphone in that ear either.
Clay's blank observational look changed to a frown. It seemed to him that he would have noticed whether the man had taken out the earbud.
A strange feeling crept over Clay, and he couldn't quite explain why he would be invested enough to generate a feeling. Let alone the insecure feeling he felt as he wondered whether this man had been on the phone at all.
In spite of himself, Clay's curiosity got the best of him. He had to know, so he called out to the man.
"Hey!"
The man stopped in front of the bench between Clay and the light. The incandescent light shone behind the man's head as he gazed down at Clay.
"Hey, that lamp right there is shining in the middle of the day. I called the number on the sticker to see if someone would come shut it off. Hopefully they replace it too. That thing looks ancient. I'm not sure if the city workers will do anything if just one person calls. Could you give the number a call as well? Two people complaining together should get them moving."
The man was silent. He considered Clay for a bit, but didn't say a word. Then, he reached into his pocket where he had put his phone moments before. Clay stared dumbly as the man drew out the phone.
But a phone did not come out of the pocket. Instead, in the man's hand was now a large rectangular rock. Very smooth and just about the same size and shape as a normal smart phone. Both the man and Clay stared at the phone. The man's index finger began to trace patterns on the phone. Clay's mind could not decide whether the patterns drawn were intended to mimic phone touch gestures or summon a demon.
Upon stopping his finger's careful and intricate motions, the man paused.
He looked back at Clay.
In a swift and sudden motion, he threw the rock at the lamp post light. The bulb shattered into tiny pieces that littered the ground.