“He just sits there, like a bag of bricks, with the same expression on his face the whole time.”
“He’s a dudd,” said Jane.
“That is a great word!” I exclaimed.
Kate went on to say, “I can’t stand him, asking everybody for cigarettes. He chain-smokes his whole pack, then starts bumming around for smokes. I’ve told this guy,” she pointed at me, “So many times I’ve told you not to give him any cigarettes. Don’t be an idiot! The man is…”
“Reflexes,” I said, scratching my forehead.
“You really shouldn’t,” said Jane, “He’ll just keep asking everybody.”
“Hell, we’ve all given him a cigarette at one point in time. A couple of nights ago, when Laura and I were at the bar, he comes over and asks if he can sit with us. We say, ‘No, we’re waiting for someone.’ Then, he goes on to sit right next to our booth. I mean, we’ve all been nice to him at one point in time. I don’t wanna be a bitch to anyone, but when he sits there and shortly after, he asks us for a smoke, and both Laura and I immediately say, ‘No, sorry, we’re out,’ he starts yelling ‘Liars! Liars! Both of you are liars!’ I mean, what are we supposed to say to that? And then this guy,” she said, pointing at me again, “This guy walks into the bar, and before he can even reach the booth, the dude is asking him for a cigarette, and…”
“The dudd,” I said, chuckling under my breath, “The dudd…”
“…And you gave him one, like an idiot! You should never give him any cigarettes.”
“His reaction was priceless though,” I chuckled again.
“What did he do?” said Jane.
I was about to tell the miniature tale of his reaction, after all it had been born out of my cigarette, my idiocy, but Kate beat me to it.
“As soon as he gave him a cigarette, the man-child turns to us and says, ‘Ha ladies, I got one! Ha ha..'” She exclaimed, sniffing ferociously at the imaginary cigarette in between her fingers, running it under her nose like the man-child had done. ” ‘Ha ladies, I got one!’ What a fucking loser.”
“This guy is really getting under your skin,” said Jane, and I chuckled as I normally do, nodding my head in agreement. “I’ve never seen you so worked up.”
“I let him get to me. It’s just, seeing him every day takes a toll; every day, sitting hunched over, bag of bricks, with the same expression on his face. Every day asking people for smokes…Not to mention, he’s racist too.”
“Racist dudd,” I said, letting out a laugh; abrupt, for I was the only one laughing. I kind of wanted to repeat it a little louder, in a different tone. “Racist dudd. Racist dudd…” But I didn’t. It wasn’t all that funny.
“Moral of the story,” said Jane, smiling that mischievous smile of hers, “do not give him any cigarettes.”
“Yeah, you can’t give him any cigarettes!”
“I won’t,” I replied, dropping my head slightly as I reached for my glass of water on the table. “I won’t, I won’t,” I repeated in my head, but deep down I knew I couldn’t promise anything. One day I might be in a really good mood, and giving people cigarettes, whether dudds or not, will only make me happier; sharing is caring and that kind of bullshit, you know? One day, I might be so indifferent to the universe and all the turning that I’ll just give him the remainder of my pack and praise his dudd-ness while I’m at it. Perhaps, I will give him two cigarettes every other day, and hope that eventually one of them will give him cancer. Who knows…? There is still some humor in a bag of bricks.