HOW TO WIN FRIENDS

‘Don’t, don’t tell me again, Chris. I know, I eat too much. You really piss me off. Do I tell you to stop visiting pros?’ ‘What’s with you, my former friend? Damn right you do and it’s none of your business who I slam. And if I want another tattoo, keep out of it. I already have a father.’

‘OK, Millie, go poison your skin, look like a Jap. You want HIV? Fine. Just don’t come visit me and use my toilet.’

‘Whoa, I’ve warned you too many times about calling me Millie. My name is Millard, like Millard Fillmore, the 13th President of the United States of America, an honorable name. You do it one more time and it will be your last anything.’ He turns abruptly and walks swiftly to the tattoo shop, leaving Chris babbling to himself.

The door is wide open. Jim, the main honcho, lays down the needle buzzing into a customer’s neck. “How you doin’, Millie? ‘ Well, I’m doin’ better than you are going to be doing if you call me that girl’s name one more time. How long before you can do me? This will be my last shot. I want 6 small red hearts around my left nipple. Can you do that without electrifying my real heart? An hour? Hell, I’ve got other things to do than watch you mutilate that poor soul on your table. Make it 45 minutes.’

The deceased President of the United States, Millard, straightens his back and pretends he is what he isn’t, ends up across the street from Mickey’s where he can get a good cup of Joe and a passable slice of un-iced pound cake.

Sitting in a round wrought iron chair that needs repainting is Chris. He is alone. In front of him is a giant bowl of salad greens and bottles of wine and vinegar. ‘Hello, Millard. Would you like to sit with me or will you be too embarrassed to sit with a fat man?’‘Good for you, al. Glad to see you are coming to your senses. No sooner were those words out of Millard’s mouth, then the waitress arrives. She put a humongous fudge sundae in front of Chris. He jumps up and almost knocks her off her feet. ‘That’s not mine,’ he shouts. ‘I ordered a cup of black coffee! Just bring my check and let me out of here. Cancel the coffee.’The waitress is dumbfounded. She knows he ordered that sundae, like he does almost every Friday. Sweat is pouring off of Chris’s face.

As he starts to leave, he picks up a spoon, takes a gob of whipped cream, offers some to Millard and tells him, ‘No sense wasting this, is there?