A Little Man

A Little Man

There's a little man who lives on a big street who has huge issues. I
don't know what his name is, but I guess I should be grateful I don't
know him that intimately.

Each time I drop off my preschooler at his music class, the little man
is there. He lives next door to the music school and you can tell by
the look on his face that he is overjoyed by the fact. He obviously
just loves the thought of little people learning and enjoying
themselves.

The music schoolteacher has had countless neighbourly chats with this
little man. He moved in ten years after the school opened, and claims
to experience each and every song through the sound proofed walls. The
music teacher is now on intimate terms with the council mediator,
having become recently engaged to him through her regular
meetings.

Our little man, you see, considers himself a bit of a philosopher, a
genuine thinker and theorist. You might say that he is very focussed
and committed to his beliefs. He sees conspiracy in every movement. In
fact, I form part of his proof for his theory of the fall of the middle
class. Apparently, I have been placed on this earth to destroy the
little man's values and all he represents - a civilised society, based
on integrity and common concern. How could I possibly be responsible
for such decay? I double parked - once - for two minutes outside the
music school. Now, had I blocked in his car, I may have at least begun
to understood his wrath. However, I had blocked the teacher's car. His
car was left unencumbered, with enough space to dance a jig, should it
have been able.

The little man drives a mock four wheel drive, which obviously is the
size of a greyhound bus in his little mind because if there is two car
spaces in front of his precious single fronted Victorian, he feels
compelled to park right in the middle. Consequently, many of us mums,
the army of four 'anarchists' (as we're known to him), have to double
park to drop off our little angels. This process, takes two minutes and
eleven seconds, so the little man tells me. Of course, when taking into
account the debate and his unsuccessful attempts to call the police,
the whole process becomes a Kevin Costner drama, dragging on for
anything up to thirty-five minutes.

Anyway, I'm trembling with anticipation as I approach the music school
this morning, craving my weekly anger management session. Going one on
one with the little man is the like pounding a tennis ball with a
racquet against a brick wall for an hour. I come away energised, with a
new sense of purpose. But alas, I am disappointed as I unbuckle my
belt. There is no little, belligerent face to greet me.

I lead my son through the school door, and we're met with excited
amazement. The other mums all speak to me at once. I can't understand
what they're on about. It takes a few minutes but I'm able to glean
what's happened. The little man was no longer.

There would be no more rantings. Apparently the little man had been
abusing an old couple for not parking close enough to the gutter in a
space two cars in front while simultaneously attempting to phone the
police using his tiny red mobile to report the life threatening
inconsideration when he was struck. A paperboy had been rightfully been
peddling in the bike lane where the tiny man had temporarily perched
his soapbox beside the offending car, oblivious to the bell tinkling
warnings of the young lad. The flailing arms of the tiny man clipped
the helmet of the paperboy, sending the tiny mobile flying out of
pudgy, little hands. The little whistle blower landed in front of the
storm water drain a little way down the road, precariously perched on
the concrete edge of the polluted abyss.

The little man's little steps faltered as he raced, hurling more abuse
at the old couple, to save his tool of power. His little legs and big
mouth proved no match for gravity, and the tiny mobile gratefully slid
into oblivion. As the little man tried to retrieve his lifeline, he
became wedged between the gutter and the metal grill. The panic and
anger triggered a fatal coronary. The old couple had since strolled
away, and it was only when they returned to their car an hour later
that they discovered his stiff, little body.