I have names in my head for the unusual  characters I see at the library.  I never call these characters by my invented names.

Mr. Ping got his name because ping is close to pee.  For unknown reasons, Mr. Ping pees on the toilet seat, the wall and the floor of the washroom.  Whenever you use the washroom after Mr. Ping, you will see pee all over the place.  I suspect the voices in Mr. Ping’s head tell him, “That’s right.  Pee on the toilet seat.  Pee on the wall.  Pee on the floor.  No!  Don’t pee in the toilet.  It’s not supposed to go in there.”

In the past, the library banned Mr. Ping for a month or two because of problems he caused with other patrons.  I have never had a problem with Mr. Ping until last Saturday.

In hindsight, I see that it was my fault.  I know that Mr. Ping is not in the same solar system as I am.  Whatever solar system Mr. Ping is in, he is a few stars short of a galaxy.  In hindsight, I should have never talked to Mr. Ping.

Last Saturday, I saw Mr. Ping getting up from a computer I wanted to use.  I walked towards it.  Mr. Ping turned off the computer before he left.

“Why did you turn off the computer?” I asked.

Mr. Ping froze and looked off into space.  He did not answer.

I asked again, “Why did you turn off the computer?”

Mr. Ping still did not answer.  Perhaps he was wondering what life was like on Earth.

When I realized he wasn’t going to answer me, I kicked myself for asking in the first place.

I sat down and turned on the computer.  Mr. Ping walked away.  I waited several minutes for the log-on screen, and then signed on and started working.

After several more minutes, Mr. Ping came to me and started scolding me for using the computer.  He said I should have used another computer and did not have to use the one he had used.

“Please leave me alone,” I said.

“You’re crazy!  You’re crazy!  You’re crazy!” said Mr. Ping.

“Yes, I’m crazy.  Now leave me alone.”

Mr. Ping walked away.  Was all okay?

Mr. Ping returned a few minutes later.  He walked behind me, bent over and blew hard on the back of my neck and quickly walked away.  I ignored him and kept working.

After another few minutes, Mr. Ping came by and again blew hard on my neck before walking away.  His breath, like the first time, had the fragrances of cheap wine and sewage.

I got up and complained to the librarian.  She called another librarian who spoke to me and Mr. Ping.  For the rest of Saturday, Mr. Ping left me alone.

Yesterday, Monday, I was sitting at a computer.  Mr. Ping walked by, bent over and blew hard on the back of my neck.  This time his breath smelled only of sewage.  I ignored him.  He only did it once.

Mr. Ping is here today.  So far no ping-blows on my neck.  Is Mr. Ping’s war with me over?  Who knows?

Perhaps Mr. Ping is not at war with me.  Perhaps Mr. Ping really likes me, and has a poor understanding of oral sex.


About Gary Johnston

I am an imaginary number -- a symbol used to count and measure. As Senior Imaginary Number at Einstein Equations Incorporated, I facilitate the calculation of the impossible.

Posted on October 25, 2016, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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