The Philosophical Squat

He was outfitted in a Joseph Aboud, pinstriped, grey suit; his shirt was azure blue, and a matching striped tie was neatly wrapped around his neck. Highly polished Barrington wing tips and black socks adorned his feet, and a well-trimmed, slightly grey head of hair crowned his six-foot frame. He appeared to be the very model of a successful businessman, a stockbroker perhaps or maybe an attorney. He gave off a confident air, and his blues eyes seemed determined, resolute.
I sat on an uncomfortable bench, killing time and people watching waiting for my wife to finish her shopping in a mall department store, when the man passed in front of me. He carried no bags and didn’t seem interested in the window displays he passed. As he passed Abercrombie & Fitch, he slowed, and before he reached The Fantabulous Cookie Company, he halted, backed up to the wall, and squatted.
I’ve been in many third-world countries were squatting is considered a perfectly acceptable form of resting, but in the United States, you rarely see people squat unless they are relieving themselves in the woods or building a campfire. I don’t recall observing much squatting in retail malls. But there he was, this well-dressed man, squatting, staring straight ahead, and seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
Most shoppers passing by took no notice of the man; those that did acted surprised and a little befuddled, but no one stopped. The man continued to squat, knees spread, hands resting on his them. I thought he might have a leg cramp that needed stretching or just needed a moment to himself, but he continued to squat. Ten minutes passed, and curiosity got the better of me, so I walked over to the man and said, “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said.
“Are you Ok?”
“More or less.”
“I’ve noticed you’ve been squatting here for a while and wondered if you were Ok, if there is anything I can do for you.”
“Can you do a puppet dance?” he asked without a trace of a smile.
“Probably, but I don’t think I want to.”
“I understand. Do you think people condense or expand as they receive more information?”
“Hmmm, that’s a tough one. I guess I’d have to agree with Saperstein and Lao Tzu, that there comes a point when too much information hinders growth.”
“Interesting. Well, I guess I ought to be getting back to the newsroom. Could you help me up, I think my knees are locked?”
“Sure,” I said and grabbed his arm and pulled him into a standing position.
“Nice talking to you,” he said.
“Yeah, me too.”
He turned to walk away, but hesitated and turned around. “Say, how tall was Saperstein?”
“He was five feet.”
“I thought so,” he said, and then walked across the mall to Victoria’s Secret.

(c) 2007