You don't go into the Automat to talk; that's the whole point of the place. You go in to eat. There's a whole wall that's nothing but coin-op windows; you drop your dime and get your soup, and if you need extra crackers there's a penny window near the bottom. If you want a sandwich without mayo, go to a deli; here, you eat what they serve, because there's nobody listening. Hell, most of the tables have only the one chair, and it's bolted to the floor.

 

So when the guy pulls up one of the few stools, sits next to me and starts yakking, I figure he's new in town or something and just ignore him. By the time I get down here, pay for the food and grab a table, I get all of five minutes to slurp down my soup before I have to go back up to the cubicle. And, Hell, it's the city; if you can't ignore a pest for five minutes you really haven't been here long yourself.

 

He gives up after a bit, but when I get up I notice him by the door. His clothes are awful ragged, and I toss him a quarter on general principles, saying "Sorry, buddy" on my way past. He catches it reflexively, but I can see he's still staring at me as I move on.

 

A couple days later I run into him again; same Automat, same table, same stool, same deal. It gets on my nerves a little, but I figure it's my own fault for giving him money. I keep my head down and my mouth shut, and he eventually takes the hint and leaves. I celebrate with a slice of pie. It costs me a nickel and two minutes, but I'm still back in the office in time.

 

The next Monday the Automat is so crowded I end up sharing a table with a fat man who works in advertising. We chat briefly between bites. On the way back to the office I realize that I kind of enjoyed the experience, if not my lunch companion. (I don't much care for ad men -- too superficial.) I resolve to look for someone from my own office to eat with, just to do something different, but I can't find anyone who seems interested so I abandon the idea.

 

I guess that's why on Tuesday when I see the stranger I wave him over. "So, what's your story, buddy?" I ask, expecting to get the usual bit about how drink and the ponies cost him his job, wife, and house in that order. What I get I do not expect.

 

"You really don't remember me at all?" he asks. I explain, sure, I seen him a couple times last week, but he's shaking his head impatiently. "No, I mean from before," he explains. I'm drawing a total blank. Before? Before what?

 

"We was friends," he says. "Not best pals or nothing. We'd eat lunch together, talk about the Knicks, walk back to the office together. You don't remember none a that, huh?"

 

"Well," he continues, "you know the rule: Don't talk work outside a work, right? And I didn't, not even with you. What happened was, I overheard someone else talking and didn't report it. Didn't make no sense to me anyway, so I kinda forgot all about it anyway until next morning I see Security taking him downstairs with all his crap in a cardboard box. Then the boss calls me in, asks if I know anything about it, I say no, and he says sorry can't take a chance. Next thing, it's me down on the street with my gear in a box."

 

I start to interrupt, to ask how long ago all this was, and he stops me. "Just wait; I'm getting there. So that's on a Friday, right? Over the weekend I start getting more and more steamed, and then I come here to talk to you over lunch on Monday. And you don't recognize me."

 

He waits until I get what he's saying, then says, "Yeah, that's right: Week and a half ago, we was friends; today, you don't know me from Adam. Somehow, they made you forget."

 

I'm stunned at what he says, and then he goes on, sad: "Made me forget too. I been working there ten years, must be, ever since college, and I can't for the life of me tell you what I did for a job. Security flashed me with this red light on the way down from the office, and ever since I got no clue. Plays hell with resume writing, I can tell you that." And he grins at me.

 

Well, I know we work with sensitive stuff here, and I signed the same NDA as everyone else when I first started my job, so OK, I get why you might mindwipe a guy who gets fired. But you musta wiped me too, is the thing, and that I don't sign up for. Which is why I come in here right after lunch to tell you about it and ask you for an explanation. I mean, I been working here for ten years now myself, and I-- What's that? Why would I look over there---