CANDY IS WORSE THAN TALKING

He couldn\'t stay in his office any longer. When lunch hit, he snagged his food-- a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a banana in a brown bag-- and walked outside to a nearby park. Only had a half-hour. Though the park was close, he had to hurry.
It was a sunny day. A bit windy, so he had to sit with part of his thigh on the brown bag to stop it from blowing away. The air wasn\'t stale like in the office. The natural sunlight was so much more pleasant than the harsh fluorescent bulbs that made everyone look a sickly green.
With his right and left hand positioned on each side of the bread, he commenced with the eating of his sandwich. When he was finished, he\'d start on the banana, which was not quite ripe. He\'d wanted a fruit, though. For health reasons.
In front of him in the park were some children playing on a colorful, plastic swing set. (They were metal and rusty when he was a kid.) The playground looked inviting and clean. He doubted it had the urine smell he associated with the park near his house growing up. He wasn\'t sure if this was recess, or even if school was still in session, or--
\"What\'re you doing?\"
He followed the high-pitched voice to his left. A little girl, maybe six or so, had sat down next to him on the bench.
\"Eating my lunch.\" He took another bite.
The kid motioned to the sandwich. \"What kind is it?\"
\"Peanut butter and jelly.\"
\"Grape?\"
\"The jelly?\"
The kid frowned. \"Of course! There\'s no grape peanut butter.\"
He swallowed a dry bite. Could\'ve used some milk to wash it down. \"Strawberry. The jelly.\"
\"That\'s better.\"
\"Yeah.\"
The kid said nothing else for a while. Just stared at him. He tried to be comfortable; eating his sandwich as the kid cocked her head and observed him quizzically. Some people find this cute. It made him nervous.
\"Are you a teacher?\" she finally asked.
\"No. Why?\"
\"Your tie. You\'re dressed up like my teacher.\"
He looked down at his three-year-old, fifteen dollar tie, wrinkled white shirt with a slightly less-than-white collar, and faded black slacks that were a little too short, and getting more than a little too tight around the waist. \"I\'m not a teacher.\"
The kid rubbed her nose. \"What are you?\"
He thought about his nine hours a day, Monday through Friday, spent in a drab, undecorated gray cubicle, staring at an outdated, dusty computer screen, pounding numbers that meant nothing to him into a spreadsheet.
\"Didn\'t your parents teach you not to talk to strangers?\"
The kid shrugged a little kid shrug. \"Taking candy\'s worse.\"
He nodded. \"I guess. I don\'t have any, anyway.\"
\"What?\"
\"Candy.\"
The kid wasn\'t disappointed. \"Oh. Okay.\" She took a deep breath, and kicked her legs up. \"My dad\'s a fireman.\"
He didn\'t say anything; just popped the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth.
\"And my mom,\" the girl babbled proudly, \"is a nurse.\"
\"Jesus Christ,\" he mumbled under his breath. Was she trying to make him feel bad?
\"Do you go to church? Me and my mom and my dad go every Sunday.\"
\"Your parents are pretty good people, huh?\" he asked, getting defensive.
She nodded, then abruptly said, \"I\'m going to be president. Or an astronaut. Or maybe a fireman, like my dad.\"
He found himself getting personally offended by her apparent house of wonderful. He was alone. He had a boring, pointless job where he didn\'t rescue little babies from burning buildings, or save someone\'s grandpa from dying of a heart attack--
\"Or maybe a teacher,\" she said.
He felt like telling her that he wanted to be a lot of things when he was her age, too. And none of them was an office drone, listlessly staring at a screen all day, counting down the minutes until he could go home and veg out, staring at another screen until he went to bed early, so he could get up and start all over again. He wanted to tell her that she\'d never be president. That she\'d probably end up at a cold, sterile office, just like him, or getting knocked up in high school, or--
\"I have to go back to work,\" he said instead, abruptly standing. The banana would have to be eaten on the walk back.
The kid frowned. \"Why?\"
He shrugged.
\"I\'m going to play on the swing set.\" And with that, she ran off, back to the playground.
He watched her for a moment. Was he like that? Were all people once like that? For the briefest of moments, he imagined going into work, quitting his sad, little job, and doing something meaningful with his life. Like the girl\'s parents. He could. He could do it. He could make something of himself.
He checked his watch. He was going to be late.