Have a Wonderful Day!

"Well that's certainly... different, Mr. Steinhommer."

I sneer. "If I desired to hear that, Mr. Beans, I would've simply delved deep into the incomparably high intelligence that my brain provides." Is this rude? Yes. Is it necessary? Yes. Absolutely, stop asking such insolent questions.

"Intelligent or paranoid?" my ape of a therapist replies flatly. "I have found verifiable evidence that you have shown to have jumped the gun on certain matters such as this one."

Jumped the gun? I think. How delightfully pedestrian. But I decide to stifle these thoughts. "If I may be so bold to ask, " I say, "why have you been looking back on my past experiences? I'd say that's a low blow for a therapist to be using on his clientele. You don't know me very well. Upturning past mistakes may have a psychological impact on me."

The burly man narrows his eyes. "Yes, I guess you're right. I suppose-"

"May I add," I interject, smirking, "that maybe the client you're supposedly helping shouldn't be giving the therapy tips."

"You could say that-"

"And I'll also add that I find it highly suspicious that a therapist is looking into my past history. Why would he be so curious of just another client that needs mental care? Well, sir, I find this offensive in the highest possible way, that you would take a glance at me and suspect foul play!"

"Please-"

"Or is it because you have learned of my current employment?" I say, inspiration dawning on me. " You think that I am on your tail. You are the cause of these events! I say, good sir, I think you are the culprit!"

I have risen up in my seat and am now pointing triumphantly at the gorilla.

He still has a bemused look about him. He is very good at acting the part. "You are very good at acting the part!" I say, voicing my thoughts as usual. "This is further proof of my hypothesis! And why should I call it a hypothesis when I am sure of myself, you ask?"

"No."

"I don't know, myself! And what is my completely true idea?" I sweep my long, khaki cloak for the effect. "You are the leader of the mysterious Goat Gang!"

He stares blankly.

"I will go turn in the lawsuit!" I exclaim. "You go quit your job! I shall never see you again! Ha, ha, HA!" I pick up my Harry Potter hat and sweep out the office.

I sweep past the front desk, ("How are you doing, sir?") and promptly fly through the hydraulic doors. I come right back through to tell him, "You watch your tongue!" and I swiftly leave with dignity.

As I walk down the steps, tripping over my long cloak, I get a message from my therapist.

"Same time next weak?" it reads.

I frown at the screen.

"Fine. You spelled week wrong."

I sulk over to my Yugo car, starting the long drive home.

As soon as I pull up in my driveway, my phone rings. I pick up and shout into it, "IF YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH IT, YOU"VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!"

I hang up and sit there smugly before calling again. I start the call with flair.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Steinhommer, This is Amy from Watson Community College, and we would like to give you a job opportunity."

"I have a job!"

"No, you don't. We have a student here who is looking for an expert private-eye, and everyone else in the area has refused. I was wondering if you would interested in mentoring this student."

"Ah, the classic story of a mentor learning a lesson from his young grasshopper's example. I'm afraid to say that I need no more lessons."

And I hang up.

As I call them yet again, I wonder if therapy even has a use to me any more.

"I will take the job."

"Thank you. Just so you know," she says, her voice growing stern, "The only reason I'm trusting you with this student is so she realizes how useless this job selection would be."

"Smart."

"Have a wonderful day, sir."

And she hangs up.

"NOOOOO!" I shout.

"What is it?" my annoying neighbor says, watering his onions.

"She said it!"

"Oh good," he replies sarcastically, shifting over to the begonias. "Maybe you're the next target."

"You don't understand!" I shout, "I've been hearing that phrase everywhere!"

"It's a completely normal phrase," he says, watering his celery, "Coincidences happen. That's how life goes."

"Maybe for the mundane! I know for a fact that something strange is going on here!"

"Keep going with that," he smirks, fertilizing his tulips. "Have a wonderful day."

I emit a loud groan of frustration as I enter my glorious abode.

If you must know, my neighbor's name is Tom.

I spend ten minutes tying a very secure knot around a bell and nailing the other end of the string to the top of my bedroom door. I stand there appreciating my talent for five minutes before going to bed.

My room smells magnificently of lemon. If you surveyed my surroundings, you would probably surmise that my favorite color is brown.

And you would be correct! That's why most everything I own is some sort of shade of brown.

I switch off the light and wonder whether I will live to see the next day, and sleep slowly creeps on me and pounces like a Russian jaguar.

Ding.

I jump out of bed and shout, "THE PHILISTINES BE UPON THEE, SAMSON!" A quote from the Bible. It feels fitting. I see that it was merely the magnificent knot I did the previous evening coming undone.

As I lamented the knot's loss, I saw a shifting through my front window blinds. I thought how strange it was that they were called blinds when I could see right through them when I noticed that the two figures were staring right through the supposed "blinds" too.

I ran to the window, opened it, and shouted to the night, "YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE!"

They probably noticed that they should fear for their lives and scurried down the street.

I nodded with satisfaction and proceeded with my sleep.

I woke the next morning to a ringing at the door. It then occurs to me that the lady who called yesterday, Amy, had gotten my name wrong. It is Jim Stonheimmer, a name of prestigious descent that I don't even know of.

I hurriedly put on my cloak and hat and swept over to the front door.

I opened it with my cloak half-covering my face and said, "I know who you are..."

Standing there was a dark-skinned girl with a tight bun and a look of great judgement. And was I judging her judgmental look? Yes!

"Good." she said, squinting her eyes, and stepping inside.

I immediately surmised that she was green eyed. And my student.

"Good." I repeat, sneering at her. She gives me a curious look. She sets a briefcase down on my dining room table and says immediately, "Do you know about the Goat Gang?"

I stare for a second and start happily dancing around the living room. I stop and say, "No," and exit the room.

I enter again. "What do you know about them?"

She glares at me suspiciously. "Why do you need to know? Collecting information for them? Wondering who next to target?"

We stare at each other for a second, then we squeal with joy, hopping with happiness

"So, have you figured out the key word yet?" she asks.

"Yes, it's multiple in a chain to make a sentence. Genius!"

"What is it?" she questions enthusiastically.

I clear my throat. "Have a wonderful day!"

She stares at me blankly. "Oh." And she walks out the room, looking furious.

I stare after her just as blankly. I take off my hat and ask it, "Was it something I said?"

She hasn't spoken to me for three days straight. It's really awkward when she comes over for her lessons. We just stare at each other. It worries me how long someone can go without voicing their thoughts. She finally breaks the uncomfortable silence one day and asks, "Were you being truthful when you said that?"

"Said what?"

The presumed key words?"

She quickly whips out a magnifying glass and stares directly into my eye.

"Yes?" I say, slightly bemused.

"Hm." she says, stepping back. "No dilation." She looks back at me. "How did you figure it out?"

I study her. "Let's go get some hoagies."

As we eat delicious bread (I couldn't afford a real sandwich), she asks me her question again.

I smile smugly. "One day, I was out chasing pigeons. Someone wished a man on the street a wonderful day. An old woman sitting right next to me was suddenly very alert." I smiled again, smugness growing, "I questioned the man after chasing off a few more aviary attackers. His wallet had disappeared."

She looks very interested. I continue, "One day, I was in a coffee shop buying water. The person in front of me was wished the woman giving her a scone a wonderful day. That shop was robbed the next day."

She waits patiently for more. She finally says, "And?"

"That's it." I conclude with dignity.

She stares at me. Then says, "My names Janet Tong."

It occurs to me that I never asked her name. I then surmise that she never told me because we were never on that trust level. I then get an idea.

I smile warmly then say, "I don't trust you enough to give my name, slug!"

She looks surprised. I decide this is one of the moments where my intelligence is too fast for a simple human being to track, so I start to apologize.

When I start, she says, "I already know your name. You're my mentor."

I feel a strange feeling of acceptance and continue to eat my bread in silence.

She breaks this silence to pieces. "How are you planning on catching the Goat Gang?"

"How do you know about the Goat Gang?" I ask.

She looks puzzled. "How does anyone not know about the Goat Gang? They steal 200,000 dollars a day! They're the biggest crime factor in town!"

"I was wondering if there was a specific reason."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"How are you going to catch the Goat Gang?"

"Oh, they're already caught."

She gives me an inquisitive look. "Really?"

"Yes. But now that I think about it, I'm going to need your help."

"Really?" she says suspiciously.

"Yes. As a witness. Can you meet me at my house in four days?"

"What time?"

"I don't know yet."

"Then I can't promise it."

"Thank you! Goodbye!"

I throw the rest of my bread at a passerby snail and drive away. I then drive back, pick up Janet, then drive away.

I look at my calendar. I then text Janet.

"Can you come over 4:00 on Monday?"

"A.M or P.M?"

"Posthaste!"

"...Okay."

I do fist-pumping with vigor. I make a quick yet very important phone call before embarking on my journey to sleep.

Four more days have passed. I have mentored Janet on the art of intelligence in chess, getting beaten four times in a row. I'm such a good teacher.

I've also been teaching her how to properly suspect people. We've found a man who was feeding ducks to actually be a psychopath and the woman at the front of the bus to be a kleptomaniac.

She seems very entertained by my teaching skills. I'm doing it right.

Finally, Monday afternoon is here. Janet has come as usual by suspicious ways and we hop into the Yugo.

While in there, I finally have the courage to ask, "How do you get here each day?"

She gives me that usual judgmental look. "I walk here."

I have the decency to look smug.

As we drive, Janet asks a strange question. "Where are we going exactly?"

"A therapy session with someone known as Hugo Beans."

Her eyes widen. "You take therapy sessions?"

"Yes. Why?" I ask.

"It just explains a lot."

We continue driving in silence and I ask yet another question. "Why is there so much awkward silence when I'm with you?"

She shifts her eyes away from the window and into her lap. She says, "I never feel comfortable saying anything."

"Why?"

"Because it would be heard," she says, brow furrowed.

"That's why I talk in the first place." I say.

"That's different." she replies. "You feel comfortable with your words to a frightening extent."

"I concur!"

"I'm afraid that-" She cut herself off while looking through the window. "Hey! That's my school teacher! Amy Hofferson!"

I look out as well and see a turquoise car travelling right behind us. "The dastardly fool."

"What?"

"Nothing. We're here."

We park and exit the car. Amy is parked right across the parking lot.

"Hi, Miss Hofferson!" shouts Janet. It's obvious Janet has respect for her.

"Have a wonderful day!" she shouts back.

Several heads poke up and stare directly at us. Janet gasps and backs away from their stares.

I do the reasonable thing. "You too!" I shout back.

Janet looks at me like I'm a lunatic. "You heard that too, right?"

"Yes." I reply. "She seems to be in a hurry."

She stares at me disbelievingly. "Then you know we can't go in that building, right? We'll be cornered and, like, held for ransom or something!" She starts to hyperventilate. "Miss Hofferson... I can't believe it..."

"You'd better believe it, sister!" I reply and start my way to the building, khaki cloak trailing like a valiant snake who is weirdly flat and wide, on my back on a wild dare.

We walk in and I am slightly surprised to see my neighbor, Tom, at the front desk. A true private-eye is never fully surprised.

"Tom!" I exclaim. "What are you doing here?"

"I got a side gig here." he replies. "I think the old guy couldn't take you any longer." There's a glint in his eye. "Thanks for the job opportunity, though."

I stick my tongue out at him and proceed down the hall. He accompanies us.

"Why?" I ask him.

"New job, new needs."

I shrug and make my way to the office of Hugo Beans.

As I enter, Hugo looks up and smiles. "Hello," he says.

THEN HE PULLS OUT A GUN!

I'm just kidding. I definitely don't think his file is a gun.

"Shall we pick up where we left off?" he questions.

"No, let's start in the middle."

He starts thumbing through his file, unsurprised by this suggestion. I'm miffed by this.

"Mister Stonheimmer?" whispers Janet.

"Yes?" I whisper back, taking off my wizard hat.

"You do realize the guy from the front desk hasn't left yet, right?"

"Yes," I admit. "It does come as a bit of a shock to me."

"Do you wonder why he is still here?"

I open my mouth to reply, but Hugo has finished thumbing through his file. "Ahem. On July 14, you were confessing to me that you suspected a seagull who flew to a bench to be-"

But he is interrupted by the door opening up to us. What the door has to share is a familiar woman whom I knew had strange history with parking lots.

"Excuse me, miss, we're in the middle of a therapy session," Beans says, narrowing his eyes at her. "And what are you doing in here?" he asks Tom, whom he just noticed. Janet starts to tremble.

"You know," he says. "Hurry it up, we're on a schedule."

Beans sighs. Three more people enter the room. "I hate that it comes to this, Mr. Steinhommer. But you're just too darn smart.

All of them draw handguns immediately. I figure that "too darn smart" had been the key word.

"So," I say, "you were the Goat Gang leader this whole time."

"Yes." he says, a wicked smile spreading across his face. Janet lets out an involuntary whimper. "Just as you suspected in the first place."

"Why do you think I signed up for therapy in the first place?" I say, triumph growing inside me.

His smile drops a notch. "What?"

"I suspected you from the start," I say. "You clearly had no experience as a therapist. You retaliated against me whenever I insulted you!" I sneer. "You didn't help my mental health in the slightest! Your pride gave you away!"

His smile is now completely gone.

"I also knew from the moment I heard and saw Amy that she was also a culprit!" I say, pointing at her. "Tom came as a surprise, but I guess he was specially stationed to water his onions when she made the call! When I exclaimed that she did, he must've known that it was the signal!" I am now pointing at Tom. "So I suspect that he and Amy were the two shadowy figures out side my window last Monday!"

I am now standing and pointing accusingly at Hugo Beans. "Last therapy session, I intentionally revealed that I knew it was you all along! Then you would get rid of me in the next therapy session." I smile smugly. "Or would you? The police are on their way now."

Hugo's smile reappears. "The problem with your plan is that no footage of this was caught. All the information given in this room is completely confidential. And past history shows you to have suspected me on loose ground before." He sinks in his chair. "You have no proof other than this girl. She will be dealt with. You will be blamed. Goodbye."

I smile. "Little do you know that you have been doing business with the wrong man all this time. My name is Stonheimmer, not Steinhommer!"

And the police burst through the door. "Goodbye, Mister Beans."