He gave the clerk, a dour, balding, middle-aged man with a considerable paunch filling out his once white apron, the money for the eCigs. The man gave him his change along with a bored look, “Anything else?”

Wilson David said, “No,” and left the little corner market. Man, that guy was real excited about doing business with me. Get the same reaction from most people I run into. Don’t I deserve just a little respect? I am a human being.

He made his way down the street, passersby on their lunch breaks moving to and fro. This section of town sure has changed, he thought. Fresh, colorful awnings shade freshly painted storefronts of quaint shops, all color coordinated to blend well with the neighborhood. Small restaurants and walk in pizza and sub shops with tables and chairs out front offer a wide variety of culinary delights for the lunch-breaking business folks.

In addition to the food venues the upscale commercial district also sported a number of esoteric craft and specialty stores. There was a luthier with 3 beautiful handmade guitars displayed in the showcase window. A potter worked at his wheel where anyone on the sidewalk could easily see. There was a curio shop with a large collection of items in the window, each guaranteed to start a conversation.

Well, that’s interesting, he thought when he saw the flash drive nestled among the jade combs, cute paraffin lamps, cascading beads, elegantly framed daguerreotypes, and other sundries that you certainly don’t need in any way but must have regardless. The flash drive had a single word imprinted upon it in caps: RESPECT.

The shopkeeper in “Just Imagine—Unique Curios” was an old woman, frail and bent with age. In spite of her unsteady appearance she had quick, bright and perceptive eyes, which met his as he entered the small shop. “Yes?” she queried.

“I’m looking for a little respect,” he said, chuckling at his clever private joke.

“Aren’t we all?” she replied. “I presume you’re interested in the RESPECT app in the window.”

“An app for what?”

“Any version of smart phone you care to consider,” she said, “any model, any OS, it’s universal.”

That’s pretty interesting in itself, Wilson thought. He said, “So what does it do?”

“Install that app on your phone and, as long as it’s on your person and powered up, you will get great respect from everyone you meet.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Wilson said, “Smart phone apps are wonderful, helpful little programs; they do everything but brush your teeth, and they’re working on that. But tell me how can something like that make others respect you? It’s not possible.”

The woman grinned, revealing a gold-capped eyetooth. “A lot of things are ‘not possible’ but work anyway,” she said. “Bees fly despite it being aerodynamically ‘impossible’ for them, for instance. Try it and see for yourself.” She reached into the showcase, picked up the drive and handed it over to him. “Just plug it in and follow the prompts.”

He did and was presented with a dialog that asked: “Purchase” or “Trial.” “Choose ‘Trial,’” she said.

Wilson tapped the Trial choice and the install screen disappeared. In the lower right hand corner two little progress bars came up, one, colored in, had a legend that said “10 minutes, the other was empty and had “Lifetime” above it. Other than that, nothing happened. “So,” he said, looking closely at the device. “Is it working?”

“It certainly is. Take it for a stroll,” she said with a surprisingly graceful wave toward the door.

He gave a little shrug, “Okay,” he said and went out onto the street.

It was great! Everyone he passed on the street looked at him with a smile, moved aside so he could pass undisturbed, and, in general, treated him with great consideration. His lips tightened, the corners pulling down, as he evaluated the experience. I can get used to this, he thought.

He checked the phone. The time bar was diminishing and a little color appeared in the empty Lifetime bar. I’ll have to ask her what that means.

Let’s see something, he thought. He went back to the convenience store. The clerk got up from his seat behind the counter immediately. “How can I help you, sir?” he asked with deferential concern.

“Give me a cherry slushy,” Wilson said.

The clerk arched an eyebrow, “Slushies are at the self serve bar over there, people help themselves.” The man straightened his apron. “But for you, sir, I’d be honored if you’d let me get it for you.” He emerged from behind his counter, got the slushy, returned, and passed Wilson his beverage. “On the house,” the clerk said.

“On the house?” Wilson couldn’t believe it.

“Why, of course,” the clerk said, “for you—on the house!”

Wilson left the store sucking on his free cherry slushy. He got the phone out and saw his trial period was just about up so he headed back to the curio shop. The old woman was fanning herself with one of those Asian folding paper fans.

“Hey, I really like this,” he said.

With an impish smile the old woman nodded.

“One thing, though,” he said as he placed his phone on the counter before the woman. “The time bar I understand but what’s this “Lifetime” bar mean?”

“Oh, that,” she said, “that’s how much of your lifetime you lose if you get respect you don’t deserve.” She looked at the phone. “Hmm, looks like you lost a couple of days.”

Horrified, he said, “you mean I’ve lost days of my life for that ten minute trial?”

She fixed him with her sharp eyes. “You know, of course, that the only real way to get respect is to earn it, right?” she asked him pointedly. “If you don’t earn it you must pay for it somehow, don’t you think?”

Guess she’s right, he thought. And, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn’t think of too much he’d done in life that deserved respect. High school dropout, father to two children who knows where, no military or community service of any kind . . . a lackluster life to say the least. He wasn’t pleased with his evaluation. I am better than that.

Still, those people pretty well fell over themselves trying to kiss his ass. A long life earning respect or a shorter one getting it undeserved? Getting it undeserved . . . He cocked his head and stood there thinking for a long moment. The old woman waved her fan.

“You know,” he finally said, “I think I feel better about getting respect I deserve. You can keep the app.”

The old woman nodded with a knowing smile and said, “I’m not surprised. Many people have tried it, just like you. Not one person bought it.”

Wilson looked at his phone again, the app was gone. “I think I’ll go find something respectable to do,” he said as he left the shop.

The old woman waved her fan, “thought so,” she said.

There was someone following her. Melisha had just finished her workout at the Jazzercise Dance Studio and was walking home, about two city blocks away. Ferris Street, two lanes in both directions as well as parking on both sides, is one of the main streets of the city and at this time of day is fairly busy.

Late evening, the early summer sun had already dropped behind the buildings and, though the light was waning fast, storefronts and streetlights hadn’t yet turned on. Traffic on the street was moderate, about average for a Thursday.

Melisha stopped by a sub shop and peered into the reflection cast by an angled pane of glass by the entrance. There he is, about 25 feet back. She was looking at a rather short man who was wearing a Bowler hat, an Inverness coat, Sherlock Holmes style, and was walking with a curious shuffle, dragging his feet a little. His legs didn’t seem to be bending in the right places, she thought. He took a sudden interest in the wares displayed like waterfalls in the Busy Bees bead shop.

The strange fellow had been behind her since she left the studio. I’m just being paranoid, Melisha thought, and with a little inner shrug turned and continued on her way home. Some of the streetlights sputtered as they began to heat up.

She made her way down the street, moving with the flow of the other pedestrians. A delicious aroma emanated from the coffee shop next door to the news stand where she got a paper every now and then. She looked into another reflection. The little man was still behind her, only closer, a bare 10 feet away! He had stopped and was looking directly at her through the reflection through thick black-rimmed glasses. The “coke bottle” lenses made his eyes look tiny. (Blink, blink) He blinked his eyes like a maritime signal lamp. (Blink, blink)

It was slightly comical to her. She should be feeling threatened and down deep she did but her curiosity and amusement dampened her fear. She turned and faced her follower. (Blink, blink) He smiled with thin lips and walked up to her.

“You are Melisha,” he said with a reedy, scratchy voice. (Blink, blink) A statement, not a question.

She saw that she was actually bigger than the small person, which diminished her fear a little more. He looks like one of Tolkein’s hobbits—no, more like the dwarfs. She wondered at the oblique thought that seemed somehow appropriate. With bolstered confidence she replied, “And how could you possibly know that?”

“I know everything,” he said. It was another statement, and made without apparent hubris. “I know you lead a very happy life in spite of severe poverty. Your mother suffers from emphysema and taking care of her costs every extra penny you can earn. Nonetheless, you engage life with zest and aplomb in spite of severe adversity. How do you do it?”

True, mother taught me to love life. But how can he know these things? Melisha thought as her fear went up a notch. “So?” she said warily with narrowing eyes. “I don’t know you.”

The man smiled his thin little smile again. “Please forgive me. I’m Marvis,” he said. “I’m from . . .” (Blink, blink) “. . . far away.” He reached up with uncommonly slender fingers and tipped his hat. “I’ve brought you a gift you might use.”

A gift, eh? she thought warily. “Oh, sure,” she said, “. . . what’s the catch?”

“No ‘catch,’” he said, “we . . . ahh . . .” (Blink, blink) He considered, his lips pursing smaller and smaller as he thought; she could see the wheels turning in his head. He looked up at her, (Blink, blink) his lips slowly drawing out to that thin smile, “I’m a member of a research organization studying human behavior. We monitor human beings on a daily basis and conduct experiments designed for us to understand the ‘human condition.’”

“You’re monitoring me?” she asked, slight furrows appearing in the smooth skin of her brow. “Isn’t that a violation of my rights?”

Chagrined, he said, “Technically, yes. Practically, no—because as you well know, in this day and age of instant communication, the Internet, etc., everyone and everything is being monitored 24/7 by a myriad of watchers. What’s one monitor more or less?” (Blink, blink) He looked at passersby going in both directions on the sidewalk. “Is there somewhere we can go off this street?” (Blink, blink)

Even though Melisha was a smart young woman her curiosity was getting the upper hand. Somewhere public, she thought, the coffee shop would serve. “Let’s go in here,” she said and they went inside and found a booth away from the people up near the front. After they were seated she asked, “What would you like to drink?”

“I like beer,” he said.

“No beer here. Coffee.”

“Coffee?” (Blink, blink) He pursed his lips again for a moment then said, “oh . . . okay. I’ll try some.”

She arched an eyebrow toward him. Never had coffee before? Strange. Save the espresso for later. “Wait here,” she said and went to the counter to bring back two lattes, one of which she placed before Marvis.

(Blink, blink) He sniffed the beverage with oddly pinched nostrils then took a tiny sip. “It’s hot,” he said with a smile, then took another sip. (Blink, blink) His eyes rolled up into his head and his face became ecstatic. His lips pulled back to reveal even rows of pointed teeth, top and bottom. After a moment he relaxed (Blink, blink) and said, “That’s good!” He took another, longer sip. “Mmm, that’s really good. Good as beer!”

Melisha began to really wonder who—or what she was dealing with. Marvis certainly wasn’t the average human being. “Look,” she said, “I don’t have a whole lot of time. I need to be getting home . . .”

“. . . to care for your mother,” Marvis finished for her.

“Yes.”

“Indeed,” he said. “Well, here.” He reached inside his coat and brought out a medium sized tablet. “This is for you.” He laid it on the table and pushed it toward her.

The tablet was on and she saw it had the latest operating system as well as the most popular of the top apps—Facebook, Twitter, Amazon, iTunes, Candy Crush, etc. She’d been saving for one; a piggy bank in her kitchen was slowly filling with spare change that she intended to eventually spend on a tablet.

“I’ve wanted one of these for a long time,” she said almost under her breath.

(Blink, blink) “This one is yours and you’re welcome to it,” Marvis said. “But I should tell you that it’s a very special version of tablet. Anything you order from anyplace on the Internet you pay for with happiness, not money.”

Isn’t happiness an abstract idea? The thought amused her and she couldn’t keep a smile from pulling at the corners of her mouth. “How can you pay for something with happiness?” she asked.

(Blink, blink) “Happiness is a quantifiable quality of the human life string. The string begins with birth, progresses through time from event to event, and terminates at death. Lifetime totals of many abstract aspects of a human life can be assessed from string analysis.” (Blink, blink)

“They can’t do that,” Melisha said. “Who in the hell are you?”

“Just Marvis,” he said. (Blink, blink) “And you’d be surprised what ‘they’ can do. What I’m telling you about this tablet is true. Just try it and see for yourself.”

We need a dishwasher, she thought. Mom gets so breathless when she tries to help so I do them most of the time. Can I sacrifice a little happiness for a little practicality?

She tapped the Amazon icon and tap-swiped her way to a dishwasher that would suit. A golden pop up box appeared near the lower right of the screen. In the box written in gold relief was the legend: 25 hours.

“That means that dishwasher will cost you 25 hours of your happiness subtracted from your lifetime total.” (Blink, blink) “Which, in your case, is currently in the 20 to 30,000 hour range. You could easily lose 25 hours with very little noticeable effect.”

Why not? she thought, we do need a dishwasher. “How do I do it?” she asked.

(Blink, blink) “Just fill out the purchase info and when you get to checkout just tap the golden box.”

Melisha filled out the purchase form for the dishwasher and installation by a local company on Monday afternoon and came finally to the checkout page. She hesitated, holding her finger poised over the gold box. She looked over at Marvis who (Blink, blink) nodded with his tight lipped smile. She tapped. Confirmation and thank you screens followed.

Marvis drained the last of his latte. “That’s all you need to know,” he said and rose from his seat. “Enjoy your new device.” He turned and made his shuffling way out of the shop.

Melisha watched him trundle away and looked down at the tablet, still not quite believing what had just occurred. She drank the rest of her latte in deep thought. What could she do with such a golden goose?

The installation contractor called the next day to confirm their appointment. She asked how much the install would cost and was told everything was paid in full. It worked! she thought. She should have been delighted but strangely wasn’t.

She took off work early on Monday and the dishwasher was delivered and installed with little fuss. She thanked the workmen as they left and went back into the kitchen to look at her prize. There were a few dishes in the sink from breakfast and her mother’s lunch so she loaded them into the new machine. She latched the door and started the cycle. That’s when she realized she should be happy about the new appliance and its benefits to her life but wasn’t.

That’s it, eh? she pondered. It didn’t pop my balloon but somewhere there’s a leak. Is a life without happiness worth a life of plenty? Really? She thought of the simple joy she felt washing the dishes by hand. Really?

Later that day, after she’d finished leading her Jazzercise class, she went down to the Riverwalk. She took the tablet out of her bag and gave it a nice, spinning toss into the river. It skipped twice and on the third hit sank below the lapping water.