My parents taught me to be friendly, to speak to strangers, and to be especially nice to old people. So I just naturally developed into a person who thinks the best of people. I assume they’re regular folks until they act in some irregular way.

This man I know has been coming into my business for five years. He’s jolly and friendly and always has something kind to say. He inquires about my family. Asks, "how’s business?" that sort of thing.

Now if you’re anything like me, you know a lot of people who are just speaking acquaintances. We nod and speak to them, but we really don’t know them. We certainly don’t know much about them. Sometimes we know a first name or a last name or a nickname. I knew people in college and in the Marine Corps with whom I spent a lot of time, but never knew their full names.

This may be a man thing. Women seem to know more about people in general than men do. Men will just sit down and have coffee with you every morning for 10 or 20 years and never think to ask your name or where you’re from. We kind of feel it’s an invasion of privacy to ask too many questions.

That’s why we get such a bad rap about not stopping strangers on the street and asking them for directions. We just don’t want to impose, or infringe on their privacy.

When the time is right, though, we’ll probe a little. We’ll venture such things as, "Hot enough for ya?" Or, "Ja see the game?" And when we really get close we’ll inquire about how they make a living. Most people don’t mind telling that kind of stuff.

I thought five years of, "How ya doin?" was enough time to warm up to this guy who comes into my store all the time, so I asked, "What do you do for a living?"

He looked at me with steely eyes and said quietly, " I’m a professional killer."

Suddenly my shoes were really interesting. I studied them for what felt like a longgggg time.

Being the sensitive killer that he is, and sensing I didn’t know what to say, he broke the silence.

"I haven’t always done that. I just started a few months ago. But I’m real good at it," he said, grinning.

Regaining some of my composure, I ventured: "I guess you travel a lot."

"No, mostly here in Tennessee."

Gulp.

"You don’t say."

"Yep. I get all the work I want. I’ll get you a brochure from my car. You might need me sometime."

I’m thinking, "He has a brochure? I didn’t know killing was that civilized."

Coming through the door, brochure in hand, he said: "I kill mostly Germans and Orientals. Americans occasionally."

I felt better now. But that remark, "Americans Occasionally."

His hand thrust toward me, and I stopped breathing, staring at his eyes.

"Here," he said, "this has my number on it. See you tomorrow." And he was gone.

I didn’t take my eyes off him until his engine started and his headlights came on. Then I remembered I was holding the brochure.

It was a HIT LIST! And it had names and PICTURES!! On the first page the list read: House Ant. German Roach. Brown Banded Roach. American Roach. Oriental Roach.

The cover said: "Home Guide To Pest Control – TERMINIX. No Bugs. No Hassles."

PHEW!!