408. The Sign

The sidewalk is busy with people. A man in the distance is holding a large sign, facing away from me. As people pass him, they quickly glance at the sign before looking away. They seem to regard it almost furtively, as though they’re seeing something they aren’t supposed to see. Afterwards, they appear lost in thought, and I almost detect a hint of guilt in them.

My curiosity is growing, but my shoelace has come undone. I stop to tie it and as I’m crouching down, one of the passers-by says to his companion: “Are you paying attention?” Not only is this a strange question, it is uttered with a tone so sardonic that it suggests distaste with the idea. But perhaps even stranger is that the companion begins to laugh as though the question were some kind of joke.

My shoe returned to order, I carry on towards the man with the sign. He’s standing perfectly still, off to one side of the broad sidewalk. As I go past, I examine him and he appears ordinary in every way, except for the serious expression on his face. He’s looking straight ahead, like he’s engaged in a solemn ritual.

I’m still reacting to his face when the sign finally comes into view. I see it over my shoulder but there’s no doubt about what it says. In giant block letters are the words “PLEASE PAY ATTENTION” and nothing else. Noting this, I quickly glance again at the man who remains unchanged and I continue on my way.

As I walk, I can’t help thinking about the sign. I’m struck by its simplicity. I’d expected something different, perhaps an advertisement or a furious protest, but not this. This sign asked me to do something. And the requested action would not be seen by anyone. It was something for me and me alone.

I am the one who was asked to pay attention. The man’s face made this perfectly clear. An immense feeling of responsibility begins to swell up in me. But why do I feel compelled to respond to the sign? Perhaps simply because I now know. I need to pay attention and only I will decide if I do.