The Easiest Way to Sway a Person

They say a man’s belief system is like his favorite hat, fits just right, looks sharp in the mirror, and by golly, no one can tell him it doesn’t suit him. Hank Peters was that kind of man.

He believed, firmly and without hesitation, that he was the most logical thinker this side of the Mississippi. He also believed, equally firmly, that everyone else was at least a quart low on common sense.

Now, Hank wasn’t a mean man. He paid his taxes, waved to his neighbors, and even helped Mrs. Blanchard next door fix her porch light when it went out.

But he had a habit, no, a calling, of correcting people. And he corrected them about everything.

Whether it was how to grill a steak, the proper way to fold a map, as he still used paper ones, or the speed at which clouds should reasonably move, Hank always had the final word. So, when the town council decided to hold a public forum on whether Main Street should become a one-way road, Hank showed up early, wearing his favorite hat, a faded ball cap that said Trust Me, I Know Things.

The meeting started civilly enough. A few folks spoke their piece.

Then Hank stood up, cleared his throat like a diesel engine starting in winter, and declared, “Turning Main Street into a one-way road is the dumbest idea since sliced bread.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Hank folded his arms and waited, like a judge who’d already decided the case.

That’s when young Millie, the new teacher at the elementary school, raised her hand.

“Mr. Peters,” she said with a polite smile, “didn’t you once tell me you believe in efficiency above all else?”

Hank nodded. “That’s right. Efficiency is what separates us from chaos.”

Millie nodded thoughtfully. “Well, the traffic study shows a one-way system would cut downtown congestion by forty percent and reduce accidents. Seems efficient to me.”

The crowd turned to Hank, waiting for his rebuttal. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

His hand went to his chin like he was trying to find an argument somewhere in his whiskers.

“Well,” he said finally, “efficiency’s fine and all, but you can’t go changing things just because it looks good on paper.”

Millie tilted her head. “Didn’t you also tell me that ‘progress waits for no man,’ Mr. Peters?”

Hank froze. That was something he’d said, at least three times, to at least as many people. The room went so quiet you could practically hear the dust motes floating.

Finally, Hank sighed. “You know, I did say that.” He gave a slow grin. “And I reckon it’d be mighty inefficient for me to argue with myself.”

The crowd burst into laughter, and Hank tipped his cap toward Millie. “You’ve got me there, Miss. Guess I’ll have to walk home the long way once Main turns one-way.”

From that day on, Hank still corrected people, just not as often. He’d learned that sometimes, the easiest way to sway a person is to let them trip over their own certainty and help them up with a smile.

He told that story for years afterward, usually while leaning on the counter at Betty’s Diner, sipping coffee that could dissolve a spoon.

He’d chuckle and say, “You don’t need to outsmart folks. Just let ‘em hear themselves talk long enough, and they’ll do all the convincing for you.”

And then he’d take another sip and add, with a twinkle in his eye, “That’s efficiency.”