i walked out of my office to speak to my assistant who is also my vast superior when it comes to IT related trouble issues and website development, who i consider my right hand man and feel if i don't elevate both of our positions to indisputable executive levels then i don't know nothing about nothing---i came out of my office excited to talk to him about a new lead generation break through we were both right then working on.
i got about two sentences into my explosion when some dude walked in and introduced himself.
"hello, i'm walter james jackson."
"hello mr. jackson, what can we do for you."
"i'd like to speak to the owner."
the owner is never around. i'm the closest thing to the owner because i call the shots when the owner isn't there. so i said,
"alright, why don't you come into my office."
"that would be good."
so we went into my office but i didn't close the door. he sat down and i sat down, a large oak desk between us. the lights are off in my office so he was lit by my desk lamp only right below the eyes. his brightly lipped face mouthed these words,
"I thank you kindly for having me. I'm a PCA, do you know what that means?"
"A Public Certified Accountant?"
"No that's a CPA, A Certified Public Accountant. I'm a PCA, a Personal Care Assistant. I help the infirm and eldery get care."
"Oh yeah, I knew that. So what brings you in here?"
He looked now, even without light on his eyes like he was about to break into a sudden burst of tears, everything changed in his demeanor--it was on command!
"he said, well I work all day long, six days a week. I work hard. I got a call today that my mother had a heart attack and is being treated in a hospital in Lawrence. So I took off work earlier and tried to get on the Lawrence commuter line. But the T folk told me that my T-Pass, which is monthly, does not get me on the commuter trains. So they wouldn't let me go.
So I have this T pass, see. But I can't get to my mother on it."
He stopped looking like he was crying just then. I shifted in my seat so that I could more easily take a drink from my coffee,
"Yeah...so then how, Mr. Jackson, did you find yourself here?"
Mr. Jackson straightened up hard. He didn't change though the sad look on his face had become more clear,
"Well, I thought since you were a real estate office and all, that you could use a hand around here, maybe sweeping the floors or taking out the trash."
I sipped my coffee. I had never taken my eyes off Mr. Jackson. I said with deadpan delivery,
"Nope. I'm sorry, Mr. Jackson. But we don't have any use for that kind of work around here."
It nearly fucking killed him. Not because it was a refusal. He's used to that, it's a numbers game after all. But because it was such a too-the-heart devastating refusal that was also an unmasking.
Because shit, who doesn't want to help a person who's in a complete dire way and has no other choice? But shit---but, seriously, to be telling that story more than a mile away from the fucking commuter rail where there'd have to be about 700,000 other suckers standing in line ahead of me, and to be expecting me to believe that all them other suckers didn't bite on his oh-my-god tear jerking line of his before I was the last sucker...is just a little too much for anyone to consider earnestly.
So he nodded and stood up. I stood up too. He offered his hand across the low light desk and I took it. I kept firm eye contact with him, he was proud through this. I said then,
He nodded again, let go of my hand and walked out the door. I moseyed slowly on out after him. I walked to the front of the office and looked down out the windows. I saw him leave out the front door and turn in the direction leading away from the trains. He took out an umbrella and started twirling it. I thought it was extra funny then, not like I needed any further evidence of that man's cascading in the garden of lies, but i noticed him twirling that umbrella and it had only rained just for a little while during the late morning hours and that was more than 5 hours ago...he'd been walking all over town for hours pulling off that caper, unchecked, in how many offices? fucking balls. dude probably was walking with at least $2500 in his pockets.
but at least he knows now there's at least one house on his path that doesn't need a house keeper.
I never did get to finish that conversation with my right hand man.