Gary is sitting in his car across the street from his old workplace. He is driving his wife’s car so no one will notice him. Yesterday was his last day of work after 20 years in this building. He had retired from the highest position available to him. His proximity card would get him into every locked door in there.
After his office retirement party, he had gathered up his mementos of service, photos of his teammates, engraved lucite awards for his various accomplishments, a carved letter opener he had once been given by the first administrative assistant that he had ever had assigned to him and a signed thankyou from the Governor. There was enough there to fill up a small box. The last thing he did was turn in his proximity card key. He watched it being deactivated, a process he had established some 10 years ago; and he walked out the door.
He drove back to stare at this building he had inhabited as other people arrived for work like any other day. The day was only different in so far as it did not include his presence for the first time. He sat there and watched. The thought occurred to him that this must be what death is like. You are no longer a part of the flow, and other than that, nothing much changes. He reflected that he could not get in the building, even if he wanted to, now. His deactivated proximity card was powerless. Today he had no authority, no agency, no nothing Weird.
Gary had no reason to be surprised. He had watched colleagues and superiors leave service every year. By and large they just disappeared. Where did they go? Were they happy? His executive secretary had given him a book as a parting gift. He always suspected that she was smarter than he was, and not a few times she had saved him from making serious mistakes. The book, she told me, was the same book that Mr Rogers gave as present to almost everyone he met. It was called Deep and Simple (in a shallow and complex world) by Bo Lozoff. He read the whole book last night and one line stood out: “A career is too shallow and idea to build a life on.”
Gary looked back up and out his wife’s car window and had a shock. There was his former executive secretary looking at him with concern. Gary lowered his window. Frankie asked him: “Gary are you OK?”. “Hi Frankie” Gary said “Your idiot ex-boss is just a little overwhelmed at the magnitude of change. I’m just trying to take it all in. I’m trying to find my internal proximity card to open up the next stage of life, whatever that might be.”
“I’m going to miss you Gary” Frankie said
“No you won’t Frankie. Everything will just move on smoothly without me.” You’ll work your wonders with the new gal who will probably be much better than me at what I did.” Gary said.
“That’s what you think? That you’ll be forgotten? I’ll think about you every time I look at the scar I have from the time you spilled hot coffee on me. I’ll think of you whenever I have a bad day and you are not there to talk to.” Frankie said
“OK, OK, I hope you pass along these pearls of wisdom to my successor. I know you are right, but there is still an identity death going on for me, even if it is a shallow one.” Gary said.
“You read the book already?” Frankie asked.
“I did. I’ll miss your gifts. I’m going to say something inappropriate now. Thank you Frankie from the bottom of my heart. I love you and I’ll miss you and you’ll always be with me.” Gary said.
“OK, Gary. You take care. Enjoy the good stuff. I gotta go back in there.” Frankie said.
“And I don’t” Gary said as he started up the car.
“You’re an asshole, Gary.” Frankie said smiling.
“I know. You take care wonder woman.” Gary said as he waved goodbye to the building for the last time.
— DanielSouthGate
After his office retirement party, he had gathered up his mementos of service, photos of his teammates, engraved lucite awards for his various accomplishments, a carved letter opener he had once been given by the first administrative assistant that he had ever had assigned to him and a signed thankyou from the Governor. There was enough there to fill up a small box. The last thing he did was turn in his proximity card key. He watched it being deactivated, a process he had established some 10 years ago; and he walked out the door.
He drove back to stare at this building he had inhabited as other people arrived for work like any other day. The day was only different in so far as it did not include his presence for the first time. He sat there and watched. The thought occurred to him that this must be what death is like. You are no longer a part of the flow, and other than that, nothing much changes. He reflected that he could not get in the building, even if he wanted to, now. His deactivated proximity card was powerless. Today he had no authority, no agency, no nothing Weird.
Gary had no reason to be surprised. He had watched colleagues and superiors leave service every year. By and large they just disappeared. Where did they go? Were they happy? His executive secretary had given him a book as a parting gift. He always suspected that she was smarter than he was, and not a few times she had saved him from making serious mistakes. The book, she told me, was the same book that Mr Rogers gave as present to almost everyone he met. It was called Deep and Simple (in a shallow and complex world) by Bo Lozoff. He read the whole book last night and one line stood out: “A career is too shallow and idea to build a life on.”
Gary looked back up and out his wife’s car window and had a shock. There was his former executive secretary looking at him with concern. Gary lowered his window. Frankie asked him: “Gary are you OK?”. “Hi Frankie” Gary said “Your idiot ex-boss is just a little overwhelmed at the magnitude of change. I’m just trying to take it all in. I’m trying to find my internal proximity card to open up the next stage of life, whatever that might be.”
“I’m going to miss you Gary” Frankie said
“No you won’t Frankie. Everything will just move on smoothly without me.” You’ll work your wonders with the new gal who will probably be much better than me at what I did.” Gary said.
“That’s what you think? That you’ll be forgotten? I’ll think about you every time I look at the scar I have from the time you spilled hot coffee on me. I’ll think of you whenever I have a bad day and you are not there to talk to.” Frankie said
“OK, OK, I hope you pass along these pearls of wisdom to my successor. I know you are right, but there is still an identity death going on for me, even if it is a shallow one.” Gary said.
“You read the book already?” Frankie asked.
“I did. I’ll miss your gifts. I’m going to say something inappropriate now. Thank you Frankie from the bottom of my heart. I love you and I’ll miss you and you’ll always be with me.” Gary said.
“OK, Gary. You take care. Enjoy the good stuff. I gotta go back in there.” Frankie said.
“And I don’t” Gary said as he started up the car.
“You’re an asshole, Gary.” Frankie said smiling.
“I know. You take care wonder woman.” Gary said as he waved goodbye to the building for the last time.
— DanielSouthGate
Beautifully captured bittersweet last day. With coda.
ReplyDeleteI think males really do have a harder time with retirement.
ReplyDeleteAh, Daniel. Was this a slip-up? "The book, she told me, was the same book..." Have you retired? Have you been retired for a while? Regardless, this is a great description of the feelings of a person who's been very invested in the work identity. I'm glad Frankie was there to ease the passage, which, of course, has only just begun for this FICTIONAL character! :) ---Macoff
ReplyDeleteWhen I retired some years ago, it was like breaking out of prison. I had a smile on my face for a good six months straight - - - so happy I would never see the buildings again!!
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