The Old Man Resigned

Apporximately seven months afer his company sent him to Work From Hom (WFH), and almost nine years to the day that he was first hired, The Old Man resigned his position with his Former Employer (FE).

He knows what people, like his friends and family and in general, probably think. What kind of idiot quits a well-paying job win the middle of a pendemic? Especially when he has a mortgage to pay along with other usual suspects of bills, like everyone else, and has a daughter he wants to help get through college with minimal, if any, debt. The kind of idiot would appear to be him.

But why? A question not easily answered, which is, in part, why he resigned. Simplicity is NOT Genius. It is merely a corporate-ism with intent of increasing productivity and profit. Something The Old Man has never give a shit about. And never will. Is that not reason enough?

There's more to The Old Man's disillusionment than just that, of course.

In fact, if he had to trace it -- and he's had plenty of time to do just that -- he would say it began the day he interviewed. It was a drizzly Tuesday -- okay, he doesn't know if it was actually a Tuesday, he just likes that line of Sheldon Cooper's from Big Bang Theory, a show that if he doesn't watch the back-to-back episodes that air every day, he feel a little off. However, it was raining that day, lightly.

Rain beaded on the shoulders of his suit, depsite the umbrella that he stopped by on the way to his interview.

The building he interviewed was unimpressive, a non-descript office building that, upon entering, felt like going to the dentist. The fake plants near the high glass windows were dusty. The window looked out onto the parking lot.

One of the three people he interviewed was a big guy with a shaved head, who was impressed with The Old Man's credential as a copy-cataloger at a library, his previous job, which he would gladly still be doing, but the position had been eliminated - budget cuts. So, here he is.

The Old Man left the interview, fairly certain that he would be hired, which was a relief and a disappointment. It felt, dramatically, like the beginning of the end, which was perhaps true.

The job was fine for a time. He got promoted, made more money, but it was years before he made what he deserved, what anyone should be paid for working the kind of hours he worked, doing the kinds of things he was doing. A Team Leader, young enough to be his daughter, although still older thatn his real daughter, said that what he did was a sacrafice for the team and the company. That TL was a smart young woman who did not realize just how ignorant what she'd been advised to say to him was. It was too bad, The Old Man had liked her, and had mistakenly considered a friend. She was not, and he no longer liked her. He didn't dislike her. He nothinged her. Her life would be superficially satisfying, but in case it no longer concerned him.

When The Old Man was finally paid a descent wage, he no longer cared about making a descent wage. It meant nothing to him. The work meant nothing to him, but then it never really had. It work. You did it. You got paid. You bought shit. Repeat. He had always hoped for something else, something more. If not for himself, then for his daughter, he decided, but in the end that was insuffient. But it wasn't the catalyst that made him decide to resign.

What was? Good question. If pressed, he would say it was a dream. A nightmare perhaps, but not like a Hollywood horror movie nightmare. This was different. It was so banal, felt so ordinary that it was terrifying.

This dream that The Old Man had, night after night, felt like waking up every morning for the rest of his life. In his dream, he felt as if he was in the real world, or that he could no longer distinguish between the two. He got up, shuffled to the kitchen, brewed coffee, poured himself a cup with a spalsh of milk and one packet of sweetner. Then he headed to his home office for another 12-to-14 hour day of working files and following process. Working files and following process. When people asked him what he did. That is what whe told them: I work files, I follow process. If they pressed him -- Yes, but what do you do exactly? He simply repeated: I work files, I follow process. But in his dream, he detoured his office and went down into his basement, descending the stairs carefully, because while age may just be a number to Sally Sunshine's vomitting optimism daily, a broken bone might be the end of him, depnding. Although a cool walking cane might be fun, for awhile anyway.

Approaching the bottom of the stairs, The Old Man sees a rope hangman's noose hanging from the rafters, completely still.

That's it. That's the dream. The Old Man Wakes up in a silent, contained panick, and after a moment of breathing, he gets up again, this time sitting down to work in the end but occassionally wondering if there was a talisman in his basement, attached to the ceiling, just below his feet.

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