Saturday, October 25, 2003
Missing that mail.
There's a man who walks around GE Medical in his own haze. It's like he witnessed some tragedy 30 years ago that permanently opened his eyes wider. They aren't as wide open now as they were right after it happened, but they're still dazed, thinking instead of seeing. And he sort of drifts through the halls, as if he was carrying a full cup of hot coffee that he was afraid of spilling over, so he walks extra slow, extra careful. Except the only thing he's carrying, of course, is himself. I see him every week or two. And you can't miss him, with his white hair combed up in a duckbill do that makes me think maybe he's been struck by lightning or stuck his finger in a socket . . . but no, he really combs it that way. I've never heard him speak, but I know he's a mumbler. I imagine the other workers -- the real guys, mind you, the factory guys, not office jags like myself -- treat him like a war veteran or patient, but I'm not really sure. There's nothing I'm very sure of at work.
"Why don't you stay behind?"
"Why don't you stay behind?"
