New Guy

She was complaining to me about the new Mormon employee and I wondered why she had singled me out.

        “Can you believe he had the audacity to give me marriage advice? I mean so what if I live with my fiancé. He needs to keep his fucking opinions to himself.”

          We had been working late into the evening and she had invited me out for a drink. I just as well would have finished up my work and gone home but she was my acting supervisor over the next year and getting to know her would probably benefit my career. She was already out of the door and into the elevator before I could reply anyway.
        I followed her into a local brewery a few blocks from the office. We sat at a window and a waitress came around and asked if we wanted to open up a tab. My supervisor told her we were just getting a quick drink and ordered us each a beer. I alternated my gaze between her face and the street as she did most of the talking.

        “Everybody hates him. I even heard some of the managers talking about reassigning him so they won’t have to deal with the pressure they are getting from his team.”
          She was somewhere between twenty-nine and thirty-two. She was tall with a thin constitution, but something about her body seemed forged in some way. Not to suggest she had ever undergone any kind of plastic surgery, but she was the type of woman who just looked partially unnatural, probably from drinking too much or spending too much time tanning when she was younger. Her skin had thickened and reddened and her blonde hair seemed to dramatically change hues depending on the situational light. Beyond these minor physical anomalies though, she was considered among the most attractive women in the office. She had very pretty facial features, although I thought they were somewhat offset by her tendency to over exaggerate her expressions. I had always found this kind of annoying, but she seemed to think I was hilarious and everything I said seemed to make her burst out into laughter. I also found this rather annoying.
          The guy she was talking about had only been in the office for three or four months, but he had already built up a notorious reputation among the women in the office. His name was Michael. Supposedly Michael was a brilliant mind in his field and as long as he was bringing in revenue there was slim chance that the company would lay him off. Therefore most of his opponents had to resort to near constant degradation of his character.
          For my part I had only talked to the guy once or twice. I didn’t know that much about Mormons except that they mostly lived in Utah and they didn’t drink. I also understood they had a now-discontinued practice of polygamy. I had made it a personal commitment to respect the beliefs of others, but the non-drinking part really baffled me. Muslims didn’t drink either. Jews drank. I wasn’t sure about Hindus. Catholics drank. I drank, maybe too much. Definitely not as much as my supervisor. This is what I pondered as the dragon across from me spewed flame after flame. Finally there was a pause in her speech.

        “So what do you think?” She waited for me to respond like a professor in a lecture hall.

        Drifting in my own thoughts I had completely lost track of what she was referring to. I took a sip of my beer to pretend that I needed to buy some time to think about the question. A dilatory recollection of her description of Michael slowly processed in my mind like a photo developing in a dark room.

        “I don’t know, I’ve only talked to the guy once or twice. Maybe you should tell him to back off with the personal stuff.” I offered some of my world-famous constructive mediation. She burst out into laughter.

        “You know Rudy, you’re strange.” The last thing I wanted was for this little rendezvous to turn into an assassination of my character, but she continued as if she were solving a puzzle.

        “You are a hard worker. I can’t complain there. You always show up on time and you learn quickly. You use few words, but the words you use are usually well structured and impart some genuine observation. I’ve never seen you quarrel with anyone or even lose your temper. In fact, unlike everyone else you seem capable of getting along with anyone. Not once have I ever heard you utter something negative. But at the same time your approach to people can be guarded and methodical, seemingly impersonal.”

        She searched my eyes for some kind of resistance but I wasn’t about to give her the pleasure. “Is this about me jamming the copier today?” I joked and she almost died laughing even though the comment invited a pity laugh at best.

        “When are you getting married?” I changed the subject. She didn’t seem to mind seizing the opportunity to talk about herself.

        “We actually haven’t set a date. I don’t think either one of us is in a rush. We’ve already been engaged for two years and we live together so I don’t think getting married is going to feel much different.”
          There wasn’t anything in her face to suggest that she was lying, but a slight downward curvature in the corners of her lips imparted a small amount of frustration.

        “Well being engaged is probably the best part anyway. You’re getting to know each other on a whole new level and you’ve both got something to look forward to together.” Again, I suggested something appeasing and mildly positive.

        “Yeah I guess you’re right. Michael’s comment really bothered me though and I can’t figure out why. I mean what business is it of his?”

        She had a point there and I affirmed it. “You’ve got a point.”

        She broke a small pause in our conversation, “So Rudy, do you have a girlfriend?”

        I took another sip of beer to impart some due indifference in my answer. She responded by taking a sip of her drink as well. I think to impart some due indifference in her question.
        “I’ll go on a date from time to time. Not really looking for anything serious right now.”

        “But you’re such an attractive guy. Smart and really funny too.” She searched my eyes for some kind of reaction. I smiled rather coolly and shrugged.

        I took another sip of my beer. The more tactical sips I could squeeze into the overall strategy on my side of the conversation, the sooner I could go home. “What can I say? Beauty and brains.”

        She laughed too hard again and studied my face. I felt like a science project. I wondered if she was propositioning me. She must have understood my curiosity because after a few moments she crossed her legs and looked toward the street.

        “You know when you’re a kid you never expect things to turn out the way that they do and by the time you’ve grown accustomed to that fact you’re having your own kids.” She said looking out the window and shook her head.
        “Our search for truth continuously unearths primeval carnage. Although in defense of mankind, our propensity to destroy is superseded by our capacity to forgive.” I proclaimed like I had just had an epiphany.

        “I don’t understand what you mean.” She looked confused.

        I was tired and the beer was getting to me. I really wanted to go home, but her confusion attracted something inside me to explore the topic further.

      “I guess what I mean is you have to put things in perspective.” 

        She appeared unsatisfied with my explanation so I continued, “I ran across an article in the Times the other day about marine biology. If you had to name the undisputed, most successful organism on Earth what would you say?”

      “Human beings.” she answered confidently.

      “I would too. But what criteria are you measuring that judgment against? I mean scientists estimate the aggregate biomass of krill is 5 times that of humans. If biomass was how we measured success, then clearly the krill would win.”

        She followed along and I just kept thinking aloud.

      “We generally view biomass as an incorrect measure of success. Our capacity to think, rationalize,  believe, make money and so forth. . . that’s how we measure success.”

        Her mouth formed the beginning of a thought, but then retreated giving me a chance to summarize. 

          “I think what I’m trying to say is that people generally overlook how myopic our perspective can be. You have to measure your maturity with the proper benchmark. In your case the proper benchmark isn’t your childhood predictions, it’s your happiness in adulthood.  I can assure you that you have nothing to be regretful or anxious about. You’ve got to remember how far you’ve come.”

            I wasn’t entirely convinced that was what I meant, but it was getting late. Another sip of beer. This one bordered on the fringe between sip and gulp.

        “I’m not really regretful or anxious. I’m just disappointed I guess. Have you ever expected something to be a certain way and then have it turn out to be completely different?”

        I thought about the question and replied directly, “Yes.” I chugged beer.

        I could not bring myself to elaborate any further. She was starting to make me think about my personal life and I was going to have to shut her down. “Everyone has.” I reiterated.

        Her lips parted briefly before snapping shut again. I could tell that my succinct responses were starting to annoy her.

        “You know Rudy I really like you a lot. You’re probably my favorite of the staff, but I find something troubling about you. I know I haven’t known you for very long, but it seems that at one time you were a very complex and interesting person. It seems like you’ve been holding yourself back from expressing this complexity out of some past phobia or defeat. Almost like somewhere along the line your soul got burned out or something.”

        I dropped an eyebrow involuntarily as if my face hadn’t been given ample time to prepare an expression for such a comment. For a split second a self-preserving awareness I had once held close to me temporarily returned; A very characteristic part of me that I had abandoned eons ago when a principled boy had vanished into the heart of a wicked man.
          Whatever it was exposed just enough loose sand to keep her digging.
        “Any woman with half the right intuition can see you’re cheating yourself. On the surface you seem content, but your body language is screaming for a life preserver.  I don’t mean to involve myself in your affairs, but at some point you let yourself go astray. I’m no psychologist, but I know your type. You’re the anomaly among men. Your whole identity is dependent on the predictability of other men. You’re confusing, intriguing and capable of stirring up our emotions. You’re the type that brings out the worst in women.”
          She had me pinned. “Well, Michael and I are trying to get Title IX repealed.” I quipped. 
        “See that sarcasm.” She smiled like an ecologist discovering a live specimen of a thought-to-be extinct species. “Tell me what led you astray and I’ll let you go home.”
         
        Home. Exactly where I wanted to be.  I looked to the window and noticed a single smudge in one corner that really bothered me..

*                    *                    *                    *

        One evening about a week ago I am heading home to my apartment from work. From the lobby of my building I call for the elevator and jingle the change in my pocket as I wait. As I get on the elevator car I suddenly forget which floor my apartment is on. I try a button, but as the car doors shut and reopen I don’t recognize the floor. I try other buttons. Each button I push takes me to a wrong floor. I get out on each of the wrong floors look around and make a comment about how the floor is wrong and then get back into the elevator and repeat the same procedure.
        I conceptualize the existence of a home, but my practical judgment is wrung out to an unidentifiable distortion. It soon occurs to me that I may not be in the wrong elevator, but the wrong building entirely. Perhaps even the wrong city. Worse yet, I may not be able to identify the right floor even if I have already found it. I go into some kind of hysteria. I frantically push different buttons in different buildings in different cities. I can only know the right floor by intuition and evidently the right floor is not here. The right floor isn’t anywhere. The intuition is wrong. I am still heartbroken.
        It suddenly doesn’t matter whether I make it home. And if it doesn’t matter whether I make it home, it just as suddenly doesn’t matter that it doesn’t matter.
        I crouch down on the elevator floor like the biomass of a thought-to-be extinct species of krill waiting like a Mormon for the tide to bring something.

*                    *                    *                    *
      I took the last sip of my beer and noticed her eyes were peering at me from the opposite side of the table waiting patiently for my response. Almost like my soul got burned out or something.
        Annoyed by the silence she leaned forward and spoke directly, “You know, you can’t beat a determined opponent by just giving up.”
        I wasn’t sure whether she was referring to my continuous rejection to her inquiries or whether she had cast a judgment on my entire methodical approach to life, but either way it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that it didn’t matter. 
        The waitrress came around and dropped the check in between us. We both looked at it for a time. I wondered if she was going to pay for my beer.

          “Hey lets maybe back off with the personal stuff.” I interrupted the silence and smiled.
        “Oh, Rudy. Somewhere, someone is missing you.” She affirmed and laughed like a child.