My Life as a No Work Specialist

My Life as a No Work Specialist


Everyone in today's culture seems to be a technician or a specialist. The young kid that comes from the pest control company every quarter to keep my house free from bugs is a "Pest Control Technician." When I worked part-time at The Apple Store selling iPods and Macintosh Computers, my title was "Mac Specialist" rather than "Salesman." And just the other day, the business card of the helpful Home Depot employee in the department that carries windows and doors handed me her card that read "Millwork Specialist."

After reflecting on the above, I realized that for the last several years, I've been a "No Work Specialist". You see, three years ago I officially retired from working for the same outfit for over thirty years. Now instead of simply marking "retired" for my occupation in the multiple choice boxes on various forms I complete from time to time, I have a new strategy. I mark the box labeled "other" and then fill in the blank next to it with my current occupation, a "No Work Specialist."

"That must be an easy occupation," you may be saying as you read this. Really it's not. First, I have to get up every weekday morning early enough to catch the rush hour traffic report on TV. Seeing the traffic snarls that those poor commuters are having to face puts me in the proper frame of mind to begin my day! Smiling as I remember that I no longer have to be on the roads during morning - or evening - rush hour, I pick up my morning paper, and with coffee cup in hand, I walk outside to the back patio, where I watch the flora and fauna of God's great outdoors, rather than facing the four austere walls of an office.

It was while sitting on the back patio one morning last fall that I received the inspiration for my prize-winning book, "The Secret Life of the Gecko." (In keeping with the rules of full disclosure, the book is not yet prize-winning. Nor is it yet published. But I've just finished the first draft and my writer's group has assured me it will be a best seller.) I noticed a little green gecko staring at me from his perch on the siding near the back door and wondered if he (or she?) was the same one I saw the prior day on the front study window. And if it wasn't the same lizard, how many of them are there on my property? If there are more than one, why is it I never see two at once? Then there was the obvious question about what they do all day. If all they do is just sneak around and eat bugs, why are they always hanging around my front or back door, or staring in my study window? Are they observing the human species, trying to understand what we're all about? Are they philosophers? Or reptile scientists? Or just voyeurs?

Contemplating all those important questions, I started spending hours each day observing these little green creatures. One day my wife interrupted my reverie as I sat, notebook and camera in hand, and asked, "Why don't you write about the secret life of cats? They're easier to observe than lizards. Haven't you wondered why our neighbor's cat is always peering into the house through our sliding glass door? Maybe she's spying on us?"

"Honey," I explained to my wife, "everyone writes about cats. You can go to the bookstores and find dozens of books, fiction and non-fiction, about cats. Everyone imagines cats are very intelligent and make up crazy stories about cats solving mysteries, cats being agents for the CIA, or even cats being aliens from another planet, here to gather information on homo sapiens and transmit it to the mother ship. Geckos are another matter. No one ever noticed them at all until that insurance company decided to use one as their advertising gimmick. Who's really cared enough to study them from a scientific viewpoint? That's why I'm convinced that the book I'm going to write will have a special niche audience."

After mumbling something about wasting my time writing when I could be working on my to-do list for the house and yard, my wife retreated back into her craft room, preparing Christmas gifts for all of our relatives who never bother to get gifts for us.

I was just interrupted from my writing by the incessant ringing of the doorbell. It was my crazy neighbor, Bill, who lives just two doors down the street. He knew I was home, so I knew that he'd keep holding down that little button until I opened the door. The ensuing conversation went something like this:

"John, it's me, Bill. Why did you take so long to answer the damn doorbell?"

"Bill, I was back doing some writing and I was hoping you'd go away. Just kidding of course. What brings you here, another invitation to participate in one of your get-rich-quick pyramid schemes?"

"No, Bill. This is serious. I have a petition here that I'm trying to get all our neighbors to sign. I need to get 500 signatures so we can protest "National Nude Week."

"National Nude Week? You're kidding. What's that?"

"The Federal Congress is passing a resolution to make the first week in June National Nude Week. It's part of their gay-liberal agenda, you know."

"How did you find out about this? No, let me guess. It was on the Internet, wasn't it Bill?"

"Well, yes it was, John. That's where I get all my information these days. Don't watch TV anymore, as all the shows are promoting is sex."

"Bill, I've told you a dozen times that you can't trust everything you see on the Internet. Remember that time you were convinced that Haley's comet had strayed off course and was going to destroy earth within a week? Go home, and take your crazy petition with you."

"But, but, John," Bill sputtered as I shut the door while asking, "What's wrong with being nude anyway. Isn't that the way God made us?"

Well, now it's back to business on my prize-winning book. It's interruptions like this that make me realize there are downsides to being home during the day, rather than down at my old office. But that's part of life as a No Work Specialist.



© Eugene G. Zimmerman