Be it Resolved

Be it Resolved



What a bureaucrat.  I am staring at the gray walls of my office underneath my florescent lights. I listen to the silence of the Thursday in between Veteran's Day and the upcoming weekend.  I decided years ago that the true purpose of government is to mitigate change. It explains why government bureaucrats are so good at extending holidays and taking time off.  They manage their time assiduously so as to maximize their lack of productivity. They are, after all, simply doing what is required of them by accomplishing as little as possible. 



My office is situated under the stairs and has a sliding glass door.  Having a door is rare and generally coveted.  Most government offices use cubicles. Cubicles were in vogue in the 70's and became commonplace in the interests of uniformity even though cubicles suck and everyone knows it.  But my office is rather like a display case in a zoo or a museum because of that glass door so despite the benefit of privacy the space was shunned as an office until I came along.  They found  the space for me. I am Homo domesticus bureaucratus...the domesticated office man on display.  I tend to be shy and reclusive and hide amidst my clutter when the crowds gather to see what I am up to.  I do not want them to see me. 



I suppose I am lucky. I can close my doors and keep the riffraff out and pretend that I am somewhere else doing something else by hiding behind my coat rack.  God, I need something productive and more meaningful than this.  I should be out accomplishing something substantial, fighting the good fight. I ought to be a Sargent in the marines.  "Gunney, we need someone to take Hill 458...are you up to it?"  That should be me.  I need to  be inventing something.  Making my mark. Being creative.  Why then am I here on display as the human office worker?  Fuck.  What happened to my life?



Someone in the hallway starts talking about coffee. Something to do!  Presumably I have been here long enough today to merit a coffee break. I look at my watch.  9:53.  Hmm.  In 7 minutes it's official. I can go on a duly earned government and union sanctioned coffee break and feel no pangs of guilt for my lack of productivity.  What the hell, I will risk the ostracism.  I get up and head for the coffee room early through the dirty gray carpeted central space.  The smell of coffee wafts down the hall getting stronger as I close the distance to the percolator.  The coffee pot is empty.  It doesn't matter. I do not drink coffee anyway.  It was just something to do.  I stretch, get myself a cup of hot water and head back to my enclosure. Ok, that loosened me up a bit.  What next?



I look at my list of things to do.  Let's see.  I can work on the cumulative effects model except that I don't have the data yet. I am waiting for the contractor to send it to me. I asked him last week for it. He told me that he felt that his work was "proprietary" and that he was not obliged to tell me exactly how he had done it.  "Business, is business you know."  "Fine.  Just Send me the data."  The irony is that the government officials really do not want to see the cumulative effects of all the impacts of all the people on the fish habitat of the lake. They just want to go through the motions.  They do not want to understand the truth  "The Truth?"  I mumble in my best Jack Nicholson imitation.  "You can't handle the truth!"  I stare at my project files and let the folder flop closed.



Cripes. What has happened to me?  I look over at my phone. The red light is flashing.  Someone wants to talk.  Or it could be my wife calling to talk to me about herself, her troubles, and herself. I don't pick it up.  Why should I?  It will just be more of the same.



I reach a kind of conclusion about my own aimlessness and resolve to do something about it (once again). I get up and walk down the hall to my bosses' office.  He is sitting in front of his computer, head back, lost in thought.  "Ian, I need to talk to you.  Can we talk about my job?  Do you think we can work something out?  Ian?  Are you busy?  If you are I can come back later."  Ian says nothing. It's unusually quiet as I sit there in his office with his gray walls and his florescent lights.  The only thing that I hear is the sound of the HVAC system pumping its stale air through the artificial building and the pointed footsteps of high heels on linoleum fading off into silence somewhere far away. 



My awareness shifts involuntarily to Ian and I feel the quickening of my heart beat in my temples.  My face reddens as alarm flushes me slowly at first and then as though a flood gate opened.  "Ian?  Ian!?"  I push myself out of the chair and get close enough to see that Ian is too still to be ok.  I reach out and touch his shoulder and he is cold.  I feel my breathing and the hairs on my neck are standing up.  Ian is not ok.  He is really not ok. I cannot say the word.  I take a deep breath and sigh replacing my momentary alarm with calm resignation.  This is huge.  Sacred.



I get up, tell the admin staff, that Ian is gone and leave the building.  Outside, the breeze is cool and crisp and the sun is shining in the waning of the fall.  Breathing deeply, replacing the office air with that fall breeze, I walk away.