The Old Man's Censures

The Old Man’s Censures:


“Fourth floor.” the old business man said to the lift-man, giving a warm smile as he stepped into the elevator.

“The fourth?” asked the lift-man as he smudged the button with his finger.

“So many employees have been fired—“ he coughed in his fist. “We moved up. You didn’t hear?”

“Well, I didn’t know. I get all the news from you—you’re always one of the firsts here.” he laughed.

The elevator lurched to a stop, opening to the cubicle gridded room, untouched by disorderliness in the early morning solitude. With a carefree adieu and friendly wave, the Old Man stepped into the threshold, lost in absorption as he looked at the slanted shafts of sunlight through the windows, illuminating the serene particles of dust gathered in the air. The elevator binged, then descended, leaving the man in utter loneliness. It was perfect, tranquil, and carefree.

He made his way to his cubicle, weaving in and out of sections to get to it. With a sigh of relief, he sat in the swivel chair, plopping the briefcase on the pile of receipts on the corner of his desk. He began to sift through the stack of life-insurance letters and expired subscriptions, a smile etched on his face as his mind praised that silent resonance of isolation.

And then there was a slow income of people in the room, filling a cubicle each until the entire room reeked of productivity. The loud murmur of conversations, the buzzing of a fax machine, the slow pattering of keyboards in use: these all drifted through the thin cubicle walls to him, the incessant rattling dazing him. A man stepped into the doorway, around 30, wearing a loosely-buttoned shirt without a tie.

“Boss’s in. Wants a meeting with you.”

“He’s late.”

“Just get to the fucking office.” Just as quickly as he was there, he was gone. A bad sort, the sort like him; never kind, never honest. The Old Man always meant to tell him so, but he never did.

As he walked slowly to the office, he passed by the buzz of conversation as people discussed sports or gossiped. They never would amount to anything in life with worthless habits like that. He opened the door to the office, revealing an oversized room with a little desk on the far side, papers scattered everywhere. The man in the room was young, too young to be his boss. Under the friendly complexion was a subtle hint of boredom, bordering on the extremity of apathy.

“Wonderful view, isn’t it?” the Boss said, jerking his chin to the massive window stretched across the wall. Outside, a full view of the street was on display for the room, showing the hundreds of people rushing in and out of buildings on either side. “Have a seat.”

“Quite.” he said briefly as he sat, his eyes flickering over the slightly disheveled hair and wrinkled button-up hidden beneath the suit. The top button wasn’t fastened, concealed by the hastily tied tie. This was a man of utter worthlessness, one who got his position because his father was an important man. This man was not fit to be his boss; yet he carried himself like one. He cruised through the office everyday with a hangover-induced lethargy, a man with no principles or morals to keep him in check. A man that wasn’t fit to be his boss, yet the Old Man did nothing to correct this.

“—and the whole world is crying for a leader, for someone to claim the rightful ownership!” he must have said something, for he was standing at the edge of his desk now with his hand in a fist, blubbering about some philosophical truth that he apparently gained insight on and transcended above.

“I’m sorry sir, but why did you call me in here?” He successfully avoided the ramblings, causing the Boss to regain his composure and wipe down his suit.

“Now, you know we’ve had an employee purge with this new administration…” he began, avoiding eye-contact. The bastard wouldn’t even look at him. “We find you a valuable asset to this corporation, but new seats are opening up. Have you considered retirement?”

So that’s what he wanted. Despite all the hard work, all the days he arrived early and left late, despite everything—he was firing him to give seats to the worthless generation. This man had no respect for his elders, and no interest in the Old Man’s experience. The world is falling apart at the seams, the Old Man thought, as the conversation progressed into circuitous monotony. The Boss was saving his own ass, referencing to medical bills due to age, until at last he paused: “We’ve decided to let you go. The whole world’s out there, just waiting to be enjoyed. You have the week to finish out, and then you have to be out. I’m sorry.”

The air was cool that night after work. No one spoke to him as they filed into the elevator. The lift-man will lose his human newspaper—no one here would talk to him. A worthless bunch of arrogant hedonists, the Old Man thought as he listened to the flippant talk of bars and late-night plans. He disregarded the thought to become involved, and the people in the elevator disregarded the thought to involve him. The old and young would always be separated by the different viewpoints, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He shuffled down the street, briefcase clutched in one hand as he pondered the universal collapse of moral values, entirely attributed to the indifferent youth. The cacophony of laughter and music emerged onto the street as a couple entered a club. Two young kids, clearly underaged, smoked a cigarette, passing it off to each other as they mumbled profanities and snickered. A young man in his early 20s with long unkempt hair held out his keys, mashing the unlock button over and over again to locate his car. He reeked of alcohol. The Old Man saw this, and kept walking.

He got in his car, starting the ignition. The isolation once again returned to him as he drove down the street, his age-induced frailty adding a level of caution as he entered the hilly backroad leading to his house. He drove slowly under the crescent moon, brooding about the nonexistent future he would possess. He would have to retire, perhaps to somewhere quaint and quiet, with people that respected a man of age. It wouldn’t be so bad, to sleep in late in a place removed from the influence of youth—he might be happy for the first time in his life.

He became so engrossed in his contemplation that he didn’t even have a second’s moment of reaction when he saw the headlights emerge from the top of the hill and heard the roaring engine of a car going too fast to stop.

The Old Man’s car was reduced to a mangled mass of metal. The speeding car was pulled over to the side, the hood crumbled into the windshield. The drunk young man fell out from the car, blood soaking the side of his long unkempt hair as he frantically ran to the Old Man’s car. The bloodied driver’s side window cradled his crushed head as it rested against the cold cracked glass.