Stupidity and politics will surface in any workplace,
sometimes sooner than not. As I’m
dealing with the latest wave of it from my current job, I marvel at how this
kind of thing seems to define my existence.
I always seem to be waist deep in the most petty, backstabbingly
selfish, don’t-take-it-personally (but they always do) IDIOCY anywhere I
work. I guess I just inspire that in
people, and that’s not the way I prefer to inspire people.
Lying on my bed amidst laundry I had yet to fold, I
stared at the ceiling and wondered how I was going to disentangle myself from
the imbecility this time. Suddenly, I
thought about someone I hadn’t thought of in years. In my high school years, I was friends with a
loudmouthed lout named Grant Shroder.
Grant was a piece of work, but a genius, and it was in his nature to
drive the faculty of the high school nuts because he was bored out of his
ever-loving mind with their curriculum.
I thought of him often during my early years of college while studying
to be a teacher… and then one day, I had to go student teach after seeing a
news report on the TV that morning that he’d been shot and killed by some gang
member.
It wasn’t really hard to fathom once I heard the
details. Grant had been dating this
guy’s ex-girlfriend and had been saving up money so they could go on a
cruise. When the ex had harassed the
young woman on the phone about leaving with him, Grant had shot off his mouth,
which I suppose he was partially justified in doing but knowing him, it was
something which made the offending party feel lower than dirt. He was shot in the head the next day at point
blank range by a .22 caliber pistol and was dead before he hit the ground.
Why think of Grant now?
Grant was an organ donor. He told
his mother once that all he wanted was to matter, to do something that made a
difference. In his death, six people got
new leases on life. And I got a guardian
angel, one who shows up in my dreams whenever life hands me crap like
this. The conversation is usually pretty
short:
“Now what? Wait,
let me guess. Politics again?”
“You don’t have to live with this, smart ass.”
“You’re right there.
I don’t. But, you got to wake up
this morning.”
“I know, but…”
“Not done. You got
a friend who isn’t allowed to see her kids and you got woken up by your
daughter. You got a friend who committed
suicide because he had no support system, and you have tons of friends to call
and vent to. You have a friend who’s
been homeless, and you still have a roof over your head. A nice home, too. You have pretty good health…”
I hate it when he does this. “I have a seizure condition. Call that health?”
“It hasn’t happened in seven years and it only happens
while you sleep, for Christ’s sake! How
about your friend who can’t drive now because he had one a lot more
recently?” I can see the exasperated
look he would have had on his face and hear the I’m-so-done-with-you tone to
his voice. “How about the high risk pregnancy
you had plus severe bronchitis that didn’t kill or permanently damage you or
your baby? Or the flood that’s just a
bad memory now, or the people who always surround you with love, help you, put
up with your snotty ass…”
“HEY! I get the
picture! But how do I get through
this?”
At this point, I usually picture him looking at me
sideways and smiling the damnable grin which used to make me want to deck him
right in his self-righteous jaw. But the
words stop me cold.
“One step at a time, just like you always do. You know, I’d give almost anything to hug my
brother again, tell my mom how I was going to take over the world. Right now, I’d love to have your
problems.” He would sigh, and I’d wish
I’d gotten to know him better when he was alive for the short two years I knew
him. “Look here, you have a job, get
that? It’s not perfect, because jobs are
made up of people, and that’s where all the problems are. Just like you told me about churches,
right? So deal with it until it’s time
to move on, then get the hell out.”
“And how do I know when that is?”
A shrug. “What am
I, Madam Cleo? Guess. Know your tolerances and don’t jump until you
have somewhere to land. And so on. You know, if you would ever trust your
instincts for more than ten minutes, you could do a lot of good.”
“If you’d trusted your instincts, you’d be alive
today.”
I picture him laughing.
“Probably not. Somebody else
would’ve pissed me off. Look, I
lived. Period. I said what I had to say, did what I had to
do, and I don’t regret telling the bastard off for how he treated my lady. Just go do what you do best and haters be
damned.”
The laundry waited patiently while I sent a text to my
mentor to tell him I was behind him, no matter what stupidity arose, and while
I went to kiss my daughter goodnight again, even though I’m pretty sure she was
asleep already. Then I put it away and
left the bed to my cat, who looked at me sideways in a very familiar way…
Funny. He would’ve
made a good teacher. And he would’ve
hated me for saying so.
Time to sleep.
Need my beauty rest to face the haters.
