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That’s It For The Other One July 10, 2015

Posted by The Typist in Toulouse Street.

I have to go to a three-day long meeting, my first in person encounter with the New People, the ones who seem to have no life of the mind, nothing but work to clutter their minds. What frightens me is they know everything. They remember everything. The boss wants us to memorize every detail of what we are responsible for. as if this were some cram school.

Me, I remember I can look it up.

I am not one of them.

QueueThe question I put to my co-worker friend was what do to about my queue, which now reaches below my shoulder blades. Do I tuck it into my shirt, or let it hang. Leave it out, she said, and she is right. I am a hired commodity, and certainly not for my looks. I am hired to get up at 6:30, check my Internet/VPN by 6:40ish with my first cup of coffee and never look back. I forget to eat breakfast. I shower later in the day or at night. I barely escape the four-by-four pod defined by desk/wall, window/wall, easy chair behind me, and collapsible table upon which rests my personal laptop and all sort of essential brick-a-brack.

I spend my day electronically among people who can only work as they do bu living unexamined lives, whom I doubt read books, who if they do anything besides make and eat dinner it’s to give a desultory glance at their children’s homework before grasping the all powerful remote, duck commander of the thousand channels of noise.

I am not one of them.

When I hear the motto “The Power of One” (and perhaps I give away too much here), I think, “and in the darkness bind them.” I am sure they are lovely people. They tear up a bit at their children’s concerts and pageants, never forget a friend’s birthday, and make extravagant meals and tender love on their anniversaries. They are no doubt on the envelope plan at their church, and have never forgotten to open what they thought was marketing junk and let a forgotten bill go 90 days into arrears. Their FICO scores are far above their SATs, and they study dutifully for that online MBA.

They are, at a casual glance, almost human.

I am not one of them.

I am, by the decision of people much like them at another institution, rōnin. My faithful service to another corporate shogunate meant nothing in the end. My dress is not business casual but really need an air conditioner in the front room baggy, beater casual. My daily shoes are sandals, and my sandal are dirty. When they don’t allow me time to eat lunch, I cinch my belt a bit tighter and keep moving. When I barely have time to shower, I skip shaving. When I do stop to eat it is often sitting before their glowing screen, shoveling food into my mouth like a starving Toshiro Mifune just arrived from the road.

My sword, however, is sharp, and at their service.

If that is not good enough, if they do not like the look of me, if my irrationally faithful service is not enough, I will move on.

yojimbo01 (1)


1. Marco - July 10, 2015

I salute you in being not one of them. Neither am I.


2. Beth - July 11, 2015

The meeting should provide good fodder for your rapier pen.


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