I’m approaching seven years of service at my company. I’m the 90,698th person to work for this corporation. I’m on a small team of eight, and I actually like what I do. Corporations large and small hire my company, and my team in particular, to manage security for their data networks. We are basically using computers and technology to keep unauthorized persons from gaining electronic access to corporate networks and data. One of the wildest endeavors is bearing down on an individual inside the client company, who is up to something fowl. For these guys, we recently deployed a new technology whereby a giant hand comes down from the ceiling, spanks them in front of their peers and then dresses them like Pinocchio, complete with nose extension (recently authorized under the patriot act).
When I arrive at work, I have a great parking spot. It’s just beyond the handicapped spaces. It’s not really reserved, but if I get there before 5:45am, I’ll get it every time.
When I walk in the building and take the elevator to the 3rd floor, I exude confidence, knowing that my cubicle is one of only 550 gray cubicles on my floor. Although, it is one of the few cubicles in the building by a window. Nature’s beauty is revealed to me each day through this window. Everyday, I see a couple dozen very cold pigeons huddled around the rim of the smokestack comprising my view. They are there to be near the life preserving warmth of the plume, rising into the gray winter sky. They each stand there upon their own frozen droppings with untold measures of respiratory disease. Every once in a great while, one keels over and the others just slide over into the vacant position now available.
I remember, for my 5-year anniversary at the company, being informed that an anniversary gift was available to me for my years of service. I had only to choose which one I wanted. I looked through the brochure and found about 30 choices for the 5-year category. Roughly 18 of the items were oriented toward female employees. Of the twelve neutral or male oriented options, eight had the company logo/branding on them, which would be perfect for further marketing the company at social gatherings and other outings—one of my life-goals. Of the remaining four, two would be great for camping. Since I hadn’t been camping in the previous 27 years, I was really, then, looking at two relevant choices.
The final two 5-year anniversary gift choices were each thoughtful and personal. The first was a globe of the Earth. How did they know? That’s exactly where I live.
The second was a piece of luggage. Obviously someone put a lot of careful thought into these gifts. Luggage . . . for traveling the globe — nicely done.
I wasn’t sure which to choose. But then I remembered that California was supposed to tumble into the ocean soon (let’s just get it over with), which would quickly cause my globe to be obsolete. The luggage piece was my final answer. My wife uses it all the time.
When at work, I usually drive a few blocks to one of several eating establishments for lunch. On the way there I will often drive past some presumably homeless person who will be holding up a small piece of cardboard with a message. There are a variety of messages that I routinely see:
-Will work for food
-I’m hungry, please help
-I’ll take anything
-I’m a vet, HUNGRY
I often find myself wondering what I’m really looking at in these people. I hear what many of us have heard — that we do harm by giving them money as they might turn it into drugs. One time I saw two young girls pull up and give a homeless guy a handful of crackers from the box they were eating out of. I’m still not used to this and I’ve been seeing it for years. The sign holders will never number more than one on any corner. I assume they would cannibalize each other’s take, and probably draw less over-all, as people are uncomfortable enough offering to just one, much less a plurality of them.
Most of the ones I have seen with the signs were scruffy, unkempt and probably not as clean as I would like to imagine. Most also have a distinct blankness to their countenances. I mean to say that they have a look of resignation, of not caring, of not hoping anymore. I actually didn’t notice any of this detail in their faces, for all these years, until this last summer when I saw somebody new.
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| By new, I don’t just mean new to this area, I also mean new to standing on any corner with a sign. He looked to be about 30. He didn’t have any disabilities or problems that were visibly apparent.
We were all waiting at the stoplight. The new sign holder was standing on the sliver of grass in the median, next to the car in pole position at the light. He was fidgeting and mumbling and shifting his eyes all over. He appeared to be unstable, possibly dangerous for all I knew. Nobody gave him anything. His sign said, "Help please. Hungry." We all drove on by. I saw him several hours later on the same corner. He still looked unstable.
Two days had passed. I saw him again. He had the same sign. He wasn’t fidgeting or mumbling. His eyes looked straight ahead. He was as blank as a wall. He was now just like all the others.
Once I saw that, I realized for the first time, what I was looking at for the last two days. So, now I will retell it like I now know it to be. The details may not be his, but they are certainly all of mankind’s:
A group of cars waiting at the stoplight. The new sign holder is standing on the sliver of grass in the median, next to the car in pole position at the light. He is trying to figure out what to do. He doesn’t know whether to make or not make eye contact. He doesn’t know whether to wear a sad face or a worried one, thinking that his choice might make a difference in how much he receives. He adjusts his sign, as it might be too low. He thinks how embarrassing this is.
He doesn’t want to miss any help, so he needs to kind of glance at each of the drivers at different points to see if they are preparing to give him something. He knows the drivers don’t want him looking directly at them, so he relieves their pain by shifting his eyes to different places. He is nervous. He is visibly mumbling, trying to talk himself through this. His mumbling switches between this and lecturing himself, the way we sometimes find ourselves self-lecturing when we know we have really blown something. He seems to cringe and twitch now and then from the pressure of being on the corner on his first day of sign holding.
The stoplight releases the cars, and releases the drivers from the pressure of his need. He’s alone again, and he remember’s his mom. She was so proud when he did a good job at school . . . so proud. And she told him just that. She always hugged him. Some more cars come by. The exhaust gets bad sometimes. The drivers try to look busy or focused. Another dollar from someone, thanks. Just four more and he’ll get out of there. He hates being there. He used to be something, someone. The cars release. If he could just catch a break, he thinks. He wonders how his brother is doing. He wouldn’t want his brother to see him now. He wishes his mother were with him. But not there . . . somewhere other than there. More cars coming . . .For two wicked days I watched humiliation, fear, need, and shame all working in perfect coordination, as predators, stripping the new sign holder of the last vestiges of self-respect he held. It was the removal of his dignity. It was the passing of who he knew himself to be. He was unraveling psychologically and emotionally as each minute passed, on the corner by my car. The dreams of his youth were just moving away, so far away.
My team has moved to the other end of the building. It is the 9th cubicle of my career at the company, and my 9th in the dazzling color of gray. I lost my view of the smokestack. A change has taken hold. I can’t see the pigeons anymore. They are still there. But I can’t see them. Not anymore. Not from here.
I have seen the new sign holder many times since those first two days. He just stares straight ahead. He doesn’t fidget anymore. He isn’t nervous anymore. His dreams are nearly out of sight now. He has resigned. I could tell what he was thinking during those first two days. I could see him — the real him. But now, a change has taken hold. I can’t see him anymore. He is still there. But I can’t see him. Not anymore. Not from here.
That’s my report from the "Big City".
Brian in the Big City
Employee #0090698
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