Are You Doing Something More Important?

   “Are you doing something more important?” The whole office shouted out as Foster Elif was about to blow the candles on his retirement cake. His face turned red and he stopped in mid blow. Guvenilir stepped up to pat him on the back and assure him they all meant it in good fun.

   Road Worthy Pre Owned Auto Sales had five outlets in the city and Foster had been the head mechanic for all of them, but the oncoming of computerization and a painful sit down with the bosses had ended his career. The company had not done too badly by him. They gave him a modest annuity for his retirement, an archaic gold pocket watch, and a Caribbean vacation packaged. The last of which they agreed to cancel and give him the cash equivalent for.

   For most the first year of retirement is like a honeymoon, but for Foster it was a time for downsizing and depression. He sold his house for a second story walk up apartment. There was no spouse or children. The only friends he had were work friends and they became busier and busier when he tried to go for coffee with them. Foster had spent his workdays always on the back of his co-workers pushing them to do their best, pushing them meet his standards, and always saying to them, “Are you doing anything more important?”. It was meant to inspire but it also had a bit of a threat in it, too. That’s why Foster was startled when they said it back to him at his retirement send off.

   Foster had no social skills he came to realize. The stories he told his co-workers they were forced to listen to as he was always the head mechanic. Always a boss. Whether it was true or not, he began to believe people had only ever listened to him because they had to. Because they were paid to. Because it was part of their job. And it was not part of his job that he had to make friends with anybody, or see them outside of work.

   His home life was old car manuals, and television car shows. All that had mattered to Foster during his life was the cars, and they were not what they once were anymore. He did not know them any longer, and he was too resentful to learn about computers.

   He took to drinking coffee liqueurs on the weekends in his retirement. Weekends which stretched to four nights. Sometimes five nights. By eleven in the evening the drinking would be followed by ordering pizzas. One to have that night and another cold one for the next day’s meals.

   One evening of liqueurs and double cheese pizza Foster got a pain in his chest that would not go away.

   ‘Heart pain is like the worst heartburn you ever had.’ Foster had once heard.   

   Unsure of hospitals and their services, he called for a cab to take him to Emergency instead of an ambulance.

   Inside the hospital the pain in his chest was terrible. Forty-five minutes had passed since it began.

   “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

   A large male nurse took his pulse and blood pressure and said, “You’re not in distress please take a seat in the waiting area and we’ll call you when a doctor is available.”

   Foster sat, but only for a few minutes and then he started pacing about the waiting area rubbing his chest the whole time. Hours went by. A victim of a motorcycle accident was being rushed through the area, two very elderly people complained of heart problems and were given priority. Foster asked the nurse again and complained of his pain. Pulse and blood pressure indicated he was not in distress.

   “Then why does this hurt so much?”

   The nurse shrugged, and he really did not appear as if he was someone you could win an argument with. Foster paced again, went to the bathroom, sat, and listened to the other patients complain over waiting so long. And almost all of the patients complaining about waiting had gotten to Emergency long after Foster had arrived.

   At ten in the morning, eleven hours after Foster had arrived, someone came to take him to an available bed. An hour later an intern had a look at him. A half hour later a doctor said, “Gall bladder. You should contact your GP and make an appointment for an operation.”

   “What about the pain?”

   “Try some antacid. You also have diabetes. You should also get a colonoscopy and an endoscopy, and more bloodwork than we did for you today, but talk to your family doctor about it.”

  “I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”

   “No, you’ve never been diagnosed. There’s a difference. Your health history is a blank. You didn’t have a heart attack, but you’re probably a high-risk candidate for it now. Talk to your doctor. Get yourself checked over.”

   Foster’s life turned over to a sober series of appointments and medical tests. Even a long neglected dental visit turned into a lecture on the relationship between physical deterioration and gum disease. Mostly, it was sounding to Foster like the end of liqueurs and pizza.

   One day coming back from the pharmacist, Foster found himself grabbing some free local printed newspaper that appeared at the apartment entrance beside the mailboxes. Eight pages of youthful activists complaining of issues Foster had never heard of, and a generous amount of lurid advertisements. After several weekly issues of this, Foster found a small article about a rescue dog that needed a home.

   Jill was a Jack Russell Poodle mix whose hair looked like it was from a matted, tangled, white feather boa. Thirteen pounds of barking fury and from the streets of Los Angeles. Foster went and got her. Only on the basis that his doctor said he needed to exercise more for his diabetes, and that the dog would force him to go for walks. Really, any dog would do, he told himself.

   Jill had her shots, was chipped, and was fixed with the dye mark to show it. Jill ate wet food and dry food, and had her favourite treats. Foster found himself at a pet shop handing them a food list and getting a harness and leash and more advice than he gave most people on car maintenance.

   Jill was very happy with Foster. She was very excited to be in her new apartment home, until she heard noises from the other tenants. Then the barking began. Any moment, any hour. Loud, vengeful barking that warned off any possible intruder, or stalker, or anyone who dropped anything in the hallway, or came up the stairs, or talked too loudly.

   Jill was not going to help Foster making any new friends among his neighbors.

   At night Jill insisted on getting up on the bed, but could not do so entirely on her own. Then she might jump off, and then want to get back on again. It was a dance with Foster that could last into the wee hours. She also would drop down to the wood floors and go exploring. Her clawed toes clattered and skidded on the wood floors as if she had tap shoes. To Foster it was as bad for his sleep as nails on a chalkboard.

   But during the day she was always at his side. She would lay her head on his leg as he took his insulin. She would watch his shows with him. She would follow him everywhere in the apartment and happily keep herself under foot as it were. And most importantly, she would demand to be taken out for walks.

   In the walks, Foster would begin to discover what Jill naturally found so interesting. A patch of grass here, a tree, leaves, a sidewalks edge, the side of a fence, or another dog. All the time Jill would sniff away and inspect. She was a long time calming down from barking at every other dog that appeared and would have to be held back by Foster from beginning a fight she couldn’t hope to win.

   In the early days she almost dragged Foster along as if he was in a chariot race and she was the lead horse determined to win. Jill learned to slow and he learned to be patient with her lead. He had little luck in imposing a route on her and each day she decided where they went. There were some standoffs about Jill wanting to bolt into traffic but Foster held on long enough for her to change her mind and go in another direction.

   Then one day Guvenilir found them on the street.

   “Boss! Boss, how are you?”

   Jill growled. Foster smiled. “Don’t look at her. Don’t look directly at her. She thinks you’re challenging her. Look to the side and offer her the back of your hand slowly. That’s it. Let her sniff. Light pet. Good. How are you?”

   “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

   “Oh, she’s saving my life. What are you up to?”

   “James and I started our own dealership. It’s a specialty business. Everything is pre nineteen-nineties. We’re still working on building up the inventory, but we’re getting more than we can handle in repairs from stuff people bring in who don’t want to sell. So, there’s money there. Now, how would you like to help us? It doesn’t have to be full time. It can be part time. When you feel like it. Set your own hours. You can set your wages. The money’s there”

   “Oh, that’s nice of you and James. Thank you.”

   “Hey, are you doing anything more important?”

   Foster bent over and petted Jill. “Yes, yes, I am.”

   “Ah, Foster, come on.”

   “No, I’m retired now, Guv’. It’s a full time job.”

   “Okay, okay. But what if we just stop by every so often to pick your brain? Throw you a few bucks in? Borrow a manual? What about that?”

  “Okay. But you have to call first. We might be out for a walk.”

   Guvenilir thanked him and left. Foster squatted down and rubbed Jill’s ears for a bit before they continued on their way.