A Day Ahead of Him

It was just an ordinary day in the making for George – nothing the least bit new or different would happen. But that was the way he liked it. He would get up early in the morning as he did every day of the working week. He needed to do so in order that he could eat his favourite breakfast, which took the chef a while to prepare just the way he wanted it. But first he would dress up in his best clothes, as he felt he would need to continue making a respectable impression on the people who would be seeing him throughout most of his waking day. Dressing like this had helped him to climb the ever challenging corporate ladder to the executive position that was the peak of his achievement some years ago. He would never leave his bedroom until he saw that his image in the rather large mirror matched what he wanted to look like to those who would see him. Once that was achieved, he would go to the place that he always went to in order to get his all-important first meal of the morning. Other meals were unimportant in comparison. The chef working there knew him well, and would every day concoct his breakfast just the way that George liked it.

After his breakfast, he would go forth on his long walk to the building that had been his workplace from his first day of work there as a young man, a short time after he graduated in the business program at the university nearby. He never worked anywhere else, and had long said to himself that he would never want to work for any other company. It was the perfect place for him, and he knew it.

George never got married, although he had girl friends when he was in high school. And he never fathered any children. His work was his life, his work place was a second home for him, and his co-workers were his family members. He knew the birthdays of those that he worked with, never failing to give them a present, and they remembered his as well. They show it by giving him presents, without his reminding them when his birthday came up.

           It wasn’t all that long before the building where he had worked for so many years appeared before him, and he gave it a big smile as if it were sentient, and was glad to see him. When he got to the front door, a man in a bright red uniform and cap opened the door for him, bowing slightly as he did so. 

           “Good morning, George. You are on time as is usual for you. I could set my watch by your arrival here, and your departure.”

           George replied by saying that he could not remember the last time that he opened that door by himself. It just would not feel right to do so. The two men exchanged smiles, as they parted company.

           Then George headed straight for the elevator, pressed the open button, following it with pressing the fourth floor button once he had entered the elevator. He felt that he could do the latter with his eyes closed, the button being approximately of the same height as his shoulders. It was like it was made for him, and him alone.

Returning to His Home

The day at the work place had passed peacefully, no problems at all. Now it was time for him to return to his home. He didn’t particularly look forward to it, but it had to be. He couldn’t sleep in the office. After his second walk of the day down three blocks, George returned to where he would eventually sleep. It was not just his home. It was a home for the aged, or the aged home as George liked to call it, as the building was old and not in the greatest shape.

It was not a bad place as those places were. The food that he and the other had for supper was good. There was regular entertainment by local musicians and comedians. The nurses and visiting doctors were caring and efficient at what they did. They had saved or at least prolonged lives. 

 When he entered the home, he was greeted by one of the employees there, the one that kept reminding him that there was breakfast ‘in the home’ that he would not have to spend money on. And he would not have to tire himself out walking to a place the great distance of three blocks away. He didn’t have to walk somewhere to get his breakfast. He could just leave his room and make his way down the hallway about 15 yards or so, and the meal would be ready for him, as it would be for all the others who stayed in the home. 

He replied by telling her that the breakfast away allowed him to have a choice, depending on what he felt like (not telling her that he had the same meal every morning). And walking to the restaurant was just one stage of his daily trip. He told her that after he finished eating, he would make his way to the building where he had worked for more than 40 years. He would enter the building, go up to the fourth floor and sit on the chair that used to be his when he was employed there. People would greet him and ask him how he was. He felt special, his uniqueness respected. When he was there, he wasn’t just another old person ‘in a home.’ He was a human being that had an identity. He would sit on his chair, read a book, with occasional conversation with people he had worked with, and with some that had been hired as much as four years after he retired. As one young man said of him, “George, you are the face of the place. It would not be the same without your presence.”

He missed the uniqueness that had been his work for so long. In the home, he felt that he was just one of a crowd that was being serviced. He found that depressing. The restaurant and his old office helped him maintain his sense of uniqueness, that he was someone special, unique.

He wanted to have a day ahead of him, one that followed what he chose for himself, rather than what was planned for him by someone else, something planned for a group, not him as an individual. He wanted his own day to be ahead of him.