He’s a little ruffled on the edges, as if he perceived the world much more intensely than most people but didn’t have the strength to deal. He’d nervously stand behind the enclosed glass office and watch me, fidgeting and clearing his throat. I’d stand on the other side waiting.

Between us are the glass wall and the door into the building. In his little room is a button. That button unlocks the door to the building. He controls the button. His job is simple: look at my ID and press the button. But for him this is an ordeal. For some reason he cannot simply press that button.

Time goes by, him behind the glass wall, staring at me, me in front of the door, waiting with my ID held up. In my mind I send him encouragement, “You can do it, little ruffled man, just press the button so the door unlocks.” Finally, he manages, the door goes click, and I walk through into the building. The little man slumps back down, exhausted and even more ruffled than before.

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 6th, 2008 at 6:42 pm and is filed under Non-Fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.