A Moment of Respect

Dearest Rachel –

“Our people are our greatest asset.” I honestly don’t know if I’ve ever seen or heard it stated in those specific words, but in one variation or another, it’s a motto across the business world. And why wouldn’t it be, especially in a customer-facing business? Any interaction between staff and customer can make the difference between a pleasant experience or one you never want to go through again, between repeat business and referrals or avoidance and boycotts.

It’s also something to remember for internal purposes; if the staff doesn’t feel as if they’re valuable to the company, why should they want to stay? Granted, I suppose there’s something to be said for making staff a company regrets hiring sufficiently uncomfortable that they decide to leave of their own accord, but as a general rule, if a company goes through a certain amount of trouble to recruit and retain people, they would want them to be happy with their experience there; they would want them to feel as if they want to come in every day and do their part for the organization.

Look, I’ve said enough about my own experience in the work farce, honey; I don’t feel like belaboring the point. To be fair, I didn’t go into it expecting – or even desiring – any sort of “experience,” pleasant or not. I was there to do a job and earn a living; I wasn’t being paid to socialize with my colleagues. Whether they were friendly and welcoming or not wasn’t up to me, nor could or should it make a difference as to the job I was doing. It may have been naïve of me, but I rather expected to be able to do my work in something of a vacuum, unaffected by the attitudes and behaviors of my co-workers.

Of course, over time, I realized that those attitudes and behaviors did make a difference in my experience there – and as they affected me, they bled over into the rest of my life as well. I’m still so sorry for putting you through the anxiety of worrying about my health as I deteriorated from the negative experience I was going through there.

Strangely enough, though – or maybe not so strangely – much of it centered around a single individual. I had little problem with the rest of my co-workers, but if I never saw them again after leaving, I would be fine with that in order to avoid that one person who curdled the entire experience. So when I heard about Jack’s passing – through an email chain, no less! – I was torn about attending his service. Not because of him, but because of the risk of a possible encounter.

The thing is, while I tried to maintain a “no socialization” policy towards my colleagues, the fact remains that the bulk of one’s waking hours are spent in the company of these people for years, even decades. Like them or not, they become a large part of your life. And again, I had no issues with Jack. He was a brusque fellow on the phone – which may have come from his days of service in Korea, but also came in handy working in collections – but he was a down-to-earth, friendly guy as long as you weren‘t on his bad side (and if you didn’t owe him or the company money, you could be sure that you weren’t. Even if you did, as long as you were working out how to pay your debt back, he could be more than reasonable). In some ways, he reminded me of your folks; a blend of your mom’s take-charge attitude, along with your dad’s occasionally gregarious nature. His age may have also had something to do with that, too, as he was your mom’s age.

In any event, it seemed like something I really ought to do, to show up at the funeral home and offer my condolences. It was, as it so happened, more than some of my former colleagues could do, as several of them had followed me into retirement and taken things a few steps further by moving away; there was no feasible way for them to make it in town and pay their respects. The one exception, however, was the one person I didn’t want to run into, the one person who made my work experience so awful. I didn’t want to run the risk of spotting or being spotted by him at this. But this was something I ought to do out of respect for Jack. So what to do?

I decided I would skip the mass, and merely go to the visitation. That way, I could come and go as I pleased, but still establish that I’d been there to say goodbye to Jack (not that it would matter to him one way or another – he’d retired several years before I had, so it had probably been ten years since we’d seen each other) and be on my way before being caught by anyone I might prefer not to be.

The visitation was at a place I’d never heard of, and at an hour I’ve been having difficulty getting to the ‘office’ by, but at least it proved to be reasonably close. And since I’d budgeted my time better than I normally do on a weekday morning, I was there almost a half-hour before it started (which is embarrassing in its own right, but as long as I stayed in my car behind the memorial chapel, it wasn’t a big deal). At the stroke of nine, I got out of my car, and walked in, taking the time to sign the (electronic) guest book, and wandering around the room where family and friends were gathering.

And it was basically family and friends at this point, judging from the conversations swirling around me. I realized that I could have walked into a different room, holding a service for a different person, and looked no more out of place than I was here. I might vaguely recognize his wife Marie, but the odds are she would barely know me from Adam. And everyone else was a complete stranger. It wasn’t that I wasn’t welcome here, but I was all but a foreigner. I couldn’t converse with his people even if I wanted to. I did note that his grandchildren had given him the odd nickname of Nono – was that something he said to them often? – but his family life wasn’t something I recognized, since that wasn’t discussed at the office – not the place for it, after all – and in any event, he’d left the office behind nearly a decade ago. I didn’t belong; his work was no longer part of his life, and that was a good thing.

Still, after making a circuit of the room, looking at the pictures from his life and the flag and box display at the front (no casket; I assume that, like you, he was reduced to ash), I felt like I had made my appearance and paid my respects, even if only for a moment. If Marie recognizes my name on the list, that’s fine; if not, that’s okay, too. I’ve been there to say goodbye, as I felt I should have.

I honestly don’t know if you’ll see Jack up there, honey; I don’t know the contents of another man’s soul, any more than you or I did about your folks. If you do see him, say hi for me, and don’t forget to keep an eye on me and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.