I really enjoyed 'The Office' (UK version) and this seems to foreground the bits that 'The Office' could only lightly touch upon. The half-lived lives, the frustrations, the compromises, the failure to connect with people that you spend so many hours with.
Thank you for this.
Tina-------------------------------------------------------------- [log in to unmask] http://www.fatmandancing.co.uk http://www.myspace.com/fat_man_dancing > Date: Fri, 5 Dec 2008 22:43:35 -0500> From: [log in to unmask]> Subject: "You the Man"> To: [log in to unmask]> > You the Man> > > He pauses at length before each answer,> annoyingly recalling> that trick I sometimes encounter> of pretending not to have heard> or to be unable to credit> the question. Then I realize> the pause is proportional to his years> spent caring for his mother. Those> and the immediately preceding> failure of his first marriage left> a chronic doubt, a sense of being> behind the curve, blocked by a wave> from sight of any shore. I can relate;> my first joint-living-arrangement> failed. But I spent> the next five years alone, learning to write.> And I affect no timid smile;> rather push, with humor if possible,> or terrifying analyses or silence,> through what would otherwise be> the silence of others. After> she died he remained> in his mother’s house, which he had> maintained and improved for her.> At work, some of his buddies> eventually fixed him up; they thought it was time.> I ask about office buddies:> how close are those relationships?> Do they relieve the boredom> of office life or merely somehow> orbit it? And the bridge> between his eyes and mine fails> again. But he eagerly outlines> his courtship and, with sincere> abstract superlatives, his wife,> whom I conceive as having once> been lost. She moved> into his mortgageless house, where they began> to save. I’m impressed;> would have thought that, seeking life,> freedom, arrival, they would have splurged,> as one does. But they had,> late in life, two girls instead.> I imagine his movements, doubly> cautious with that papoose-pack,> whatever it’s called, on his chest.> He leaps two decades:> they are both now office-workers;> he too, still; the wife is ill,> but he hopes and believes “we’ll make it.”> I smile at him. Humility, no doubt,> is called for. It would do no good> to resent the fact that he never> asks *me anything. Humbly, I try> to describe my late marriage,> and how grateful I am, for her,> to chance, to nothing in particular.> And in simple terms to explain> my work, the poem I’m writing> about him, the motives behind it.> But the expression with which> he greets what he thinks he’s hearing> would be called unearthly, on this or any earth.>
|