After work, I went for a run on the treadmills in the exercise room. After sweatin’ for a while, I went to the locker room to shower and change, and during this activity, an old guy in a sweater and jeans and sneakers, maybe in his late 50s, early 60s, holding a small nylon gym bag, walked in, quickly followed by another guy.
The second guy I recognized as a fellow employee, and this second guy stopped the older man. “Do you work here?” he asked.
“I’m here for a 5:30 class. My wife signed me up” was the old guy’s reply.
“Do you have a badge?”
“I already went through this upstairs,” the old guy said, clearly complaining.
“You talked to security?”
The old guy nodded.
I felt awkward and, to my shame, I had thoughts about how I work in a public government building, and how there are lots of angry people out there. I stayed out of this, but I thought, if he checked in with security, why didn’t he get a Visitor badge? In my day-to-day job I deal with many deliveries and I have to escort any non-employee people that come into the building. I’m aware of the protocol. This guy wasn’t following it.
“Listen, I don’t have any way to know that you talked to security. Can you come with me, please?” Good for this guy for being a stickler for details. “This is a secured building.”
The old man sighed. “OK.” They left the locker room.
I did not feel good that I viewed this guy with suspicion, but on a certain level, a little suspicion is probably warranted, right? There is a taxing authority in the building, and there’s a lot of anti-tax sentiment out there. On the other hand, we’re pretty small potatoes, and this old guy was likely exactly what he seemed: the spouse of an employee coming in for an exercise class.
With those thoughts in my head, I dressed and walked back to my office area, another room of cubicles secured by keycard access. It was well past the time when any of my co-workers would still be there.
When I walked in, I immediately heard a pair of voices, loud, laughing with each other. I did not recognize the voices. As I rounded the corner, over the tops of the cubicles I could see two heads, male, scruffy, bearded. I was already in a suspicious frame of mind, but I could see that they were janitorial staff by their blue polo shirts. They saw me and their voices became quieter.
I said “Hi” loud enough to let them know I was there and went into my cube to drop my stuff off and get my coat. I was feeling crabby. The shorter guy said something to his companion about “I’ll take care of that area” and wandered my way. It was probably innocent but in the context my head was in it sounded fishy. I’m sure I was just tired from my exercise, though. I just wanted to go home.
The guy stopped outside my cubicle. “Oh, you’re that guy!” he said.
Man, that was the wrong thing to say if you didn’t want me to be even more suspicious. Sure, my name was on the outside of my cube but I’m not a celebrity. How could he know me? I just stood there, more than a little surly, and stared at him.
He stuttered a bit, clearly trying to explain how he knew me, but not being very coherent.
I stepped forward, extending my hand. “I’m Brian.”
He shook my hand and introduced himself as Paul, then pointed at a drawing I had in my cube, visible from the aisle. It was a drawing done by Mike Russell and his friend David Stroup as a prize for me winning a trivia contest long ago. “Did you draw that?”
“No,” I said, trying to relax a little. “It was done by a friend of mine, Mike Russell.”
“That’s pretty awesome,” Paul said. He still seemed nervous, though perhaps I was still putting off a hostile vibe.
“He writes movie reviews for the Oregonian, and he’s a talented artist,” I explained. I hope Mike forgives me for forgetting David Stroup’s contribution in the heat of the moment.
“Oh, yeah, I know this guy who does artwork for Dark Horse!” my new friend said, excitedly. “That Comic Con, down in San Diego? He went down there last year!”
“Cool, yeah, there’s actually a lot of talented artists in Portland.” I really just wanted to go home now.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Yeah.”
We stared at each other a moment.
He turned to his co-worker at the other end of the room. “I’m gonna go take care of that other area now!”
“Have a good night, Paul,” I said. Then I gathered my things and went home.
