About two years ago, I was hired into a new job with a Very Large Corporation. I knew my work well; I was simply moving from employer to employer more or less laterally -- but for better pay, QOL (quality-of-life), and in order to return to my home city. Lucky me!
Although much of my work is outside the office setting, I was assigned to a desk in a cellblock ... er, cubicle ... with coworkers. One of these colleagues was a 78-year old, frail-looking man with silver hair, kind eyes, and a speech impediment. Let's call him Johnny.
Johnny became a great friend and mentor to me, as I learned the internecine ways of Very Large Corporation. We became neighbors when I rented a house near his. We talked about my kid, his kids, our dogs -- and we talked an awful lot about politics, though sotto voce, adjacent cellblocks being full of dittoheads and Randians.
I felt I had come to know Johnny well, though I never got a straight answer to this simple question: "Why don't you just retire, Johnny?"
None of my other coworkers -- who had known Johnny for much longer than I -- seemed to have an answer to this mystery, either.
I figured it out on my own finally, just a few days ago -- when I met Johnny's widow for the first time.
Jump over the orange whifferdill and I will explain.
Read More