The other day I walked by a co-worker crying. In the ad world, this isn’t particularly alarming. Tears flow all day in the face of foreseen obstacles. Instead of reacting with the standard New Yorker response to ignore and move on with my life, I stopped and inquired. What possessed me to address this situation head on despite walking past sobbing colleagues thousands of times before? We’ll never know. It could’ve had something to do with the fact that my morning was fairly clear due to the impending worm moon, with no meetings on the docket until late afternoon. In search of purpose, I confronted. What I didn’t do was offer tissues. Teardrops are natural, wiping them away is not. Yes, we’re still talking about crying.
How can something sink in if you don’t let it sink in? Let that sink in.
“Why are you crying? If it’s about the construction across the street, I can assure you, they’re almost done. And while it may look like they are violating city and state laws putting up shoddy scaffolding, I checked on that, too. They are 100% in the clear. Good guys all around. They recommend a strong taqueria nearby if you're interested. I know when I'm sad, stewed meat is usually better than any multi-vitamin."
“It’s not that, thank you. I'd be lying if I said it was on my mind. But I did I witness a mouse scurry across my desk earlier.”
“And?”
“I went to HR who claimed there was nothing they could do.”
“Why is that?”
“HR avoids the rodential, seeing as they’re Human Resources.”
The tears kept flowing and I kept thinking. In 50 years, our grandchildren will cry too upon discovering the callousness endemic in agency offices. HR only dealt with human beings, forsaking every other living thing. It's bad enough we don't pay rodents. Interns have it better.
The mouse on the desk, the bird on the printer, the plant on the ledge. This is why more and more people are choosing the freelance life over the comfort and security of a desk job. We’re all expendable, a number to the people in charge. But animals, as usual, have it much worse. Your boss isn’t actively trying to kill you with booby-trapped cheese no gourmand named Gustave could resist. At least I don’t think that’s the case.
Most of the rodents I’ve interviewed are quite blasé about their shaky position in the agency world. They make excuses, pointing to reasons why they’ve been passed over from taking top-tier roles. It’s because of their close connection to disease, propensity to shed at the most inopportune moments, or their insistence on eating garbage at their desks. Whatever it is, it’s never because they’re rodents. No, of course not. Acknowledging that seems to be self-defeating. So they don’t.
“People naturally fear change. But they’ll learn, I guarantee it.”
With that remark I dumped my entire bag of buffalo nickels, silver dollars and rare Roman coins on the floor. The tears suddenly stopped.
Change everyone can believe in. Just remember to wash your hands after handling it. You never know where it's been.
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