Thirty Minutes
As I was leaving work yesterday I was stopped by a customer. Dennis. He is a regular. It isn’t like I dislike him, but I don’t think he is my favorite customer. He is a Virgo. I am a Virgo. Sometimes that means we clash. If we are both having an “I know I am right” day, we explode in to snippy comments and uncomfortable silences.
At any rate, Dennis is enough of a regular that he was told about Mazzy’s death. He had sort of been sitting on “Go!” waiting for the chance to catch me alone so that we could talk about things. Yesterday was that day.
Dennis is a religious man. He comfortable in that faith and he ministers about it when he thinks the situation calls for it.
We had a thirty minute conversation.
Suffice to say, he felt the situation called for it.
He had some good points and I was respectful, but it is thirty minutes of my life that I can’t get back. It is difficult, in my opinion, to feel good about a conversation where you are categorically forced to hold yourself back because the person involved is somehow related to your livelihood. I couldn’t be honest, or direct with him, because despite being off the clock, there is actually no such thing as “off the clock” in business, even if you are in the business of hawking coffee at the coffee mines.
Dennis also tried to convince me that I need to find my own ministry. Yes, he meant a church, but he also pointed out that he felt that I had a lot to share with people.
What?
I shouldn’t be surprised, it isn’t the first time that someone has mentioned that I should help people, but it is the first time since Mazzy died. I know that my approach to grief is way too practical for some people. There is a certain appeal in dragging things out. You can cry and moan and treat yourself badly for things that you can not change and there are a lot of people that find that sort of self-abuse satisfying. I am not one of them.
I was, long ago, when I was a wee thing full of piss and vinegar. Now I just have vinegar, but it is like, apple vinegar and it can help cook and clean and junk. I smell weird, now, but I am useful.
Score.
At any rate, Dennis is enough of a regular that he was told about Mazzy’s death. He had sort of been sitting on “Go!” waiting for the chance to catch me alone so that we could talk about things. Yesterday was that day.
Dennis is a religious man. He comfortable in that faith and he ministers about it when he thinks the situation calls for it.
We had a thirty minute conversation.
Suffice to say, he felt the situation called for it.
He had some good points and I was respectful, but it is thirty minutes of my life that I can’t get back. It is difficult, in my opinion, to feel good about a conversation where you are categorically forced to hold yourself back because the person involved is somehow related to your livelihood. I couldn’t be honest, or direct with him, because despite being off the clock, there is actually no such thing as “off the clock” in business, even if you are in the business of hawking coffee at the coffee mines.
Dennis also tried to convince me that I need to find my own ministry. Yes, he meant a church, but he also pointed out that he felt that I had a lot to share with people.
What?
I shouldn’t be surprised, it isn’t the first time that someone has mentioned that I should help people, but it is the first time since Mazzy died. I know that my approach to grief is way too practical for some people. There is a certain appeal in dragging things out. You can cry and moan and treat yourself badly for things that you can not change and there are a lot of people that find that sort of self-abuse satisfying. I am not one of them.
I was, long ago, when I was a wee thing full of piss and vinegar. Now I just have vinegar, but it is like, apple vinegar and it can help cook and clean and junk. I smell weird, now, but I am useful.
Score.
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