"Hey, Lloyd, can you come to my office at your earliest convenience? Thanks."
Lloyd stared at his boss' e-mail for a good five minutes. He racked his brain for any semblance of a recollection of something that may have pissed him off. But after five minutes of intense mental searching, he concluded that he had done nothing wrong and so his boss must be asking to talk to him about something benign.
Or perhaps you made a mistake, said The Voice.
"Or perhaps I made a...oh, shut up," Lloyd whispered. He looked around to make sure his office door was closed. It wasn't, so he got up and closed it, and then returned to his desk. Now he could converse softly with The Voice without anyone taking notice. Lloyd frequently took such precautions whenever The Voice initiated a conversation with him.
You get careless sometimes. Sometimes, you're just plain lazy. You probably screwed something up during one of your lazier moods.
"Speak for yourself," answered Lloyd. "What do you do all day but talk...crazy talk. All damn day."
He thought for a moment, looking at the framed photograph of his wife and dog that sat on his desk.
"Sure, I could've screwed something up. But if I did, it was an honest mistake and so I have nothing to be afraid of. Everybody makes mistakes. And Mark is a fairly easygoing guy. Not that he overlooks or excuses carelessness, but he is a fair man. Whatever it is, it can't be all that serious."
Don't be so sure about that, said The Voice.
Just a few minutes later, Lloyd was seated across from his boss' desk. Mark had waved him in while typing at his computer, and he continued typing for a good three or four minutes after Lloyd sat down.
That's so annoying, said The Voice
.
Mark suddenly stopped typing and whirled around in his chair to face him.
"So. Lloyd. Thanks for coming on such short notice."
"Sure," answered Lloyd.
"I just wanted to talk to you about the little gathering we had in the break room yesterday for Liz's birthday."
"Okay."
"Um...do you remember what you said?"
"Uh..."
"Oh, come on, Lloyd. That crack you made about her age."
"I'm sorry...what?"
Yeah, that was pretty crass, said The Voice.
Really insensitive.
"You said, of course I'm paraphrasing, but you said, after she answered how old she was, that her life was more than half over so she'd better make the best of the rest of it, because the odds are, at this point in her life, that almost anything can happen to her now since she's been very lucky so far. Or something to that effect."
"Well, I don't recall that that's exactly what I said--"
It's pretty close.
So rude.
"You may have noticed the long, awkward silence that followed your remark, and the pained look on Liz's face...?"
"I...didn't notice any...uh, no."
"Right. Well, the whole damn office has been talking about it all day today, how...utterly shocking your remark was, and how upset Liz was. They say she was practically sobbing at her desk for just about all of yesterday afternoon. And as you may know, Mr. Clark practically thinks of her as a daughter. He was best friends with her father, who just passed away last summer."
"Yes, I know," said Lloyd. "Look, Liz hasn't said anything to me about--"
Mark stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Well, I can tell you, Mr. Clark wasn't too happy when he heard about what you said. He called and gave me an earful this morning. So, after having some discussion with him and with HR, we all decided that you need to attend some sensitivity training."
Absolutely. I'd say it's for the best, chimed The Voice.
"I'm sorry...what?"
"You heard me, Lloyd. I've already got you signed up for the classes next week. It's just two four-hour sessions, one on Tuesday and--"
"Eight hours? Sensitivity training' takes eight whole hours? I mean, what the hell?"
"That's not exactly the kind of reaction I was expecting, Lloyd. Surely now, upon some reflection, you realize that your remarks were very upsetting. Liz only just turned fifty, for crying out loud. How old do you think I am? I'm fifty-four."
"Well, you're more than half way through your life, too," said Lloyd.
Oh boy.
Something flashed in his boss' eyes.
Looks almost like...
desperation, doesn't it, Lloyd?
"I mean, think about it," said Lloyd. "You're a few years past the half-century mark, though you appear to be in relatively good health for a man your age."
"I have...no major complaints," said Mark. "I feel--I feel--p-p-pretty good."
You smell blood, don't you?
"Even so, what are the odds for you from here on out? Sure, people overall are living longer and better quality lives than our forebears, but the additional years only means increased odds of something happening. Something...bad and life-threatening."
Your ability to empty half the glass simply amazes me.
"And it could be anything...a sudden autoimmune disorder, for example. Or, diabetes. High blood pressure, leading to a stroke. I mean, your job is fairly stressful, right? In middle age, that makes you a prime candidate. And of course, there's always the 'Big One,' the 'Big C.' And there are some cancers that are way worse than others, like the ones that don't manifest any symptoms at all until it's way too late, not until it's metastasized and spread to all the major organs."
Lloyd leaned back in the chair, a deep sigh slipping from his mouth. "Yeah. Sure would suck if something like that happened."
There was perfect silence. Lloyd noticed that Mark's lower lip was quivering.
"Ah, forget about sudden illness striking you. I mean," and here Lloyd paused for two or three seconds just to make sure his next point would really hit home, "there's always the possibility of some kind of accident."
Oh for God's sake, give it a rest. Can't you see the man is nearly a basket case already?
"Have you ever been in any kind of automobile accident, or has someone ever nearly run you over with a car, or have you ever been on a flight where it looked like things were getting really scary because of some nasty weather, anything like that?"
"Never had anything worse than a minor fender-bender," muttered Mark.
"Really? Wow. You've been on this Earth for more than half a century and you've never been in an especially bad accident?" Lloyd chuckled. "That's some damn good luck. You just might be about due, then."
Your cruelty is truly a thing to behold. Don't you know when to stop?
"A drunk driver might suddenly swerve across the road and sideswipe you on your way home one night, and send your car sliding across a few lanes to crash into some other car."
Jesus H....
"I heard we're supposed to get some rain early this evening, just about the time we're all headed home. Who knows? With all the hydroplaning and all, you might be the one who ends up swerving across the road, sideswiping someone else, or you might end up spinning into another lane and into the path of an oncoming semi-truck or something."
There was another long, still silence as Lloyd pondered whether he he was finished or not.
"Yeah, it's a real cosmic shooting gallery out there. Who knows what can happen?"
Lloyd just sat quietly for nearly an entire minute. Mark was quiet, too.
"So. I'm scheduled for that sensitivity training next week?"
"Yes," Mark answered almost in a whisper as he stared down at his desk.
"Which days? Tuesday, and...?"
"Tuesday and...Th-Th-Thursday."
"What time?"
"One to five."
Lloyd let out a long, deep sigh.
"Okay. I'll be there."
Lloyd got up and walked back to his office.
It's been a long time since you've felt this good, hasn't it? asked The Voice.
Lloyd didn't answer. He just whistled along to the tune that he was playing on his computer as he typed. A Buddy Holly song. He always loved the oldies.
It was true, though. He never felt better.
