Right is Wrong

I was so late getting up that even the alarm had given up it futile attempt of annoying me to the point of waking up. No time for a shower, I quickly tried to brush my untamed hair out of my eyes and flashed the mirror a weak smile. The least I can do is brush my teeth, I thought to myself.

The coffee had been made for 45 minutes, thanks to the programming setting. I had set it up at 1:30 am last night before I had finally gone to bed. The cars at the top of my apartment complex's drive all wanted to turn left, but I needed to go right. I was forced to wait, every morning, for the majority of cars to make their way into the stand-still group of cars. The wait for the right-turn was always worth it for that first chance to gun it down the road, away from the group, toward freedom.

I was one of the first ones in the parking lot every morning, and had my choice of spots right up front by the Board Room Boys. My beat-up truck was conspicuously out of place alongside the BMW's and Mercedes. No one knew how I did it. I was asked almost every morning by my bewildered coworkers how I managed to do it. "We pass your car at your apartment every morning," they would say. "Then you beat us by ten minutes!" "Fifteen," I would correct them. It was always fifteen. I really didn't see the big deal. So what if I was one of the first ones in every morning? Someone had to be.

It was a seemingly normal morning. I was the first lower-office member in and had already finished my coffee before I moved up to my cubicle, only one floor below the Board Room. Almost up there with the Boys, but not quite. Almost. I was seated and situated at my desk before I realized my phone was still in my car's cup holder. By the time I had retrieved it, and thanks in part to my extended coffee break before even walking in, fifteen minutes had passed since I had first pulled into the parking lot. Fifteen minutes.

My hand nearly slipped off the glass door upon re-entry. The sound of what could only have been a thousand bees swarmed to my ears from around the corner. The gravel driveway exploded alive as dozens upon dozens of middle-class cars propelled down it, right on cue, into RightWay Corp's parking lot. It was mesmerizing and reminded me of the old footage of Hitler's troops marching mindlessly in step, never missing a beat. One after one, the same time in between each, the cars rounded the corner in single file and filled in each successive parking spot. Never breaking rank or routine.

As the middle class employees that I worked with exited their cars in robotic-like fashion, they became surprised at each others' timely arrival. "Right on the dot as usual, Ted," or "My my, you just can't be late can you Dave?". Murmuring continued all around the parking lot until the last body made its way into the glass doors. And then I was late. "Does this happened every day?" I wondered aloud.

I followed in after them, a slight hitch in my step trying to catch up to my cubicle-neighbor, Jim. Jim was cool. Jim had an attractive girlfriend, and hated his job. Jim was easy to talk to and made jokes out of no material whatsoever. Jim was not my friend, but we knew and respected each other.

"Does this happen everyday Jim?" I echoed the question from my thoughts moments earlier.

"What? Going to work? Yes, yes we all go to work every day. I mean...most days," he said with a corny smile that was too staged to let go, but too endearing to care about.

"No I mean....I mean Jim! Did you not just notice that everyone else parked at the exact same time as you? Did you all follow each other here or something?" My voiced jumped for a second trying to get his full attention, as he was preoccupied with the stirrer in his Starbucks. I had also attracted the attention of several others milling around the elevator bank, waiting for their lift-off to another day in the corporate monster.

Jim now knew that I was getting after something, and he was showing signs of nervousness.

"Look man um ... we can't talk about this here, ok?" he said, glancing around suspiciously. I started in, but he cut me off. "No look, Dave. I don't know you that well and you're asking a lot of questions, for it being so early in the morning. Lets grab lunch in a few hours ok? Ok Dave? We'll grab lunch in a few hours."

With that, Jim rushed off to grab an elevator as it's doors closed behind him. Ignoring my protests and requests for a "hold the door!", he let it close, and I swear he was shaking his head as he was jettisoned off.

The Waiting Room

The plastic chair was unnecessarily cold underneath her that morning. It was a warm enough day, and yet she was uncomfortably cold in the waiting room. Her temperature fit well with the mood of the room: cold. She twirled the ribbon between her fingers as she watched the news, causing the balloon to dance around in mid-air, almost playfully so. The man next to her was chewing gum out loud, but not in an obnoxious way. It was calming, actually, to hear something other than hospital sounds around her. The woman across from him was tapping her foot along to her iPod, and she imagined what she might be listening to. Probably something happy and light - it was a hospital after all, and who wanted to be depressed (more than needed) in a hospital?

Perhaps, she pondered, waiting rooms should be more like a Chuck E. Cheese. They could have ball pits and annoying high pitched music to go along with the kids' screams of delight and parents worryingly calling after their little ones, she mused.

The sound of the receptionist's phone sounding off brought her back to the present, and she looked around to inquire if anyone might have noticed her gazing off. Not that it would be anyone's business, but the woman, like everyone else, liked to know when and if she was being watched. She had been in the cold waiting room for several days now. There was a plush sleeping bag carelessly stuffed under her row of chair and a pillow sat at her feet. She had set up camp in the far corner, an attempt to be out of the way, but at the same time be available, should there be any news.

The almost robotic sound of an wheel chair rolled by and caused her to glance up, almost with anticipation. He wouldn't be in a wheel chair, though. No, that would not be possible.

He had been put in the hospital 7 months ago. On average, about every two weeks, his condition worsened or was in jeopardy, and she would be notified. Without fail, the faithful wife grabbed her over night bag, her sleeping bag already in the car, and drove to the hospital. He sister took care of the animals. She could almost be charged rent at the hospital.

This was the 3rd time this month she had slept in that waiting room. It was still as unfamiliar and strange as the first time she set up camp.

The door to his wing opened and out walked The nurse. Yes, The nurse, The one with The news. She looked reserved, but at the same time The nurse wanted to smile. Not in a positive way, but in the way everyone wants to smile when they're nervous. When they have terrible, heart-wrenching news to tell someone.

Did she want to see him, one last time? No. No that wouldn't be necessary. Did someone need to be called? No, she was right there, wasn't she? Who else would need to be called. The nurse just thought - no, no there's nothing more, thank you.

And just like that, the faithful wife packed her overnight bag for the last time and walked out of the lobby door. She paused for a minute to wonder if she was the only one who pretended to be a Jedi when she walked out of automatically opening doors. Surely not.

The bag was tossed haphazzardly in the direction of the garbage can. It was off by a few feet, someone would need to pick that up.

The interstate loomed in front of her. It looked busy, lots of large trucks going very fast. It was after all, rush hour.

Good, she thought, this won't take long. There's no real point anymore, anyway.

Work and Results.

It's Super Bowl Sunday! Aren't you excited? I know I am. I can't wait to go to early service at Adaton and then spend the next 7 hours at Mitchell Memorial Library. No hype or build-up this year, just hoping that the Packers will win, but really not caring. Last year I had my Saints. I had my routine, my apartment, my chair, and my friends. This year, I'll probably show up to the party at 5 and not stay for the whole game.

The results, however, have been worth it. I got a 100 on my first test since April in Spanish I, and then a B on a test in the middle of the first "hell week" that I only studied one night for. The difference is just doing. Just going to class, just leaving the apartment and not kidding myself that I can get productive work done around my friends. Isolation is the only way for me to get anything done.

Now I need to work on the money aspect. I'm running out weekly now and I don't have a job or any influx of money outside of the parents right now. That has to change. I have afternoons "free", but I usually spend them in the library or just getting some peace. If I start working immediately after class and then having to go to practice after that, I'm going to run myself ragged.

And I'm only taking 12 hours this semester.

This whole "being responsible and working hard" thing is actually - hard.

Lots to chew on and think about.

Prayer.