For long periods of the day, our two-person office is silent. It’s not an awkward silence; it’s just out of necessity. Mistakes are easy to make when the task is slightly persnickety.
Of course, we take breaks from the silence. We discuss work. We ask for a second set of eyes.
But we don’t leave our lives at the door.
Sometimes we listen to the radio or talk about the news. There are times when we discuss the weather or the state of the world. We trade advice on movies we think the other would like.
I can focus my attention on the gentle clicks of a keyboard.
The end of the day was near, and employees began to trickle into the office.
They have been on the road taking care of business.
This time seems to be the bookend of a workday that has come full circle: The morning is for clocking in, then discussing the work at hand. Figure out who is staying and who is going, to where and with whom. Time is made for any enlightenment that can be shared; the more you know … the easier it will be.
At the end of the day, the routine continues. A handful of folks gather around the gigantic calendar, asking illuminating questions about the writing on the wall.
Before they clock out, we make time for pleasantries. Phones from the mil-zinials are held outward and at arm’s length while we of the old guard smile and ask questions about what we see: We make mental notes about the color scheme of a new house; we ask about the new baby milestones; we boop the noses of dogs and laugh at the antics of cats; we scroll through recent vacation photos and; and get a little misty at a beautiful bride and her groom, who, we are shocked looks so different in a formal suit and without a casual hat.
Sometimes I pretend my close-up vision is crisp wherever the phone stops, usually too close to my face. And other times I lean back to grab some paper off the printer, a ruse that puts me in perfect focus.
The sight of fresh babies sent us old office biddie’s to our phones, where we waste no time in finding pictures of our babies at roughly the same age.
I love these moments.
It feels like another full circle.
Over the holidays, a couple of our college-age kids pitched in, making the workload a little lighter and squirreling away a little scratch for the upcoming semester.
They had done some maintenance work and some light construction. They had pushed brooms and helped with lifting and hauling where needed. They proved useful at bracing and steadying when expertly directed. They shared jokes and good-natured jabs, and as reports were informally filed, they all seemed to get along just fine.
They didn’t even seem to mind at the end of a hard day that their mothers were showing off a few mug shots from their long-gone toddler days. They linger a little longer in the office – their voices become more animated as they argue like first cousins – from a generation once-removed – asserting which of them is barely recognizable and which seems to have only grown taller.
“HELLLLLLO,” texts The Boss Dad booms to the group, sending a security camera photo from earlier in the day of the boys being interrupted from their tasks by the sound of his maniacal laugh. “He’s like the Wizard of Oz, just before you realize it’s just some regular dude behind the curtain,” my son claps back.
Laughter and time clocks click in harmony. And it is quiet again.
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