There was much excitement at my house on Sunday night;
everyone was anxiously anticipating the first day of work. Personally, I had
packed my lunch, prepared my work bag, googled my train transfers, and enlisted
a panel of housemates to approve my first-day-of-work outfit.
At 8:06AM the next morning I squeezed on to the train full
of business people. Almost immediately, I was less proud of the blouse and
pencil skirt I had painstakingly picked out. I felt cold and stiff; I was just
another dressed up someone ignoring the world with the help of my headphones.
What were we all doing? Acting as if our separate soundtracks made each other
invisible?
I arrived at work too early and had to kill time with a few
laps around the block. After my disheartening train ride, I was ready to begin
the heartfelt work of a nonprofit. My supervisor was kind enough to treat me to
coffee and conversation for the first hour of my day. Following the initial
hour, most of my day consisted of reading introductory materials, setting up
accounts, and performing clerical duties. During the drowsy hour after lunch, I
was jealous of my computer as it periodically fell asleep.
Everyone was incredibly nice and the day was neither boring
nor overwhelming, but I still had a stiff and cold feeling from the train. Yes,
the nonprofit I work for does great things, but I felt my day had been mainly
shuffling papers. I wanted to serve coffee, drive a train, or feed the
homeless. I craved tangible action. I craved the energy of relationships.
As I left work I concluded that I was ill fit for
employment. I felt my day was too stiff and corporate yet I would likely find
the action I craved too disorderly and draining. I simply wanted to spend all
day of everyday interacting and connecting. I wanted to be the commander of my
schedule. Yes, definitely ill fit for employment.
When it came time to transfer trains I noticed a blind man
attempting to exit the packed train car. A few people were helping to clear a
path, but in general it was a sardine can. I lingered near the blind man
neither wanting to watch him face a crowded subway alone nor wanting to insult
his intelligence by offering help.
A few steps from the train he asked a woman for directions
to the green line. He quickly became flustered and communication seemed cross,
so I took this as my cue. I told him I was headed to the green line and he was
welcome to walk with me. He took my arm. We walked; he talked.
He had the entire metro system memorized and notified me as
we passed each platform. I was still feeling protective, so I boarded a train I
didn’t really need to make sure he wouldn’t encounter more unexpected
complications.
His name was Ethan and he had lived in Boston his whole
life. Our conversation centered mainly on public transportation systems and the
statistics course he was taking. His knowledge amazed me. He had every bus
route in Boston memorized. To Ethan Boston was, “the best”.
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