The elevator took a very long time. I debated taking the stairs instead, but the conversation behind me was too fascinating. (And yes, I’m a shameless eavesdropper. Ex-journalist; what do you expect?)
Two silver-haired gentlemen in their late 50s, slim, smiling and well-dressed, stood nearby in the hospital parking garage while I waited for the elevator. The suits, ties and white shirts were dead giveaways for SOME position of authority (or salesmanship)—such attire is so odd in glassland that the mens’ ties counter at Nordstroms probably is covered in cobwebs and an inch of dust.
“You know,” says one, “watching you in action makes me wish I’d stayed in med school. I did the first semester, it got too intense and I took a year off. When I came back, I went straight into law and you know how it is. I wish I did something USEful, that at the end of the day I had a product or an accomplishment I could point to. I wish I helped people, the way you do.”
“Helped people?” snorts the other, “I don’t help people. I argue with them. I say ‘do this,’ they say ‘no,’ I beg and I plead, they ignore me and then they blame me when things go wrong. At least lawyers get paid to argue with people. All I do is go through 60 patients’ worth of crap every day and never accomplish a damn thing.”
“You know what I think?” says the first guy, “We should get out of here, take an early lunch…” It was 8:45am. The elevator doors opened, I stepped in and missed the rest of the conversation.
I did heartily concur with the notion of a long lunch for those two. Maybe a few days. Or weeks. Sounds like some batteries need recharging.