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A few years back I started a new job. Didn’t know anyone and my work group wasn’t very social. It was a smaller company with lots of cliques. I was a single parent with a lot of after work responsibilities, so happy hour wasn’t an option.
The only opportunity I had for some camaraderie was during lunch break. I sat at that IT table a few times, had lunch with Bob from accounting on occasion, and even sat with a VP from time to time trying to build rapport.
Didn’t hit it off with anyone really. I had left a workplace that felt like family, and now it felt cold and distant. I was punching a clock and counting down the hours. I got to know the trails behind the building quite well.
Then one day I was ordering a pizza in the cafeteria and I started to chat with the cook, Michael. We talked fantasy football the first time. I came back a few days later and we picked up where we left off. It slowly became a routine.
The pizza took 8 minutes to cook in the wood-fired oven, so for 8 minutes nearly every weekday, Michael and I would catch up. I slowly learned about his kids (both off to college) and how he ended up as a chef (laid off from a healthcare job).
Then one day I saw him walking down the sidewalk in front of my house. Asked him about it the next day. Turns out he lived in my subdivision. I drove by his house every day and didn’t know it, the one with the white Silverado.
We started to wave as we passed. The friendship grew and grew. I was invited to a party in his Detroit Tigers themed basement just after New Years 2020. He proudly served me beer from his kegerator behind his bar. We played bubble hockey all evening.
Neighbors and friends with a good man. Two vastly different backgrounds, same suburban life. Two months later, COVID hit. He was laid off as the office emptied. I retreated to my home office to work from home. We thought it would only be temporary.
Then the extra unemployment checks ran out. I got a raise and he lost his lifeline. He sold his truck (he loved that truck). His wife picked up hours. He searched for work, but with most restaurants closed, no one was hiring a chef. A man in his 50s with no real purpose.
He keeps things afloat, for now. There’s no dramatic ending to this story. He’s resilient. He’s grinding. But it highlights the divergence this crisis has caused. The working class separated even further from the white collar crowd.
We live a few blocks apart, but the last 9 months couldn’t have been more different for us. He stays in this neighborhood through government help. I’m outgrowing it. I’ve thrived while he fades. We both want things to reopen. Me for freedom and enjoyment, him for his livelihood.
I’m not one to promote my own stuff, but if you enjoyed my writing you can find my newsletter link in my bio. Will be writing much more on there in 2021.
Damn, forgot to add the part where, early in the pandemic shutdown, Michael set up a DJ stand in his driveway and organized a neighborhood party in the street in front of his house. We all came together and felt normal for an hour. Legend.
