I Bid You Good Day

For nearly twenty years, Mr. Blake had been the first of his coworkers to arrive and the last to leave. But that streak ended today, apparently, for, as he entered the office, he saw a single desk light on. And there, at a cubicle, sat the new hire, a young man by the name of Gable.

“Well, aren’t you looking chipper and refreshed first thing on a Monday morning,” Mr. Blake said, stopping by the boy’s desk.

“Oh yes, sir,” said Gable, looking up with a smile, as if this were just what he was hoping to hear. “I’m more refreshed than you can even see!”

“A refreshing weekend for the body and the soul, then,” Mr. Blake said.

“Certainly,” said Gable. “I’ve refreshed aspects of myself that are buried deep and rarely observed by others.”

“Wonderful,” said Mr. Blake with a chuckle. “And how did you achieve such enlightenment?”

“I just did a bit of cleaning,” said Gable, “downstairs.”

“That’s how it is with me and the wife, as well,” said Mr. Blake. “Why bother getting the upstairs spotless when the guests will keep to the first floor and maybe the backyard. Were you entertaining then?”

“Oh, no, sir,” said Gable. “This was a private matter. Very private. But invigorating nonetheless. And warm.”

For years, Mr. Blake had, like so many of his peers, dismissed the generations beneath his own with an eye-roll and a p’shaw. But recently, he’d begun to see things differently. He not only appreciated their peculiarities, but he had grown jealous of their abilities to subsist. They required no glad-handing, no futile exercises in put-upon socialization that begat no joy, just further such events. While he and his wife would spend the few hours they had in life not devoted to employment planning cocktail parties for a group of people they pretended to like, these young men could find something approaching rapture in a weekend spent tidying up alone.

Mr. Blake couldn’t help himself. They were alone, after all. Nobody would overhear him now. He leaned closer. “How is it, Gable, that you manage to maintain such a resplendent sense of being?”

“A bidet, sir,” Gable said in a breathless whisper.

Mr. Blake stepped back. Of course, he’d spooked the boy. Why else would he stutter and dismiss him so quickly? Mr. Blake held up his hands and smiled, showing he meant no harm. “I understand you don’t want to share the secrets of youth with a withered old fool like me,” he said. “I bid you a good day, as well, Gable.”

And with that, he made his way to his office to begin his work.