Juxtapose

Still unable to net myself a sweet nursing job at this point, and incredibly sick of well-wishers telling me that they "thought there was a nursing shortage," which requires me to explain that to train a nurse costs X million dollars up front and the new grad programs around here are competitive and blah de blah b l a h BLAH, I have been subpoenaed back to my former employer whilst the current office manager is vacationing with her family in Wisconsin.

It was slow most of today. I'm thankful for the work, and the money, but I do wish there was a little more to do. It was a bit of a tornado in the office area, so I ended up doing some paper sorting and filing and stuff, which sounds like not-so-much but really is, because there were at least ten different billing categories (heat, bank statements, insurance policies, malpractice insurance, etcetera) and at least a half a years' worth of unfiled statements of each type lying around on the desks and counters. Basically, every piece of mail and printed out recipe for organic garbanzo bean soup that had arrived since I quit working there had not been filed.

I found out the hard way that any kind of writing on a tee shirt is totally out in the office setting. It's not like there is any hard and fast rule about dress at the office there - the younger doctor wears her grungy sneakers to work all the time. I try to dress nicely, obviously, and I put way more effort into my appearance for work than I ever do otherwise, and yet today I had no suitable top to wear with my skirt, so I just wore my nice little tee shirt with "Greece" written on the front, given to me by Sar many moons ago. A tad casual, but better than showing up with no shirt on at all, is what I say.

Anyways, this guy comes into the office who must have started coming there since I left because I don't recognize him. He gives me a weird once-over and says, "Why, hello!" Well, "why, hello" to you too Mister Wears-A-Wedding-Band. For a rather short balding man, he was very aggressive and he had a very arresting sort of smile and look about him, his perfect blue dress shirt and meticulously groomed salt-and-pepper facial hair. I'm pretty much over my Intimidated Ostrich years at this point, but it all came flooding back in a second and I turned instantly into a huge weenie, relegating myself to the back room where I could sort out Verizon Wireless statements into month order in peace, without the weird man looking over my shoulder while reading his golf magazine.

Weird Man was seen by the doc, said a gracious thank you to him, and then turned to me, asking, "Did you get that shirt in Greece?" Gah! Shut up shut up shut up! Weird Man, I did not get the shirt in Greece, my friend Sar gave it to me as a present. I have family there but have never been. Yeah, it would be nice. I don't have enough money, though. *Scratch head with left hand so my ring is visible* Nope, nope.. don't really have the money, but yeah, it would be fun. Weird Man says that I might never have the money so I should just Do It While I Can, and gives me a look over the top of his rimless glasses like this conversation is going to get him a complimentary ten dollars off of his copayment. Great, thanks for that advice, because I totally have 3K lying around for plane tickets, and I'm definitely needing to burn some money because that's what I look like - Moneybags McGee, filling in as office manager for two weeks because I have nothing else to do all day.

Before I can ask myself, he says that he doesn't need a receipt for his copay and I say, "Well, you make things very easy for me then."

Then (and here's the kicker), he says, "Well, I may be cheap, but I'm not easy!"

Like, okay, whatever, I'm happy to make shallow conversation and all, and believe me, I do all the time to make people happy and feel comfortable, but what I wanna know is - seriously, who says that? Here's your receipt and I hope you have a great month and thankfully I will not be here when you return. I'm glad he thinks he's Rico Suave and that I'm going to be so sweaty for him with that lame banter and smallbaldingman-overcompensating come-on attitude, but it just wasn't doing a thing for me today.

It's funny, but for all its sadness that it holds for me, I found myself wishing that my opera singing, buffalo-tattooed, ten-years-my-senior admirer were there instead of this big jerkface giving me the leer. At least my opera singer never leers. Instead, he compliments me - on my hair, on how kind he thinks I am, on the way I always make time to talk with him, on everything. Sure, it makes me a little uncomfortable to fend off compliments coming at me solidly for a half an hour, but there is a genuineness to them that comes from someone who really is lonely.

Earlier today, I did see my opera singer friend again, and I like him more and more every time we talk. Today he told me that he went to Word of Life Bible college in NY, and I told him I went to Bible school myself, once. We had a nice chat about stuff and life and everything, and, as I always do, I thought about the tons of people I could think of to set him up with.

It's funny. I know a lot of single people. Some of them are truly content with it and are patient for all the right reasons and even though they may want to have someone, they know how to use all the time in between now and when that happens without living in crisis all the time. All of that is awesome and I completely understand. I would hope that I'd still be like that five or ten years from now if I were single still. And yet some are searching so hard (or think they are), and can't seem to "find" anyone. They're the ones who are always admired by nice guys, but who are always saying that they're missing something. Too fat, too not-this-personality, too dumb (but said in nicer words). And I wonder sometimes what we're looking for and whether what we are looking for in our twenties is really what we'll be looking for later on in life. Maybe the aim for ultra-smart, ultra-witty, super-spiritual, good looking but in a doesn't-have-to-put-any-effort-into-it way isn't what we really want all the time. It all depends on whether we want someone who will put their job as priority over their family, time-wise, for perhaps the rest of their life. Whether we want someone who can leave us in awe of their personality or someone who will be as human as we are when we fail them for the millionth time as a spouse. Whether we want them so high in the clouds that they never see God in the here and now. Or whether we enjoy the physique of someone whose mouth says that fashion and form are vain but does not speak it with their actions.

And so I return to my sweet opera singer friend, who I suspect schedules his visits so that he is able to talk with me a little while longer. Walking through the grocery store with a limp from his bad leg, I envision him as not being so desirable, with his hefty 6 foot 4 frame and plaid shirt visible above most everyone else's heads. Nobody would know that he goes to church every Sunday and sings in the choir, or that on his arm he has a tattoo of a drawing of Jesus that his daughter made as a little kid, or that he went to Bible college and still remembers the teaching tools for children's ministries that he learned there fifteen years ago. Least of all, I'm sure nobody would see that in his heart, he is lonely, watching as the world passes him by without a companion, and happy just to talk to beans-for-brains me for half an hour.

The thing is, he's not a brain surgeon, or exceptionally good looking, his old faded tattoos don't speak well to the spiritual moral majority, and he apologizes for every other thing for fear of offending, so he doesn't cut an imposing, aggressive alpha male figure. He isn't twenty five years old and into fast cars or big manly trucks. But I could bet that he would treat his wife rightly, that he would teach his kids about Jesus, that he would serve in church and enjoy a home-cooked meal made by someone other than himself for once. He would work to pay the bills and thrive and flourish under the attention of someone who give could herself to him. I think he would.

The really sad thing is this: I think he would be happy meeting about just any nice Christian girl who would give him the time of day, because that's pretty much all I do for him and he talks like I am an angel incarnate, and I know lots of nice Christian girls who say that they would love to be married but that all the great guys are taken. The girls I know that are looking don't really know what they're looking for, and, if I had the chance to do something about it, I don't think I would ever bother wasting him on them anyhow.