Bright Spot

"One conversation, a simple moment

The things that change us if we notice

When we look up, sometimes"

 - Underdog, by Alicia Keys

Working during the pandemic has been, as most of life during this time, simply strange. I went from going in at 8:00am five days a week to only once a week if that. I work from home the rest of the time, and the days I do go into the office are entirely different than they were before. Instead of seeing not only all the people in my department but the bustle of all the other departments in the six-story building, I'm lucky to see three of my coworkers at one time. My floor has become a cubicle ghost town. There's an abandoned feeling to it, like a a house which will gradually be overtaken by nature. Some people brought home not just their laptops but their monitors as well, leaving gaping spaces on their desks, while other monitors remain to collect dust. Meanwhile, orders I placed for various people have still been arriving, which is the main reason I need a day to be physically in the office. I pick up and sign for items, tracking shipments and handling communications via mail. One director sent me a long list of orders earlier in the year, so her cube has quietly filled with boxes over time. On the one hand, the overflowing stack is a comical sight. On the other, I wonder if we'll ever return to such a semblance of office hours as they were before as to need all the file folders, desk organizers, and especially the event and promotional items which seemed so important. 

An email was sent out about securing personal items, because people had reported things such as large pump bottles of hand sanitizer stolen from their desks. One day I arrived to find the water fountain was shut off, I suppose because it was thought to be a conduit for germs. I walk into the building wearing a mask, nodding and smiling as hard as I can at the security guards. Everyone pushes elevator buttons with their elbows, and stands spaced apart. Several times I've arrived to find a notice in the elevators saying that a particular floor is shut down until further notice, because of someone who worked there who tested positive. (Or was in contact with someone who tested positive, a degree of separation which is taken seriously nonetheless). 

Yet in the midst of the strangeness, the emptiness and the elevator signs which feel oddly apocalyptic, a bright spot of it all is David. David is one of at least two special-needs adults who are on the office cleaning staff. I'd seen him a couple of times before meeting him in the hallway outside the bathrooms one day not long after I first started working there. He was beside his cleaning cart, about to go in and restock.

"Hello!" he said, smiling broadly. His smile lights up his entire face, stretching to the limits with undiluted enthusiasm. 

"Hello! How are you doing?" I replied, grinning back. 

"Good! My name is David." He held out his hand and I shook it. Oh the days when shaking hands was blissfully normal! 

We chatted for a moment before I went back to work. Ever since, when we see each other we wave and say hi. Often, David will have an interesting tidbit of news to share. Throughout everything, David's smile stays the same. It warms my heart to see him at the office, still working despite the low number of people there. 

I'm thankful for David, whose joy seems unaffected by current events. I hope he's able to be at the office consistently, no matter when or if people go back to work as normal. I'm thankful for that small yet meaningful interaction which has stayed the same despite the distancing, despite the masks, despite the constant barrage of grim news.

"I hope you have a good 4th of July!" we told each other when I saw David last week. We couldn't see all of each other's faces because of the masks, but we waved a little harder, made more specific eye contact, and I believe we could each tell without a doubt just how big we were each smiling with happiness.