On Friday, as the gentleman caller and I were trying to organize the dog, the potato salad, blankets and 2 adults out the door for a social distanced birthday (also, here, meet the gentleman caller) event, my phone rang.
I have come to dread these calls. No one calls to say hello and check in at 5pm on a Friday. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works.
A colleague is dead. We don’t know, and will quite possibly never know if it was Covid. He’s not that much older than me, he lived alone, and he was found dead on Friday.
This afternoon was a quick check in. Back to work means back to the administrative requirements of work – uploading documents and making sure that performance appraisals are completed. And this – we have work to farm out now.
Can I take some of it.
I will. Not only because work is work – although it is. I will take it because I liked my colleague. I won’t be able to fill his shoes – not completely, because they are big shoes, but somewhat. We both trafficked in consulting magic.
I ended the online meeting and I cried. Because he is dead, because he was alone, because at the end of of all of this, there won’t be a moment where we laugh and joke about his terrible condo board and the ridiculous demands of Covid.
I hate pandemics.