The Tao of Apathy (4 page)

Grumby stood at the head of the table and
bowed his head. “Father, will you please begin our meeting with a
prayer.”

Father Chuck stepped away from the corner he
was standing in and opened his big red Bible. He was a thin, small
man with a bald pate and a James Earl Jones voice reverberated out
of his Don Knotts body. “Lord, please give these men your wisdom as
they make important decisions today. Guide them to do your will. We
pray that our hospital be a place of physical and spiritual
healing. Watch over these men and protect them from paper cuts as
they flip through documents. May their coffee not be bitter and all
their doughnuts be jelly filled. And may your will be done despite
what transpires here today. Amen.”

“
Amen. Thank you, Father. That was
real good.” Grumby nodded and Father gathered up his Bible and
left. Then the men, being that there had never been a lady
director, listened and nodded their heads as Grumby outlined a
convincing version of the right-sizing that would be taking place.
They stopped nodding and stared at their coffee cups as he
explained how because of the Obamacare attack on our citizen’s
health, every department would be radically different and smaller
with smaller budgets. It took him about an hour and a half to
explain to them that it was their idea. When Grumby finished, they
all jumped up.

“
I like the idea that I helped
come up with,” Seuss said, “But I refuse to follow it.”

“
I am already overworked,” Swine
squealed.

“
My department is years behind,”
Crow, the head of Personnel bemoaned, “We are so
understaffed.”

“
I haven’t had a raise in eight
months,” Liberace whined.

Grumby raised his voice. “I expect your full
cooperation during these trying times, gentleman. We can not just
sit idly. We must act decisively. In fact, if we are to circumvent
Obamacare (How dare he name it after himself?), we must overact.
Therefore, if we are going to remain a viable charitable
institution, we must eliminate all non-revenue producing
activities.”

The directors roared with relief. Mr. Crow
yelled out. “That’s very funny, sir. We had thought you were
serious about all this.”

“
Stop laughing all of you. I am
serious. The board of this hospital is very dedicated about
continuing to be seen as a source of services in our community that
no one else provides. The only way we can do that is by eliminating
those programs. Crow. Mr. Crow, you are laughing again. I really
wish somebody would explain to me how you could be laughing at this
mission upon which we are about to embark.”

“
But will any directors be
dis-embarked?” Freedman asked. “That’s all we really want to
know.”

Grumby looked each of his people in the eye.
“No. You guys are my friends. Secondly, we will not be laying
people off. I do not want anyone spreading that rumor. Eventually,
we may need to implement a manpower adjustment, but we are not
firing people. For now, we are only eliminating positions that some
people may currently hold. And those positions will only be at the
functional level.” The directors looked at him, relieved. Grumby
smiled. “You jobs are guaranteed as long as I am
around.”

It was two months later that
Grumby left. The board sent a bulletin with the employees’
paychecks informing them that Grumby had taken a challenging
position as administrator of a hospital in a Texan city on the
Mexican border. The bulletin congratulated Grumby and thanked him
for his years of devoted service to Saint Jude’s and its parent
company, The Sisters of the Sorrowful State.
His talents had been very well used by the board of
trustees
, it had read.

“
I hated that guy.” Joe said as he
threw his copy of the bulletin in the garbage and his paper hat on
top of that. Joe knew everything that went on at Saint Jude’s. The
education department sent bulletins, memos, and newsletters to
every employee on a regular basis. Joe rarely read these
communications and never believed them, which was the first way he
kept on top of things. Joe described the newsletters as
cock-and-bull written about jerk offs by jerk offs. “And these
bulletins are big bullshit spoons,” he told Bigger pointing down to
the garbage can.

Joe knew the hospital from top to bottom
because he got reports from Bigger as Bigger delivered the food
carts and because he helped out in the cafeteria during the lunch
rush and listened to the staff gossip as they waited for their tuna
casserole. And most importantly, Joe was a heavy smoker. He spent
every moment he could sneak in a small building that was provided
for the smokers. It had once been the receiving dock office before
the receiving department was moved to a separate location across
the street for its unseemly look.

This room with its stained yellow walls and
stench was an oasis for smokers from every department. Because it
was not possible to get to this room from inside the hospital, the
smokers would hurry through the rain, snow and freezing
temperatures with a coat and a lighter to get to their carcinogen
clubhouse. In the summer they would lounge together outside on
metal picnic tables. The smokers had a tight bond of addiction. Joe
hated, feared and coveted his fellow smokers and looked forward to
disdaining them every day.

While he smoked, he studied human nature and
had decided that everyone’s desires could be boiled down to two
goals: to be happy and to have sex. Joe believed these goals were
not usually interchangeable. From the conversations that went on in
this small room lovingly called the Butt Hutt, he discerned the
mistakes that each person made that kept him or her from these two
goals. People lost touch with their loved ones, but would bare
their souls during breaks to a co-worker that they may not even
particularly like with strangers all around them. They compared the
light camaraderie with their co-workers with the real, difficult
relationships they had in their home life. They often did not see
that their co-workers did not have to deal with the real them at
home.

Sex was an easier goal to achieve as long as
you kept your standards low. But once people achieved this goal
they often tried to turn it into happiness. They told themselves
that they would be happy if only they added a stable relationship
and a family to their sex. But once they had happiness, they
weren’t happy with it and went out looking for new sex.

As Joe smoked, he heard theories on how Saint
Jude’s, Michigan, and America could be made better. These theories
were worthless because (besides just being worthless in general)
they would never go beyond being spouted in the Butt Hutt. Everyone
said they had common sense and could do “it” better, but when it
came to “all right, go ahead,” they were all “Naw, whatever you
think is best” or “What? Are you trying to get me to do someone
else’s job? Nice try, Bub. I got enough to do.”

Joe sat and smoked and noticed that people had
a profound affect on each other and didn’t notice. A friendly smile
did make a person’s day and a thoughtless comment had the ability
to break down a relationship permanently. A supervisor’s small,
thoughtless comment caused a day of grumbling and a lifetime of
resentment. Everyone was caught up in his or her own problems and
ready to find fault with everyone else. Joe did not pretend to be
any different.

Sometimes (everyday), Joe cracked out
criticism to anyone that had chipped him off. Nurses or dieticians
were often rude to him on the phone and he would take it out on
them on smoke breaks. He figured that the chances of anyone
starting a complaint form with “While I was out in the Butt Hutt…”
were slim. But because Joe knew the workings of Saint Jude’s, he
knew better than to make a comment anywhere else. In a dispute
between a professional staff member and a kitchen or housekeeping
or maintenance person, the kitchen or housekeeping or maintenance
person was in the wrong. It was assumed (by many, including some of
those people) that those people were not intelligent enough to be
in the right. Many even thought that the low-level personnel had a
mental ailment that made them act up. A professional did not have
to act professionally, just be treated professionally. Those on the
low end of the pay scale (or perceived to be on the low end) were
not people, but equipment. And equipment was to be seen and used,
but don’t try to attach feelings to them that just aren’t
there.

Bigger often went with Joe to the Butt Hutt.
He did not smoke, but he liked to gripe. “That friggin’ Seuss,” he
said as he dropped his feet on one of the two long tables that ran
down the middle of the room. Ashes shot up from the table and
wafted towards Joe. “He wants me to get rid of my pants and my
shoes and anything else he wouldn’t approve of.”

“
He wants you naked from the waist
down? Where do I sign up for that?”

“
Yeah, he wants Mr. Stiffy to wave
to people as I push the carts.” Bigger was so sarcastic that Joe
felt proud to know him. But his sarcasm made Bigger uncomfortable.
Always ready to go toe to toe, Bigger hated confrontations. Or
rather, his reluctance to get into confrontations bottled up his
feelings until he was so frustrated, angry and sarcastic that he
wanted to fight someone.

“
Hey, I never noticed before that
your name is a nickname for a Johnson. Bigger Steiffy.
Wow.”

“
Can we just get back to Seuss? He
wants me to wear white pants, a white shirt and white shoes.”
Bigger wiped the ashes from his plum shoes.

“
Well, Bigger, that is our
uniform. If you haven’t you noticed, all my work clothes are
white,” Joe said pointing to his clothes that were all white except
for the food, coffee, sweat and beer stains.

“
But why? I don’t see why. I do my
job. I do it well. I used to wear all white, Remember? I felt like
a sperm. It made my legs look short. I didn’t even feel human. Plus
I think that that the right colored pants help protect me from the
invisibility rays.”

“
Oh here we go.”

“
There are invisibility rays in
the hallways, Joe.” He was talking loudly so others could hear, but
no one took note of him. “And they only work on me. I bring up a
food cart and no one says anything to me. I don’t hear a good
morning or a thank you. All I hear is, ‘Oh, look the food cart is
here.’ Why are they surprised unless they don’t see that it was me
that brought it? If I stand and wait to see if the nurses are done
collecting the dirty dishes so that I can take the cart, they don’t
see me. They never say, ‘Okay, you can take the cart’ or even
‘we’ll be ready in a minute or two.’ Why don’t they say something
if they could see me standing there?”

“
Bigger.”

“
Joe, it’s true. Sometimes I take
a cart and someone says, ‘Why is that cart leaving so early?’ If I
weren’t invisible, they would know why. Because I’m taking it. And
and and in the elevator. Everyone stands in my way and don’t let me
out even though I have this huge cart-”

“
I hate when you talk like this.
There are no invisibility rays and there is no reason for Seuss
making you conform to the dress code. It is just the way things
are.”

“
Well, Seuss told me I better be
in all white soon or I’ll be suspended until I am. He also hinted
that people who caused problems could be let go in some major
changes that hospital will be going through.” Bigger stood up
seeing that Joe was finished with his Marlboro.

Joe raised his eyebrows. “Why? What did he
say?”

“
He said, ‘we are going to
re-organize this place so that we won’t need degenerates in green
pants.”

“
Pretty good hint.” Joe opened the
door and they walked against a strong wind the short way to the
entrance near the kitchen.

From her room, Yolanda Carver watched two men
in paper hats step into a steep wind. “I began smoking when I was
just twelve,” she said to Janis, her nurse. “It began as just
something to do while hanging out on street corners to avoid my
father. In college, it made me feel sophisticated to be a young
black woman sitting at parties and flicking ashes into a beer can.”
She continued to stare out the window as Janis filled out her
chart. “I gave it up during my student teaching, but then I began
teaching in my old neighborhood. Even as principal here in Lansing,
I didn’t give it up even though I had to sneak smokes behind the
school with the custodial staff.”

“
You should close the blinds,”
Janis said.

“
I thought of smoking as part of
living my life to the fullest. Really, it was just a way of passing
time. I spent my whole life passing time.”

“
Lay down and get some
rest.”

“
And now because of smoking, I’m
at the end of my life.”

Janis took Yolanda by the shoulders and guided
her to bed. “I can get you a sedative so that you can rest.” Janis
knew it was her job to get patients to rest. She was dedicated to
patient’s rest. She was a firm believer that bed rest was
ineffective. And if it was ineffective, it couldn’t hurt. “It will
do you some good.”

“
I don’t think anything will do me
good. They didn’t get all the cancer in the surgery. I can just
feel it.”

“
Now, the doctor would know that.
Just take a nap.”