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Show 85 David is old and turtle shaped, that characterization accented by his slow movement and the green shirts the supervisors wear. He thinks the two-man dynamic is the most efficient way to do the job, which might be true for him since he is old and can't really do anything except push around the garbage can on wheels and wash windows at eye level. He always insists that we work together and it's hard to shake him. We take the elevator to go up one floor. David waits out the ride by whistling, and once the doors open, he says they should charge for that kind of fun. I feel pity for him as a result, and also because he is old. I don't know any other old people. About that demographic I knew only that their hands turned translucent and sometimes they talked about how one day you just wake up, it's all passed you by-that's how they describe it, "you just wake up," as if you haven't been paying attention the whole ride and suddenly it's over. Nothing scares me more than waking up translucent and having to take the elevator one floor. All of my grandparents were dead by the time I was eight. I was sad to see Grandma Thomas go, but sadder about the time we cemented over the snake's home underneath the porch in our back yard for a patio and thinking about a snake coming home and not being able to get in, or worse, being cemented in there alive. I never saw my grandparents sin or do anything except watch Parry Mason reruns on Sunday when our parents made us visit them at the nursing home. As a result, I thought they were probably in heaven now in bodies or spirit bodies or something that could still move more than one step every minute, so there was nothing to be worried about. |