Joseph Buehler


Office Days

One of the residential appraisers at the office was a handsome young man from Arizona. He wore glasses. Another was a very smart lady appraiser. There was also a guy from Texas and there were six or eight others as well as the female office staff. The appraisers, myself included, worked out in the field about half of the time and in the office the other half.

When we moved into the sixth floor of the recently remodeled office building, the Texan immediately grabbed one of the corner cubicles as his own. He had a view on one side of a busy Sarasota street. The other side had a view of a slash of blue which was the far off Sarasota Bay. I grabbed the cubicle next to his and I could , of course, see the bay also. I imagined large expensive sailboats bobbing up and down in it.

Paul was my first supervisor. He was about forty five and a man of few words, but a nice guy. When he heard that I wanted to put a concrete driveway under my car- port (I couldn’t do it myself; a friend was going to put it down and I was planning to help him), he volunteered to loan me some equipment. While I was at his place getting the stuff, he shocked me by suddenly side-kicking a friendly dog that was trotting next to us as we walked. I didn’t know why he did that, but I said nothing.

After a few years went by, Paul retired. Stretton (Stret), who was, at one time my contemporary, became my second supervisor. He visited Hawaii at least once on vacation and, when he got back, told everyone in sight that he wanted to move there after he retired. Stret was always tanned and he was rather handsome. He would show up, on social occasions, with a new girl friend on his arm. He retired young, in his forties. To my knowledge, while we were still in the area anyway, he never did move to Hawaii.

My third supervisor, the one who was still there when I retired at sixty two, was also a nice guy. He was demoted for some reason from a glassed in cubicle (the only one in the office) with (of course) a view of the bay, to an interior one. I thought that it was an unfair demotion and it made me angry, but there was nothing to be done about it.

I had looked forward to retirement for about five years. I counted down the months, the weeks and finally the days. They held a pizza party for me. Stret came, minus a girl friend and most of the appraisers and office staff showed up and the big boss, the one who was elected, made an appearance. It happened on a Friday afternoon. Before the party started I cleaned out my desk, boxed everything and took it to my car. When I returned to the sixth floor, I saw that someone I didn’t even know was putting his stuff in my desk. I knew he was just following orders. The powers that be evidently couldn’t wait until the next Monday to move him in. My desk never even got cold.

Joseph Buehler has published one hundred and sixteen poems so far in Australia, the UK, Ireland, the Netherlands, a Paris bookstore, Canada and the USA.

 
 

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