Real Love: The Barefoot Corporate Executive
Jimw

 


He comes home from his long day at the office: the powerful, dignified, distinguished corporate executive who seems to have everything any man could want.

He steps in quietly, knowing his wife is asleep. It is five years now since the depression overcame her, changing her, robbing her of joy. She sleeps most of the days and cries most of the nights.

He enters the room and kisses her. She sobs and hugs him.

"The kitchen..." she says, pain in her voice. "I spilled the juice. I...I couldn't clean it up. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

He sighs and whispers: "Don't worry about it...my love...I will take care of it" and leaves the room.

He opens the door to the kitchen and shakes his head: orange juice covers the floor with a sticky film. It splashes on to the walls and dribbles across the room.

If she gets up, she may slip.

He thinks of how much he would love to have her meet him at the door as she once did. He thinks of her kindness and humor, still there, surely, under the blanker of despair. He thinks of the past as something gone. Perhaps not? It is too much to think about. There is work to do.

He has ten minutes before he must leave to meet a client for dinner. He looks down at his impeccably tailored Italian business suit and his silk necktie, his starched white shirt and the mirror-shined black leather shoes on his feet. He steps into the goo and his shoe sticks.

He hears his wife sobbing softly.

He sighs again and says out loud: "These will have to come off..." and glances at his feet.

He unties and slides his right foot out of his gleaming shoe and reaches under his suit cuff to peel off one black silk sock. He follows with the other shoe and sock. He places them on the floor outside the kitchen. He takes off his designer watch and his monogrammed cufflinks and places them in one shoe. He rolls his expensive socks and puts them in the other shoe, followed by his keys and his wallet and his chunky business school ring. His wedding ring remains.

The pinstriped corporate executive with the perfectly knotted tie places one bare foot in the sticky mess and walks to the sink. He fills it with water and pulls the mop out of the closet. He finds the floor cleaner and pours it in.

Quickly he begins to mop and regrets his decision to leave his suit jacket on, as his arms are not as free as they should be with the mop.

The man who commands a dozen employees and arranges million dollar deals is now a barefoot janitor for the sake of his wife.

His shoes are polished containers filled with his corporate identity. Here in the kitchen he is a custodian, stripped of his executive trappings.

The juice sticks to the soles of his clean feet and when he finishes the job, he washes them off. He dries the floor with paper towels under his feet. She still may get up and fall - the floor cannot be left wet.

He picks up his shoes and steps noiselessly through the house on silent bare feet. He looks in the bedroom and finds her asleep.

He steps out the door and walks to his Porsche. He places his shoes on top of the closed garbage can near the street when he realizes he forgot to lock the door. He comes back to find a grinning garbageman holding the shoes.

"This must be the fanciest garbage I've ever seen!" laughs the garbageman and stares at the barefoot corporate executive. "You planning on throwing these out?" and he holds up the silk socks and the Rolex.

The garbageman continues to joke: "You don't look like the type who walks around in his bare feet! I almost took these fancy shoes with me! They're just about my size...Good thing you came out when you did! And YOUR wallet, man! How does a guy like you do his job without his shoes or his wallet or his keys? You should be more careful!"

"You're right" says the executive absently. He is embarrassed and tired, aware of how foolish he must look, shoeless in his business suit, and aware of the cold gravel under his feet. "I'm not concentrating. I'm just thinking about other things..."

The garbageman is in a joking mood and wants to talk. The executive is trying not to show his irritation and hopes he will stop talking.

"Not concentrating! Something on your mind, huh? So you throw out your shoes and your watch and your wallet! If you keep that up, they're gonna fire you from your hotshot white collar job and then you'll have to work for me! Then you won't need these fancy shoes or the watch!" he laughs.

"We got a great insurance policy! Just let me know when you want to start, and I'll train you myself as a trashman! But you better add those pinstripes and the necktie to the trash can...I'll provide the uniform for you, pal! And don't drive the sports car to work anymore - wouldn't look right! How about a used pickup?" he said in his cheerful, loud voice.

"Fired...Great insurance...Fired" said the executive to himself, but loud enough for the garbageman to hear, and his mind goes blank.

The garbageman stops talking, and is now embarrassed himself. He has said far too much.

The executive's mind whirls. Fired...It is possible. He has to keep up the pace.

How long can it go on? Would her treatments work this time? Their investments and savings were going into sanitoriums and special doctors not covered by insurance. His job paid well, but the demands were great, and he was tired too often.

Questions without answers race through his mind, and he thinks of her alone in bed, crying.

The garbageman sees the executive stare at him, stunned, and starts to stammer.

"I'm just joking with you, buddy. Sorry. Didn't mean..." and he hands the shoes to the executive. "Really didn't mean...."

"No problem. I know. Maybe you're right..." The executive smiles nervously and sadly, then takes the shoes and their expensive contents.

No one knew the full story of his wife's anguish and no one wants to know.

The garbageman looks relieved and laughs again, and leaves. The executive pulls on his silk socks and replaces his cufflinks and watch and wallet and ties his shoes.

He leaves behind his sleeping wife and a very clean and shining kitchen floor.
He comes home from his long day at the office: the powerful, dignified, distinguished corporate executive who seems to have everything any man could want.

He steps in quietly, knowing his wife is asleep. It is five years now since the depression overcame her, changing her, robbing her of joy. She sleeps most of the days and cries most of the nights.

He enters the room and kisses her. She sobs and hugs him.

"The kitchen..." she says, pain in her voice. "I spilled the juice. I...I couldn't clean it up. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

He sighs and whispers: "Don't worry about it...my love...I will take care of it" and leaves the room.

He opens the door to the kitchen and shakes his head: orange juice covers the floor with a sticky film. It splashes on to the walls and dribbles across the room.

If she gets up, she may slip.

He thinks of how much he would love to have her meet him at the door as she once did. He thinks of her kindness and humor, still there, surely, under the blanker of despair. He thinks of the past as something gone. Perhaps not? It is too much to think about. There is work to do.

He has ten minutes before he must leave to meet a client for dinner. He looks down at his impeccably tailored Italian business suit and his silk necktie, his starched white shirt and the mirror-shined black leather shoes on his feet. He steps into the goo and his shoe sticks.

He hears his wife sobbing softly.

He sighs again and says out loud: "These will have to come off..." and glances at his feet.

He unties and slides his right foot out of his gleaming shoe and reaches under his suit cuff to peel off one black silk sock. He follows with the other shoe and sock. He places them on the floor outside the kitchen. He takes off his designer watch and his monogrammed cufflinks and places them in one shoe. He rolls his expensive socks and puts them in the other shoe, followed by his keys and his wallet and his chunky business school ring. His wedding ring remains.

The pinstriped corporate executive with the perfectly knotted tie places one bare foot in the sticky mess and walks to the sink. He fills it with water and pulls the mop out of the closet. He finds the floor cleaner and pours it in.

Quickly he begins to mop and regrets his decision to leave his suit jacket on, as his arms are not as free as they should be with the mop.

The man who commands a dozen employees and arranges million dollar deals is now a barefoot janitor for the sake of his wife.

His shoes are polished containers filled with his corporate identity. Here in the kitchen he is a custodian, stripped of his executive trappings.

The juice sticks to the soles of his clean feet and when he finishes the job, he washes them off. He dries the floor with paper towels under his feet. She still may get up and fall - the floor cannot be left wet.

He picks up his shoes and steps noiselessly through the house on silent bare feet. He looks in the bedroom and finds her asleep.

He steps out the door and walks to his Porsche. He places his shoes on top of the closed garbage can near the street when he realizes he forgot to lock the door. He comes back to find a grinning garbageman holding the shoes.

"This must be the fanciest garbage I've ever seen!" laughs the garbageman and stares at the barefoot corporate executive. "You planning on throwing these out?" and he holds up the silk socks and the Rolex.

The garbageman continues to joke: "You don't look like the type who walks around in his bare feet! I almost took these fancy shoes with me! They're just about my size...Good thing you came out when you did! And YOUR wallet, man! How does a guy like you do his job without his shoes or his wallet or his keys? You should be more careful!"

"You're right" says the executive absently. He is embarrassed and tired, aware of how foolish he must look, shoeless in his business suit, and aware of the cold gravel under his feet. "I'm not concentrating. I'm just thinking about other things..."

The garbageman is in a joking mood and wants to talk. The executive is trying not to show his irritation and hopes he will stop talking.

"Not concentrating! Something on your mind, huh? So you throw out your shoes and your watch and your wallet! If you keep that up, they're gonna fire you from your hotshot white collar job and then you'll have to work for me! Then you won't need these fancy shoes or the watch!" he laughs.

"We got a great insurance policy! Just let me know when you want to start, and I'll train you myself as a trashman! But you better add those pinstripes and the necktie to the trash can...I'll provide the uniform for you, pal! And don't drive the sports car to work anymore - wouldn't look right! How about a used pickup?" he said in his cheerful, loud voice.

"Fired...Great insurance...Fired" said the executive to himself, but loud enough for the garbageman to hear, and his mind goes blank.

The garbageman stops talking, and is now embarrassed himself. He has said far too much.

The executive's mind whirls. Fired...It is possible. He has to keep up the pace.

How long can it go on? Would her treatments work this time? Their investments and savings were going into sanitoriums and special doctors not covered by insurance. His job paid well, but the demands were great, and he was tired too often.

Questions without answers race through his mind, and he thinks of her alone in bed, crying.

The garbageman sees the executive stare at him, stunned, and starts to stammer.

"I'm just joking with you, buddy. Sorry. Didn't mean..." and he hands the shoes to the executive. "Really didn't mean...."

"No problem. I know. Maybe you're right..." The executive smiles nervously and sadly, then takes the shoes and their expensive contents.

No one knew the full story of his wife's anguish and no one wants to know.

The garbageman looks relieved and laughs again, and leaves. The executive pulls on his silk socks and replaces his cufflinks and watch and wallet and ties his shoes.

He leaves behind his sleeping wife and a very clean and shining kitchen floor.

 

 

Copyright © 2008 Jimw
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"