Tethered

I work in a tall building in Minneapolis, on the top floor. Nothing special about that, it just worked out that way for my company. This morning, it's a longer wait than usual, so I take out my Blackberry wireless device and start to mess around...I check the time, check emails, and then start in on a half-hearted game of BrickBreaker.

This guy gets on board the elevator with me and hits a button two floors below mine. Out of the corner of my eye, with most of my attention focused on the tiny, bouncing pixel charged with destroying the artfully arranged bricks on BrickBreaker's 2nd level, I take note of the guy. Boring brown-grey suit, tie, about six-foot-two, brown hair, weathered face of a guy who makes a lot of money and gets outside to enjoy it once in awhile...must have been in his early 50s. He nods at me.

"We're really tethered to those things, aren't we?" he says.

"Uh...yeah, yeah we are, aren't we," I say, taking a second to realize that he's talking about the Blackberry.

"Seems like we're always tethered to work these days. Work has to go everywhere with us."

"Yeah, it does. But you know, I kind of like it. It gives me fair warning on what's waiting for me at the office." It's always a pleasure to have someone new to hear my standard line on the Blackberry. It's getting old for everyone else.

"Well, sometimes, you don't want to know, right?" I tear my eyes away from the device and hit the escape key, pausing the game. The guy has a stony look to him, gazing off in the distance ... all the way to the elevator wall somewhere above me.

"Ha," I laugh, "I guess that's right."

"We have to turn those things off sometimes, right?"

"You just have to set your limits, you know?" I say, trying to be helpful.

"We're really tethered to these things. It's like there's no line between work and home. We're always on," he says, again, with a sadness in his voice that translates itself right into that place where sadness weighs heavy on you, just around the jawline and over the eyes.

"I guess so," I say, and I look down, sharing his ... ennui, I guess.

The elevator "bongs" with the signal that it's reached his floor and the man exits.

"Well, try and have a good day," he says.

"You, too," I say.

And I realize in that moment that this is a profoundly sad man, who, despite whatever else he has going for him, feels powerless over the forces of his life, powerless to do anything to assert control over his time, unable to set boundaries. Powerless, except for his ability to reach out, over a 45-second elevator ride, to someone who might just be a kindred spirit, who might just understand. I realize all that, and the fact that he has no idea that I would soon attain a personal high score on BrickBreaker, and the resulting sense of accomplishment would carry me a good hour into this second day of the week.

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