morning person before the apocalypse, but sleeping on the floor at work surrounded by the stifling air from 18 bodies wasn’t doing me any good either.
The warm front had finally passed and cooler air hit me as I opened the front door. Most everyone was awake, the morning light shining through the glass doors and the smell of coffee wafting down the hallway. It had to be twenty degrees cooler than the day before, but that was just a guess. The bite of the air actually improved my attitude.
Another benefit of the cold air was the lack of need for the air conditioner. Dr. Kramer took me outside and showed me his generator backup system. He had an equipment room on the side of the building. It was part of the building with a double metal door that opened into a bank of batteries and several breaker boxes. Because one of their offices was furnished for minor surgery, a compressor and vacuum were necessary in here as well to run the equipment.
With no need for the air conditioner, the generator had not kicked on in a while. Kramer checked the propane tank gauge and was pleased that there was still 70% left. His mood improved dramatically.
“Wow,” he said. “That’s encouraging. We started with 85% and have only used about 15% of the propane these past four days.”
“We’re doing well?” I asked. I knew the answer, but his mood was so improved, I just wanted to hear a positive word or two from his mouth. We both needed it.
“I should say so,” he gleamed. “We might be able to stay here for quite a bit longer. I think the electricity could last us upwards of two or three weeks.”
We went back inside in a much better mental state. Breakfast was finished and bellies were full. We went back into his office and he invited me to sit with him. I suppose that I was different from everyone else there. I wasn’t an employee and I wasn’t a patient. Our relationship was more equitable. Not that I had anywhere near the training he had, and several of the nurses had just as much college education as me. But we spoke as equals before the power outage; and now I was the closest thing to a colleague he had.
After some light hearted discussions about Florida football, we agreed that the end of the world couldn’t have come at a better time given their lack-luster performance to date. It was then that I realized I knew very little about this man.
“Dr. Kramer, I hope you don’t take this wrong; but I was wondering about your family.”
He stopped smiling and his demeanor softened.
I wanted to probe further, hoping I didn’t open up any wounds or painful memories. I realized that I have never seen any of his family pictures. Most private offices have the obligatory picture of the wife, or wife and kids. His office was clinical and almost sterile in appearance. For all I knew, he could have been living in this room and sleeping on the couch since the day the clinic opened.
“I expect that they are doing rather well.” He finally said. “They have a backup generator like we do here and they are surrounded by enough land that I would expect that they will ride this out just fine.”
“That’s good to hear,” I replied. “I just realized that I’ve never spoken with you about them. I guess it’s because I’ve never seen any pictures here in your office.”
“True,” he replied. “I don’t keep any here.”
“You know,” I said, “that’s rather unusual. I’ve been in many offices and I think you’re the only one I know that doesn’t have at least one picture of someone on the desk or wall.”
“It’s a conscious decision, Charlie.” He replied. “I like to separate my life into work and family. When I am at work, I work. When I am at home, I put my attention into them. I don’t like to mix the two.”
“I suppose I can understand that,” I said. “But don’t you find comfort in seeing someone’s picture while you are here dealing with the stress of the job?”
“No, it just reminds
The warm front had finally passed and cooler air hit me as I opened the front door. Most everyone was awake, the morning light shining through the glass doors and the smell of coffee wafting down the hallway. It had to be twenty degrees cooler than the day before, but that was just a guess. The bite of the air actually improved my attitude.
Another benefit of the cold air was the lack of need for the air conditioner. Dr. Kramer took me outside and showed me his generator backup system. He had an equipment room on the side of the building. It was part of the building with a double metal door that opened into a bank of batteries and several breaker boxes. Because one of their offices was furnished for minor surgery, a compressor and vacuum were necessary in here as well to run the equipment.
With no need for the air conditioner, the generator had not kicked on in a while. Kramer checked the propane tank gauge and was pleased that there was still 70% left. His mood improved dramatically.
“Wow,” he said. “That’s encouraging. We started with 85% and have only used about 15% of the propane these past four days.”
“We’re doing well?” I asked. I knew the answer, but his mood was so improved, I just wanted to hear a positive word or two from his mouth. We both needed it.
“I should say so,” he gleamed. “We might be able to stay here for quite a bit longer. I think the electricity could last us upwards of two or three weeks.”
We went back inside in a much better mental state. Breakfast was finished and bellies were full. We went back into his office and he invited me to sit with him. I suppose that I was different from everyone else there. I wasn’t an employee and I wasn’t a patient. Our relationship was more equitable. Not that I had anywhere near the training he had, and several of the nurses had just as much college education as me. But we spoke as equals before the power outage; and now I was the closest thing to a colleague he had.
After some light hearted discussions about Florida football, we agreed that the end of the world couldn’t have come at a better time given their lack-luster performance to date. It was then that I realized I knew very little about this man.
“Dr. Kramer, I hope you don’t take this wrong; but I was wondering about your family.”
He stopped smiling and his demeanor softened.
I wanted to probe further, hoping I didn’t open up any wounds or painful memories. I realized that I have never seen any of his family pictures. Most private offices have the obligatory picture of the wife, or wife and kids. His office was clinical and almost sterile in appearance. For all I knew, he could have been living in this room and sleeping on the couch since the day the clinic opened.
“I expect that they are doing rather well.” He finally said. “They have a backup generator like we do here and they are surrounded by enough land that I would expect that they will ride this out just fine.”
“That’s good to hear,” I replied. “I just realized that I’ve never spoken with you about them. I guess it’s because I’ve never seen any pictures here in your office.”
“True,” he replied. “I don’t keep any here.”
“You know,” I said, “that’s rather unusual. I’ve been in many offices and I think you’re the only one I know that doesn’t have at least one picture of someone on the desk or wall.”
“It’s a conscious decision, Charlie.” He replied. “I like to separate my life into work and family. When I am at work, I work. When I am at home, I put my attention into them. I don’t like to mix the two.”
“I suppose I can understand that,” I said. “But don’t you find comfort in seeing someone’s picture while you are here dealing with the stress of the job?”
“No, it just reminds
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