#goodbye email hello couch potato

[catvvizard]

[getoutofthisplace]

Dear Gus,

Today is my 37th birthday. What follows is the detailed account I posted to Facebook of how I spent the day, but I left out the part where after my meeting and before we started filming, I ducked into the conference room to see the Fayetteville engineers being introduced to the tinker kit the North Little Rock engineers opened up yesterday.

I wake up at the Courtyard Marriott in Fayetteville. It is dark. I reach for the bedside table and feel around for my phone, which lights up. My background image pictures Gus sitting in Liz’s lap. He looks older in the photo than he is in real life. Liz looks as beautiful as she is in real life. It’s 4:45am on the dot because that’s when Gus has been waking me up lately. It takes me a while to go back to sleep, but I think I finally crash at 5:30, and wake up to my alarm at 6:45. While I shower, I listen to The Cure Radio on my phone, which stops suddenly. I peek through the clear shower curtain to see that Liz is calling me. The music comes back when she hangs up. I dry off and call her back.

“Happy birthday!” she says. And then we talk about the sleep we got and didn’t get the night before. We talk about what Gus ate in the previous 24 hours. And while we talk I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to identify the differences in my body at 37 years old versus when I was in my 20s. I don’t remember my body from my 20s anymore. I try to convince myself I look exactly the same.

“Have a good day,” Liz says, “I love you.”

I get dressed and make my way downstairs to cash in my breakfast voucher for toast, bacon, fruit, and two eggs.

“How would you like your eggs cooked?” the woman behind the counter asks.

“Over-medium.” I used to ask for my eggs to be cooked over-easy, but it occurred to me last year that I have probably been ordering them that way out of habit for decades. I actually like my eggs cooked over-medium. The fascinating thing about this change in my egg order is that it hasn’t affected any change in the way my eggs are actually cooked. It turns out, most people in the kitchen don’t know how to make eggs over-medium. All of those egg orders never actually mattered, it seems. I was always going to get the same eggs, no matter the order.

I sit with Bryan Stafford and eat my breakfast while he drinks his coffee and we discuss an email we earlier that will likely mean we will soon head to Dallas to do what it is that we do. We work for a 100-year-old engineering firm that—among other things—pays us to make short videos. I write them, Bryan films them, and we direct them together. We’re a good team.

We drive over to the office and I make my rounds to say hello to the people I know and like in our Fayetteville office while Bryan unloads gear. I find an empty office and respond to emails. I run a quarterly conference call between the company’s 26 offices. Sometimes I worry that people are saying “Guy’s call is terrible. I dread it every quarter.” But I feel like if people are saying that, there is someone else close that will say, “At least he keeps it short.” On the call yesterday, though, I got worried the call would unravel when a lot of people wanted to spend time ribbing the guy in our Huntsville, Alabama office about the Clemson game. I am kind of proud of myself for steering the ship beyond that quickly.

I have another call at 10:45 about Bryan and I having to go to Dallas. We solidify our plans. After the call, Bryan and I don’t say anything to each other, and it occurs to me that we are both texting our respective wives about our impending absence.

“Liz isn’t going to like this,” I say.

“Yeah, my wife and I are sending our youngest to college and it looks like she’s going to get a little me-time in her first week with an empty nest.”

But in the end, our wives are very tolerant of our work's demands. They know who they married and how we operate.

“This is a really nice chair,” I say to Bryan. “I wish my chair in North Little Rock was this comfortable.” And then we stand up. We have a busy day.

While Bryan starts setting up for our afternoon video shoot, I take the elevator down to my truck. I need to dress our CEO up like a 15-year-old for the video. The night before, I picked him up a flat-billed Fayettechill hat, but I need to find him some kind of bright-colored jacket to complete his ensemble.

“Do you have any more of these in the back?” I ask a purple-haired girl at Hot Topic at the mall. “I need a medium, if you have it.” The jacket in question is covered in loud colors and Japanese logographs and appears to reference Dragonball Z. But when the girl comes back, she tells me they don’t have any more.

I find a store called The Geek Realms that looks like it will be gone in three weeks. Nothing is organized. “Hello,” a voice says from an unidentified place. I look around but don’t see anyone, so I simply respond loudly to a neverending rack of stickers in the middle of the store—“Hello.” I gravitate toward a clothing rack of hoodies. I find one that is an outer space print that says “I’m a dreamer” across the chest. I can’t decide if that one is better than the one that has a giant white lion’s face across the front. I buy them both.

I have 45 minutes to grab lunch before I’m due back to the office for another meeting. I want sushi. I go to Kobe, a Japanese place across the street from my hotel and bypass the line at the host stand to sit at the bar. I order the chirashi bowl and a water, and I try to order food to-go for Bryan and Laura, but the server says I can order it when I’m halfway finished with my meal. I am in a hurry and want to order it immediately so I don’t have to wait later, but I don’t insist. I don't want to be an asshole. I trust the server knows what she’s doing.

The chirashi is really good. I order Bryan the teriyaki chicken and Laura a chicken avocado salad. I pay my tab and finish my meal. The to-go orders aren’t ready yet. I have to wait. I am going to be late to my meeting with the three most powerful leaders at my place of employment. The server tells me the kitchen got slammed and so things are taking longer than normal. I make a mental note to insist that I order when I want to the next time I’m in this situation. If this were a major restaurant chain, I would start preparing my email to them.

I beat two of the three executives to my meeting, even though I'm a few minutes late. The meeting goes well, but it runs long and I worry our video shoot is going to run long. I worry we won’t be able to finish tonight and I’ll have to spend another night in Fayetteville. But we eventually start filming and it is fun to see the script I wrote come to life.

Everyone has to fight the urge to laugh on camera because we are doing something fun and funny. Our CEO is wearing the white lion hoodie. These are the days when I love my job.

We wrap up around 4:30pm. I sit down to my laptop and respond to emails while Bryan starts packing up gear. Our CEO usually leaves the costume items I buy for him, but after he changes clothes this time, he doubles back to grab the hat, the outer space shirt, and the white lion hoodie. It makes me laugh to think that he liked those clothes, that he might one day wear them in the future. Also, I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t get to keep that hoodie.

I say goodbye to Bryan, who will stay in Fayetteville another night to accompany his son to orientation at the university in the morning. I take the elevator down to my truck and head toward the interstate back to North Little Rock.

Liz calls. She has just picked up Gus from school. I can hear him in the background. She was worried I’d be late, but for the past month we’ve been sharing our locations with each other via our phones. She checked it and was relieved to see my little dot is on the road home. She asks if she should plan on me being home for dinner, but I tell her I’ll grab something on the way.

I end up at a place called Crosswoods just off the interstate in Clarksville. The restaurant’s website showcased bright photos and referenced the chef by name, but when I got there, it looked like a strip club from the outside. Inside, there are pool tables and two men at the bar, one of whom is wearing orange camouflage. I sit down at the bar beside the video crack machine and the puffy-faced 22-year-old dude behind the bar says, “Can I help you?” in a way that suggests he gained his hospitality industry training while pouring concrete for the new local motel.

Before I arrived, I planned to order a salad, but upon seeing the place, I feel like the "chef" is probably best suited to prepare meat and potatoes, so I order a steak with twice baked potatoes. For my second side, I ask the puffy-faced kid what he likes, to which he replies, “The green beans are pretty good,” so I go with that.

Duke and Wake Forest are on the television. The man in the camouflage hat asks me who my team is, and I tell him the Little Rock Trojans. The man said his dad had graduated from UALR, but he likes the Razorbacks. “Everybody does,” I say. The man lived in North Little Rock a long time ago, but then he moved to Pope County, and now he’s been in Johnson County for 22 or 23 years. He looks at the puffy-faced kid who is handing him another Busch can--unopened, strangely--and the man in camouflage says, “Long enough to want to leave, but too long to actually do it, you know. Nothing to do here.” I nod in some kind of false solidarity.

I pay my bill and walk out. No one says anything to me. I finish disc 10 of 13 of my audiobook of Watership Down just as I roll into the Shell station in Park Hill, a couple of miles from my house. It is just after 8pm and I can barely keep my eyes open. I go to bed before 9pm these days.

When I pull into the driveway, I turn the truck off and sit in silence for a few seconds. I am tired. I walk in the front door, my dog Suki meets me immediately and gyrates with excitement. The house is quiet, Liz has already put Gus to bed. She’s on the couch studying. I let Suki out the back door and kiss Liz. “Happy birthday,” she tells me again. I unpack my bag and brush my teeth.

“Are you going to bed?” Liz asks.

“I think so,” I say. And I walk to our bedroom, lie down in bed, make a couple of moves in the Open Face Chinese Poker game I play for a quarter a point against my cousin John and my friend Barrett, and I fall asleep quickly. This is who I am at 37 years old.

Dad

Fayetteville, Arkansas. 1.8.2019 - 1.46pm.