the human condition, later phases
Bob was a mean old bastard.
It was like he tried to make an ass of himself. He'd get to our store's door before we'd opened and ring the buzzer to be let in--for five and ten minutes at a time. He'd snap at us if we tried to say hi. He'd camp out in the cushy chairs and drool on our WWII books but would never buy a single damned thing.
We workers grumbled amongst ourselves, muttering dire threats involving his fingers, his walker, and his rusty little Bobmobile. One of our guys took to hiding Bob's current book in a new place every day. Bob was a shuffling obstacle, an annoyance at best, and kinda effing gross.
And then something happened.
Other people showed up. They didn't actually talk to Bob, but they sat around him and talked to each other. And when we finally started paying attention--we generally didn't pay attention to Bob in order to avoid his baleful little glares--we noticed that he was watching them more than his book.
Eventually they started to include him in their conversations.
And from there, the damndest thing happened. It was like the spring sun on an especially hideous and wrinkly cocoon. Bob got sociable. Bob started saying hi to us in the mornings. Bob held off on the buzzer, waiting until we were actually open before mounting his daily assault on our chairs.
Bob still picks up his book every morning. He doesn't seem to read it as intently, though--but he still sits around for a couple hours, listening and exchanging stories.
His friends--friends?--didn't show up a few days ago. Bob sat for about a half an hour, his book in his lap; then he put it back, nodded to me, and headed out the door.
There's something terrible and rending and wondrous about our social natures. It makes monsters of children and strangely courteous creatures out of self-centered old geezers who'd seemingly just been out to spread their misery. The human factor, as I hear it most commonly referenced, involves how the addition of people will affect a process--usually by screwing it up. In this case their addition fixed something. We can be awful, fascinating creatures like that.
It was like he tried to make an ass of himself. He'd get to our store's door before we'd opened and ring the buzzer to be let in--for five and ten minutes at a time. He'd snap at us if we tried to say hi. He'd camp out in the cushy chairs and drool on our WWII books but would never buy a single damned thing.
We workers grumbled amongst ourselves, muttering dire threats involving his fingers, his walker, and his rusty little Bobmobile. One of our guys took to hiding Bob's current book in a new place every day. Bob was a shuffling obstacle, an annoyance at best, and kinda effing gross.
And then something happened.
Other people showed up. They didn't actually talk to Bob, but they sat around him and talked to each other. And when we finally started paying attention--we generally didn't pay attention to Bob in order to avoid his baleful little glares--we noticed that he was watching them more than his book.
Eventually they started to include him in their conversations.
And from there, the damndest thing happened. It was like the spring sun on an especially hideous and wrinkly cocoon. Bob got sociable. Bob started saying hi to us in the mornings. Bob held off on the buzzer, waiting until we were actually open before mounting his daily assault on our chairs.
Bob still picks up his book every morning. He doesn't seem to read it as intently, though--but he still sits around for a couple hours, listening and exchanging stories.
His friends--friends?--didn't show up a few days ago. Bob sat for about a half an hour, his book in his lap; then he put it back, nodded to me, and headed out the door.
There's something terrible and rending and wondrous about our social natures. It makes monsters of children and strangely courteous creatures out of self-centered old geezers who'd seemingly just been out to spread their misery. The human factor, as I hear it most commonly referenced, involves how the addition of people will affect a process--usually by screwing it up. In this case their addition fixed something. We can be awful, fascinating creatures like that.