Member-only story
Cockroaches, Cocktails, and The Double-Edged Sword of Resistance
Plus the perils of helping little old ladies cross the street
George was a tech guy. Or maybe a writer. I was never sure which.
He was focused, George was. Nose to the grindstone. He hated distractions. Called them cockroaches. Gotta resist, he’d say. Gotta keep the roaches away.
He’d trained his mind to resist anything that might interfere with his work. He could project this privacy zone around himself. He called it his Cube.
He didn’t stop and smell the flowers. He blocked them out.
He didn’t date, didn’t socialize. He hated small talk and thought jokes were stupid.
He never took vacations, didn’t go on hikes. He liked birds, but never bought a feeder because he’d have to keep it filled. Just something to distract him from his work.
He didn’t go to concerts or baseball games because they were a waste of time. He didn’t go to church because the idea that there might be more to life than work was, well, threatening.
He didn’t go home for Thanksgiving, he just sent his mother a fruit basket. He never did crossword puzzles. Who cared what the name of Sherlock Holmes’ landlady was?
