Wilson popped into my office wearing what looked to be a suitcase strapped to his back. His pants were small and tight, and appeared to have been bought in the boys department. An also too tight V-neck tee shirt revealed a tuft of salt-and-pepper chest hair.
“I feel great,” he said. “Really feeling great.”
I nodded and focused on the gray suitcase-like object on his back.
“That a jetpack or something?”
“No, no,” he said, sounding upset. “It’s a backpack.”
“So, got a little backcountry hiking planned?” I asked.
“No, it’s a regular backpack,” he said. “It’s what everyone is using for work.”
“I’m not,” I said.
“No one uses briefcases anymore,” Wilson said.
“I never did.”
“The backpack is the must-have business fashion accessory.”
He stepped forward and turned to show it off. It knocked the picture of Megan, the kids and the dog off my desk and onto the floor. I heard the glass shatter.
Wilson turned back around, the backpack creating a nice breeze to cool me as it passed.
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I was going to replace the picture anyway. We were all smiling,” I said.
“I really do like this whole backpack thing, though,” Wilson said. “It keeps your hands free to text, drink coffee.”
“Or block punches from the people you hit with the thing on the train,” I said.
I glanced at the rest of his outfit. “The pants,” I said.
“I couldn’t decide how small to go on the skinny pants,” he said.
“Your calves are exposed.”
Wilson tried to lean forward a bit to look down but the backpack prevented him from moving much. There were beads of sweat on his forehead.”
“You want to tell me what this is all about?” I asked.
He noded and said, “I have my review coming up.”
“And you’re trying to put yourself under as much stress as possible to prepare for it?”
“No, no,” he said. “I report up to Julia now. You ever notice who else reports to her?”
“Most of the idiots in marketing,” I said.
“That’s right,” Wilson said. “And what do you know about them?”
“They’re idiots.”
“Besides that,” he said.
“They’re overpaid.”
“Keep going,” Wilson said.
“Let me think.”
And I did give it some thought, but I was striking out. The whole marketing team was inept, but they talked a good game and for some reason the unit was allowed to grow. Like that little patch of weeds on your lawn that seems to get bigger.
“I give up,” I said.
“There’s not one of them that’s over thirty-five,” Wilson said. “Except for Julia.”
I nodded. He had a point. But the poor guy was going about it all wrong. He was going to stick out like a guy wearing a jetpack and clothes three sizes too small.
“You have any helpful suggestions?” he asked.
“Maybe get some larger pants. And if you’re going to go with the V-neck, I’d shave the shrubbery you’ve got happening there.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “Julia is gonna kill me in this review, I just know it. She’s been looking for a reason to get rid of me.”
I sat back and wondered how I was going to clean up the glass from the frame on the carpet. No one had a vacuum, and I’d probably cut myself if I got down there and started picking up the shards. I could leave it for the night cleaners, but that seemed rude. Facilities, they’d have a way to get rid of the mess.
“Okay, look,” I said. “Here’s what I’d recommend. Just be yourself. You’ve got what, twenty-five years of solid experience.”
“More like thirty,” he said.
“Ahh, sorry to hear that.”
“I know, it works against me.”
“But you still got to be yourself. I mean, you can’t go in there looking like you’re carrying all your worldly possessions on your back, and wearing your kid’s clothes,” I said.
Wilson thought about it and sighed. He was breathing easier. Maybe the crisis had passed. Who knew?
“I think you’re right,” he said.
“When is the review?”
“Tomorrow morning, at ten.”
“Maybe give yourself a makeover, go back to the old you. You’ll feel more confident,” I said.
He exhaled and nodded. “It’s a great idea,” he said.
“I think so too. Now go get ‘em.”
He smiled for the first time and seemed himself. Then he stood there. And stood there some more.
“Okay,” I said. “You can leave now.”
“Ah, there’s only one problem.”
“That being?” I asked.
“I can’t move my legs. Actually I can’t feel my legs,” he said.
“Circulation cut off?”
“Yes. Can you help?”