Twins

I am a twin.  Most people know that about me.

One thing that comes with that is the confusion of who I am.  It used to bother me more than it does now.  I felt slighted when people asked questions like, “Which one are you?”  I felt like it said something about me, and my identity.  Mostly I took it as a sign that I didn’t have identity.  That is a notion that I have overcome.  Now I see things differently.

The confusion about who I am says more about the confused person than it does about me.  What is really interesting is that there is no consistency in the confusion, not even with people who we’ve simultaneously met.  There have been times when in a single setting our twinness has come up and some people will remark that it was obvious because we are visually indistinguishable while others want us to produce ID to prove that we’re even brothers, much less twins.  So it’s not really us.  It’s them.

Just last night someone I have known for years now told me that the longer she knew me and my brother the less we looked like each other.  The idea that underlies what she said is important. Getting to know us better showed us to be different in ways that are deeper than simple appearance.  It’s nothing we did, but what she did—essentially got to know us better.  As people get to know us our identity shows through and it is easy to tell us apart.  That’s independent of things like my growing of a beard (something he always has).

Knowing this has helped my esteem.  And it has helped me to be more accommodating.  I used to let people suffer because they couldn’t tell.  I was a jerk.  Now I make a point of casually throwing it out at the beginning, “I’m Brandon,” I’ll say, “in case you couldn’t remember.”  It’s a simple statement without judgment.  It’s easier, especially when that person hasn’t had the chance to get to know us.  That’s often true of cousins, aunts and uncles.  Another thing I’ll do is to mention his name at the very beginning of the conversation.  By deduction they should be able to figure it out (if not, well that’s not my fault.  They are beyond help).

What really bothers me is the person who has known me for years and still just doesn’t know.  I don’t have the patience for that kind of person.  To me that means I’m not that important in their life.  I am quick to cut that person out of my life.  I don’t need that subtle disrespect.  I will be forgiving if you are really trying, but not when you are just too lazy or apathetic.

Now an amusing anecdote.

The other day someone was asking for distinguishing physical features to tell me and Brad apart.  Brad was responding.  He said something to the effect that his name had four letters as did the words hair and chin.  Since he has a beard and I didn’t, it should be an easy mnemonic device.  I commented, “And Brandon has seven letters…” I had hoped that in the time it took for me to point that out I would think of a seven-letter word to describe me.  I couldn’t do it.  But Brad didn’t miss a beat.  While I was standing looking silly he said, “Dumba**.  Seven letters like Brandon.”

Yep, he got me good.

Without Price

Tompkins felt confident.  He knew his qualifications: A school with a great name,  grades that showed he was smart and worked hard, experience with a respected company through his internship, and on top of that his charm and charisma.  He would not have a problem with the interview.  The job was practically his.  Only the formality of their offer remained.

“We’re very impressed, Jim,” they had told him at the end of his first interview, “You’ll be hearing from us in the next week or so.”  It was no surprise to him when they called him eight days later for a second interview.  “Just a formality really, part of the process to make it official,” they had told him over the phone.  He knew he was in.

His confidence showed in his walk as he approached the building where he would soon be the newest associate.  As he opened the door to enter he saw Martin Pintell round the building’s corner.  Martin was a former classmate that had also applied for the job.  He was a little old fashioned and rough at the edges.  He didn’t fit the image of associate, not at a firm that was all about image.  Jim didn’t give a second thought to Martin as he passed through the large decorative glass door.  The job is mine, he thought as he smiled.

“Hello Jan,” he said to the receptionist with a professional nod as he headed for the elevator.  He had made it a point to remember her name and say hello.  It was one of the things that set him apart from the competition.  It wasn’t a big thing to do, especially since he would be seeing her so frequently from now on.

After pushing the button for the elevator he stood patiently waiting.  He examined his reflection in the polished metal doors he was facing.  His confident figure looked back at him.  Tall, he stood at just over six feet.  His golden yellow hair had the look of careless perfection—professional bordering on casual that hinted that he would be equally comfortable in a board room or on horseback.  His navy blue suit and “power tie” complimented his eyes, giving them a look of cunning.  He liked the look, the sharpness of it.

In the reflection appeared the blur of an approaching figure.  Instead of turning to appease his curiosity he remained as he was.  He was in control of the environment, not the other way around.  As the figure grew larger it also became more clear.  It was Martin.

“Hey, Marty,” he said using the old nickname that sounded childish in the starkly business setting.

“Hello Jim,” Martin said not reacting to the tone.  “How have you been?”

“Quite well actually.  What brings you here today?”

“A second interview.  You?” he said simply.  Jim was a little surprised.  But as a token of his savvy he didn’t show it.

“I have a meeting,” he said trying to give an air of importance that excluded Martin.  There had to be a mix up or some other confusion. They couldn’t both he there for the same reason.

The chime of the elevator’s arrival took Jim’s mind from his thoughts to the more comforting realm of action.  He stepped in and pushed the button for his floor.  Martin also entered. Jim looked at him expectantly, as if asking which other button he should push.  Martin picked up on the cue and simply said that he was headed to the same floor.

Not a good sign, but not a problem.  But the feeling that there was problem mounted as Martin followed the same course as Jim and they arrived together at the conference room where his interview was to take place.  Jim opened the door and let Martin enter first.  If Martin’s presence was a bad sign, it was little compared to what he saw when he entered. 

The configuration of the room was different than it had been when he last saw it at his first interview.  There were two tables facing each other, one long, the other short.  At the long table sat what Jim assumed were other applicants for his job.  Some he recognized, others he didn’t, about 10 in all.  At the small table sat three men.  One was the managing partner, the other was the director of H.R., the third seemed out of place.  The third man’s presence was enough to unnerve Jim.  Nervousness was starting to show through his façade of confidence.

Jim found that one of the two open seats was reserved for him, his name written on a slip of paper. His seat was one space in from the end of the table.  He sat and waited.  The meeting started almost immediately now that all of the seats were full.  Jim noticed that Martin was at the far end of the table.

“Thank you all for coming for a second interview.  Only one question remains before we announce our decision.  As we discussed in all of your interviews, moral character is very important to us,” The Managing partner paused, his gaze passing from one end of the table to the other.  “The last question is—what is your price?”

The question hung in the air.  No one answered, all sensing that something out of the usual was happening. Finally one of the interviewees asked tentatively,

“Do you mean our salary requirements?”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking.  Salary is what you cost us for your time and ability.  I am asking what your price is.  How much you charge for your integrity.”

Silence returned.  Jim had the distinct feeling that this was less of an interview and more of an interrogation.  It was the presence of the third man that made him feel that way. The H.R. Director spoke next.

“None of you seem to be able to answer, something we anticipated.  For that reason, we took it upon ourselves to find out by our own means.  I’m sure you all recognize Mr. Tisdale, though you may have gotten to know him by a different name over the past few days or weeks. He has made it his task to compromise you, to buy your integrity as it were.”

Jim could feel his heart rate increasing, the sweat starting to form on his temples.  He had met Mr. Tisdale the day after his first interview.  They had made a deal that was profitable to them both.  It had been shady, but seemed safe enough even though it cost prior employer some few thousand dollars.  He had justified that it would make no difference to a business that had so much wealth in assets.  The loss that resulted from his deal would be unnoticed, like the blood a mosquito sucks from its victim.  But now, sitting there, he knew that it had been a set up.  He had been had.

“We will tell you each your price,” the H.R. Director said. “Welch, a pathetic $1,785.” He looked up and pointed to the man to Jim’s left.  His finger moved over to Jim. “Tompkins, only slightly better. $2,350. Wixom, $3,570.”  The pointing finger went down the row of suited men sitting at the long table.  The amount went up incrementally. $5,488; $6,000; $8,450.  The telling of prices stopped.  All the eyes were on the man at the end of the table.  “Mr. Pintell.  Will you please stand up?”  He stood slowly.

“Take a good look, even though it’s what you don’t see that really matters.”  The managing partner had taken over again.  “Anyone want to guess his price?”  There were no answers. “Well tell us yourself Mr. Pintell.  What’s your price?”

“My integrity isn’t for sale.” His answer was simple and direct.  He wasn’t bragging, only stating a fact.

“There he is, a rare creature in the world.  The man without a price.  Whatever the rest of you thought you could offer this company was not as important as the one thing you couldn’t give us, the thing you didn’t have.”

Martin sat down.

“Thank you all for coming, but we regret to tell you that we are not interested in extending any offers for employment at this time, with the one exception of Mr. Pintell.  You may all go.  Mr. Pintell, will you please remain to take tare of the details of your new job?”

Suits holding limp men shuffled out of the room. Jim glanced absent mindedly over his shoulder as he left.  The last thing he saw before the door closed was a man who didn’t look the part for the position he was now being offered.  He thought to himself, vaguely, from now on I’ll have to be more careful when I make deals.

Time to Learn

I remember only flashes of my elementary school attendance.  It happened a long time ago and I was a child, give me a break.

The things I do remember are enough to show that I didn’t fit in.  My brain worked differently than others’.  I couldn’t seem to conform.  It always frustrated me.  And, I now realize, it had to have frustrated my teachers as well.

One particular instance was in the second grade.  We were doing a unit on time telling.  The first obstacle I encountered was my naming conventions.  They didn’t match what everyone else took for granted.  I liked my way and didn’t see why I had to change.

I don’t know why I came up with it, or when, but by the time I got to school it was fixed in my mind.  The fastest moving hand on the clock was the minute hand.  It was only logical because that is how long it took to complete one full revolution.  The next hand took one hour to make a full revolution, obviously the hour hand.  I ran into a problem with the slowest hand.  I called it the day hand even though it took two revolutions to complete a technical 24-hour day.  No bother, it was the day hand.  I justified that it was one rotation for day and one for night. 

It took me a long time to realize that it made sense that each hand’s name had to do with the unit of current time it was measuring.  You see, I just thought differently.

One assignment I remember was a worksheet.  There were various clock diagrams with only the hour hand showing.  Based on its location we had to tell what time it was.  I got every problem wrong on the test because instead of rounding to the top of the hour I estimated the minutes too.  You see the hour hand was never directly over a number; it was always between two numbers.  On one problem I estimated the time as 8:22 because the hour hand was just over a third of the way past the eight on its way to the nine. Yes, 8:22.  I estimated the extra two minutes. I suppose I could have rounded to twenty past the hour, but I didn’t. To me it seemed intuitive.  To my teacher it seemed wrong.

I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t eight o’clock (which she was telling me was the right answer) because if it were, the hour hand would be directly over the eight, which it certainly was not.  That didn’t seem to please her and I remained unable to convince her that I was simply being logical.

As it was, she had the power and so she got her way—she was right and I was wrong.

What’s the moral of the story?  There’s probably not one.  Or maybe it’s that if I ever see my teacher again and she asks me what time it is I’m going to round to the nearest hour.  And then I’ll laugh and she won’t know why.  Because I’m sure she has long since forgotten even though I haven’t.

Wash your Hands

I am always interested by the signs in restrooms.  Particularly the ones that notify employees that they must wash their hands before returning to work.  I think we like the idea of cleanliness and sanitation but the fact is obvious that few people, including employees, wash their hands.

Yes it makes sense to remind employees to wash up.  But the way the notice is written my not be the best to communicate it.  It communicates more than just its intended meaning.

“Employees must wash hands before returning to work.” 

As an employee I would take a little offense at the tone.  It is a dictum said to everybody indirectly and to nobody directly, as if the one to whom it applies is too stupid to remember and on top of that not worth addressing directly.  Its like two people talking about a present third person as if the third wasn’t there.  But the comment is certainly directed at the ignored audience.   My thought would be to challenge the sign and management, “I don’t have to wash my hands, you’re not here—you can’t make me.”

As a customer when I read the sign I feel leery of the organization.  If the management has to remind their employees of something so simple I lose confidence in their ability to master the things that really matter.  It also makes the reminder seem last minute as if they forgot to tell their employees and so decided to just put a sign up in the bathroom as a quick-fix.  Obviously hand washing and general cleanliness isn’t part of the natural culture of the organization.  That’s concerning.

I think a more appropriate wording would be, “Our employees wash their hands before returning to work.”

As an employee reading it I would feel as though the company is not condescending to tell me something that I already know.  Rather the company is telling the customer something about the way it and its employees are, namely clean and sanitary.  The reminder to the employee is there but it is secondary.   It changes from a behavior demanded to a confirmation of a culture to which the employee belongs.  The employee becomes and insider to the system and not an outsider that needs constant telling.  There is the subtle undertone that to be one of us you must behave like us.  If you don’t…well, that’s your way of showing you don’t want to be here.  That attitude will eventually bring you down.

As a customer I feel reassured that employee hand washing is so fundamental that the employees needn’t a reminder.  The company is confident enough to tell me that it simply happens.  It’s part of their culture.

I may be the only one who has ever thought or cared about the wording.  Maybe it doesn’t bother anyone else.  Even if it did matter to more customers I doubt it would change.   Because while its easy to wash your hands, its easier to not.  Changing a sign is easier, but easier to not.

Limited Vocabulary

The model A Ford was designed to be massed produced. Years ago I heard a story that Henry Ford actually designed the car so that the shipping crate for the engine could be used as floorboards.  It was clever, saved money and ultimately helped the automobile become a widely common piece of new technology.

We’ve come a long way since then.  Features that are commonplace for their universality are really quite amazing when they are actually considered for a moment—instead of being taken for granted. 

Features that once were powered by human power are now powered by electricity and the flick of a button.  Windows don’t need to be rolled down by spinning a knob, just push a button.  Same goes for locks, don’t lean over to pull it up by hand.  Push a button.  Tilt, cruise control, windshield wipers, side view mirrors.  They are all so convenient.  I just found out that some cars can be opened and started with a remote.  But they don’t even have buttons to be pushed, they need only to be in one’s pocket as they get near the car. 

There are so many features that are useful.  There are also the myriad features that are convenient but fall in the bells-and-whistles category.  Multi-touch-screen DVD players for the children in the back seats, fancy sound systems and stereos.  It is amazing how much people spend on their vehicles and the conveniences they may afford considering how little time they spend in them.  The average American spends an hour and a half in their car per day.  Not that long really.

I once worked with a man, a talented goldsmith who spoke with an accent.  He was born in Hungary, raised in Argentina, lived in Brazil and then settled in the United States.  He speaks three languages fluently and is an intelligent man.  But he has an accent.

Because he has an accent people often assume that he doesn’t understand them when they speak to him.  Or they assume he is less intelligent than they.  Both are silly but common notions.

Language can be a barrier that gives the impression of stupidity.  If someone cannot be understood then they are not intelligent.  A Russian surgeon living in Portugal is not intelligent because he speaks Portuguese haltingly.  Actual knowledge is irrelevant.

On the other hand, one who knows the lingo can pretend intelligence.  Others will believe him, if he talks the talk.

What good is knowing something if it cannot be expressed?

Why suffer from the illusion of stupidity if simply learning new vocabulary or an accent is all that it takes?  Because it is hard.

But what if it weren’t hard?

The automobile has been around for a century.  Why does it have such a poor vocabulary?  It has only mastered a handful of expressions.  Left, right.  Stop, emergency.  Those are things the lights say. Four.  Make it five when including flashing the hi-beams.  Then with the horn a vehicle may yelp or yell.  It’s the same sound, just varying duration.

The car can’t say enough.  And poor communication means frustration.  And road rage.  Why not give the car a little more to work with, why not allow articulation?

In an age where drivers can do so much inside their cars (too much perhaps), why not increase their ability to do more on the outside, to communicate?  Why has our society spent so little time on developing what we can say to other drivers?  If our ability to communicate were improved, it would do us a lot of good good.  I image there would be less frustration and road rage.  But maybe not.  Maybe having a multi-station-individual-screen-surround-sound-entertainment-system really is more important.

Knocking

The area was large but cleverly constructed.  The spacing directed the travelers to a deliberate focal point.  Moving to that point it was clear that further progress was dependant on passing through one of many doors.  There were perhaps two dozen in all.  Each had a distinct color.  The styles were similar though there were subtle differences. 

There were various people approaching the doors.  They all approached and took for granted that they should go through one of the many doors.  To the casual onlooker their choice of door seemed arbitrary. 

Some would walk to the door their choice and, with an air of entitlement, reach for the knob and pull.  That type was consistently surprised when the door would not yield.  They would step back and examine their surroundings as if for the first time.  They would observe the large sign directing them to knock. Indignant they would knock.  They would knock a second time, immediately, with no pause to allow the person on the other side to respond. 

One of these impatient knockers noticed that the door next to her was opened for another knocker very quickly.  She moved over, ignoring the others that had begun to form an informal line.  She rapidfire knocked again. Not waiting but an instant began to pound two fisted on the door and shouting her demand to be admitted. She threw her arms into the air and kicked the door which then opened. Turning to those behind her that she now noticed for the first time she haughtily pointed with her thumb, shrugging and rolling her eyes before walking through.  The door closed behind her.

At another door a guest approached and knocked.   His fist fell in three heavy and steady knocks.  He lowered his arm to his side and waited patiently.  The door did not open.  He waited a full minute before again knocking.  A second minute passed and he knocked again whereupon the door opened and he was admitted.

One man knocked immediately as he arrived at the door of his choice.  Then noticing a doorbell gave two rings in succession that chased on the heels of his knock.  The door opened after half a moment. He smiled walking through.

The place had no shortage of new entrants of every variety and walk of life.  Tucked away on the far wall was a man standing watching events.  He had stood there for some while observing before noticing that he was not alone.

With a casual glance to his side he saw a woman. She was also observing those that arrived and passed through the doors.

           

“Oh. I didn’t see you there.  You work here?”

  

“I’m just standing here.  Do I look like I’m working?”

“Well you’re not going through a door.  I was just wondering.  You don’t look like the rest of them.”

“I guess you could say that I’m working here.  I make sure things run smoothly.”

“What exactly is happening?” he asked.

She eyed him for a moment then answered.  “This is a test.  Of sorts.”

“What kind of test?  It just looks like people who are trying to go places.”

“Patience.”

He couldn’t tell if she were telling him to be patient or if that was her answer.  He decided not to say anything.

“Look, you should recognize him, he was here not long ago,” she said pointing.

A man was moving toward the doors.  He did look familiar.  He had gone through the dark green door. This time he approached a door further down.  This one was a light blue door.

“Here again?  Why?”

“It’s a test—for patience.  Everybody comes here many times in succession.  They only vaguely recall the prior visit.  He’s doing well.” The man being observed and discussed knocked on the door he had chosen.  He was completely unaware he was being watched.

“Everybody comes here to test for patience.  It’s the first of a few tests to determine a final location.”

“So they’re all dead. And this is what determines whether they go to heaven of hell?” he asked.

“Sort of.  There are more destinations that just those two. Those who fail this test will end up in a place that you would call hell, though there are many different degrees of variance.”

“Why is this the first test? Is patience really that important?”

“We’ve learned over time that if they can’t pass this test they will invariably fail the others.  By doing this one first we cut down of wasted time in the other tests.”

  

“I always thought that life was the test.  You’re telling me that the testing happens after life is over?”

“Your belief is common: life is a test, some sort of a proving ground to earn a reward.  Another belief is that there is no test and life is a time to create one’s own reward.  That’s not the case, either.  There’s more to existance than fits between birth and death. Mostly what happens after.  Life is just a preparation.  It’s there that people prepare for the test.  It’s a sort of training exercise.”  She pointed to the same man again.

He approached another door and knocked.  The two onlookers watched as he knocked and waited.  He knocked five times before the door opened.  Each time after he knocked he waited for some time.

“So if I understand correctly they are all judged by how long they wait between knocking and how often they switch doors and all that.”

“That’s right.  Every other virtue is built on a foundation of patience.  Name a virtue that you can gain without first developing patience.”

“So that’s where everybody starts then.  So why are you telling me all of this?  Doesn’t this make it unfair for when I take the test myself?”  A look came over the man as an idea entered his mind.  “Or I could tell them, especially the ones who are doing poorly.  There was a very impatient woman I watched earlier.  I’m going to talk to her.  I’ll tell her what’s going on.  I could save her from misery, right?  If she passes this test she’ll do better than hell, or whatever you call the place where the ones go who fail this test.  Even if she fails the next tests I can help her at least a little.  You wouldn’t stop me would you?”

“I won’t stop you.  But she wouldn’t believe you.  If she had the patience to actually listen.  As for your first question.  It won’t help you to know any of this.  You aren’t here to take this test.”

“I’m not? Then why am I here?”

“Because you already passed that test.  And this is another test.  I wanted to see if you would have compassion on those around you.  I wanted to see if you would give of what you had, even if it only amounts to knowledge.  It’s time for your next test.”

“Will I remember any of this in my next test?”

* * *

“Will I remember any of this in my next test?”  He looked around not recognizing where he was.  He wondered if he had asked his question out loud or only thought it.  Whatever he had done he wasn’t sure what it meant.  Where, he wondered, had that strange thought come from?

Someone tapped him on the shoulder.  It was a woman he didn’t recognize. She smiled at him and motioned for him to follow.

Another Blog

My friend Kylee has a blog about books. Take a looksie, it's got some good stuff.  If you stop on by you may also recognize one of her guest bloggers.

http://readingwritingandreviews.blogspot.com/