The Watcher

We look at him almost every day. He gestures - no, wait. He whips his hands through the air as if he was a new prototype for environmentally sound energy generation.

He is known, simply, as the Man with the TV. He works in the office across the way. In the windows to his right and his left, above and below him, people go about their work like normal - arse in desk chair, nose to grindstone.

Him? He sits with his back to us, his gaze lifted to the TV in his office. It’s mounted a little higher than normal, perhaps five feet off the ground, which means he has to look up to see it, as if he’s gazing at a higher power.

He watches the news. He gestures. This is what he does all day. If he was some kind of media watchdog, he’d likely have several TVs, and his neighbors would do something similarly media-related. Instead, it’s just him. Is he forgotten? Is he unionized and able to drag his feet as he waits for retirement? Is he the owner, a man so skilled at hiring bright, ambitious employees that he has nothing to fill his day?

In the absence of binoculars, we can’t figure out particulars. He watches the news; apparently he feels quite strongly about the news and expresses himself with his hands. It’s mesmerizing.

Occasionally, when our days are especially full and we have to scurry to get things done, we feel a bit jealous. He leans back in his high-backed chair, catching up on current events, while we scamper around and meet and discuss and troubleshoot.

Most days, though, we’re content to be in our own building. Whatever’s going on with him is quite dramatic, or at least gets to him something fierce. Our lives aren’t easy, but it seems easier to take than whatever the Man with the TV’s got going on.