Office life has never even remotely been glamorous and is far from what you expect on certain sitcom T.V. shows. It’s a drag of long hours as you spend it mostly browsing reddit and playing Solitaire for the 50th time in the row, punctuated by the odd request from a co-worker to get something filed or a small chat with them at the beginning and end of work. Never really in between.  Lunch breaks aren’t even something to look forward to anymore- it just means more browsing time on my phone instead of my computer.
I take my coat and prepare to lock up the office, being the lucky individual who was last to finish because I still had extra work to do. Not like I’m a model employee- I mean, don’t get me wrong, I get my work done on time and hit my deadlines, but really, sometimes that means staying in the office an hour or two later. Though that’s never really my main reason to stay late- most of the time, I just stay behind because I like the quiet that comes with an empty office. The solace.
I could do my work at home, but my computer at home is for one thing and one thing only- gaming. That, and my neighbors are noisy as hell, the neighborhood always has screaming kids playing on the street, and I would be too distracted at home to even think of work. No, this is mostly better to finish it here and now.
My coat seems heavier than usual as I put it on, though that could be an indicator of how tired I am. Noted, its time to go home. Maybe boot up something on Steam, maybe listen to some music at home. Whatever it is, its not the same old work.
I make my way to the elevator and pass by the Janitor working there. Old Joe, or Viejo Jose. Nice old guy, Hispanic, mostly speaks Spanish. I can communicate with him well enough in Spanish, especially after taking those online courses. Did it to ask out some girl, though that didn’t work out well. Not that she rejected me, I’m too chicken shit to ask her out. Like everything else in my life.
I pass him by and wave. “Hola Jose. Como estas? How are you?”
He smiles at me with his toothy smile. At least he always has a smile on. Compared to the faceless drones I call my coworkers, who only perk up if there is mention of a sports game. Yay, sports ball.
He greets me in kind “Hola Joven, como estas? Did you ask that nice girl out?”
We always have these pleasant conversations before I head out. Usually they last about 20 minutes, longest was 45 I think. Theres something about him that makes him so easy to talk to. Might be his positive attitude, might be the fact he always has that ridiculous patch on his uniform with some sort of soccer logo. No idea janitors could do that, hes the only one I ever saw dress like that. One day, I asked him about it, in my stilted Spanish, and the next thing I knew, we were talking about soccer and local issues and family matters. He was always so easy to talk to. Maybe that Spanish I learned didn’t help my love life but it was nice to use it to talk to someone.
I reply to him “No, it didn’t really work out. I…well, I didn’t really get a chance to ask her.”
He keeps smiling but there is a slight crease in his forehead “Oh, that’s too bad. Hopefully, you can ask her next time. She seems such a sweet girl.  Muy bonita.”
I laugh and he laughs as well, coughing a bit. Old Joe must have been in his 60s or 70s but he was spry for an old guy. The floors were always spic and span whenever we came into work, not that anyone ever payed attention. Only reason I started to was after I talked to him. I wonder how long he has been doing this job. I’ve gotten bits of his story from our conversation-hard life but productive, though no wife or kids, apparently. Family in Mexico somewhere, he sends money to them every month.
He looks at me again. “Well, no reason you cant try. Your young, joven. You will have other chances, even if she said no.”
I kinda glance down. “Well, she didn’t say no, exactly. I, uh, never asked. Muy, ah, how do you say” really? How do you say? “Uh, no confianza. Esta muy bonita.” Welp, at least I’m honest. When it comes to faults, I’ll gladly shout them out from the top of Mt. Fuji dressed in the most weeaboo gear possible while broadcasting it live on Twitch. Self degradations come naturally to me like breathing or taking a piss. Saying one good thing about myself is harder. Perhaps it explains a lot.
Woot woot. All aboard a self loath train.
He glances at me for a bit. “You know, life is too short, joven.”
Oh boy. The life is too short speech. Everyone and their mothers has given me a conversation like this at some point in my life. Surprisingly for them, it never works on me, and seems to have the opposite effect. Maybe because when it comes to social things, I am terrible at them.
He continues, and my thoughts are sequestered in my mind for now. “It’s not good to stay in one place all the time. Nesecitas confianza- confidence. Not to get what you want- sometimes, you don’t getr what you want. But, to have a chance to change yourself. A failure now leads to good things later, but only if you try. Trata vivir- try to live. Try to change. You can do it. I have seen you.”
That last part gets me a bit. “How?  I haven’t really changed who I am.”
“But you have, Joven. You are the type who seems to keep to themselves, like everyone else here in this office. But you are the only one who tries to talk to others and get to know them.”
He might be wrong about that last bit. “But I don’t really talk to others. I mean, I say hi and bye and that’s it. Ask how they’re day is going, standard stuff.”
He shakes his head, as if I am a child missing the point. “Yes. But you still ask how they are. That’s more than what most of the workers here trey and do. I have seen it. Even that girl you like, you talk with her a lot. You are more than capable. Try again.”
I shake my head, diosapointed. Nothing new to hear. “I better get home. Its nice talking to you again.”
I abruptly leave, head down the hall, and press the elevator door. As I wait, he comes up to me, shambling. A little wobbly. Is he ok? Has he been drinking. Before I can get the thoughts out, he takes something out of his overalls and puts it into my hand.
“Here. Use this next time you talk to her. Remember, you are you.”
He wal;ks back to work. I look in my hand. It’s a gold chain with a 4 leaf clover at the end in some glass panel. I look back at him again. He is mopping the floors, whjisteling some tune. I shrug and pocket it. Better than nothing, nice gesture, ill give it back to him tomorrow.
The next day, he is gone. He is gone the day after, and then a week, and then a month. I ask around. Turns out he had cancer. He didn’t make it.
Maybe Ill ask her out. Lifes too short, right?