The PITA Down the Hall

I was deep in thought when I heard a soft [Knock] [Knock] on my door.

That knock had the familiar about it. It echoed with Andy, the PITA, down the hall.

[Knock] [Knock]

If I ignored him, he might go away. Even as the thought bubbled up from fantasyland, I knew he wouldn’t. He never did. 

 [Knock] [Knock]

With a whispered “#&%* (@,” I pushed my chair back and spoke a reluctant, “Just a second….” My words trailed off in equal amounts of anger and disappointment.

Andy was a nice enough fellow, but he was a real PITA (a pain in the ….)  There was no such thing as a short conversation with him. His stories were like a creeping, flowerless Morning Glory as it branched and forked its way into every moment of every endless minute. No blooms, only tangled vines of verbiage. I hoped he at least had something important to say as I shook my head once again. All I could think about was, “Why did he always come knocking at my door?” I did not want to answer that door, but I knew he wouldn’t leave until I did.

You know the old saying about not asking a question when you do not want an answer? Yep, I shouldn’t have “thunk” it!

As soon as I opened the door and saw Andy’s face, I knew something was up. His face lit up. “Bob, I have the most “wonderful-ist” news! Can I come in?”  (It was more of a declaration than a question.)

Before I could get back to my desk, Andy had launched into a story about a phone call he had received from his brother. He droned on and on, as he usually did, with unnecessary details about their relationship as kids and the ups and downs of the last few years. He barely stopped to breathe. All I needed to add was the occasional nod. As his story began to lose steam, he finally said, “… and he’s coming to see me! He is coming all the way from California. He is coming to see ME!”

The last sentence hung in the air like a flashing marquee. I knew something significant had just happened in my relationship with Andy! He told me something that I needed to know but never had the patience to hear. 

At that moment I saw Andy. Not just his face, but the soul of a lonely, isolated man who did not feel he belonged anywhere or with anyone. His endless monologues over the last year were testimony to his loneliness. The endless details of his day-to-day experiences were like hands reaching out to connect with someone, anyone, even a stranger in the office down the hall. 

“He is coming to see ME!”

I shared my excitement for him and said that I hoped he would bring his brother by the office so all of us could meet him. Andy beamed with pride. He turned to go back to his office, undoubtedly starting a list of things he had to do before his brother arrived. But before he closed the door behind him, he peeked back in and said, “Thank you. I had to tell someone, and you are the only one around here who I knew would give a %$@!”

As the door latch clicked, I began to think about how many times I had opened that door to Andy with resentment and anger. I never knew what a little patience could do to unwrap the gift of love in and for someone who had always been a bit of a mystery to me. 

“Why did he always come knocking at my door?”  Because he wanted to talk to his “brother”!

And I never knew I had a PITA brother down the hall!