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Worthwhile

John Farquhar Young

    There’s shouting coming from the interview room. Harry glances at the phone now pushed to one edge of his desk beside cardboard boxes containing items of variable value accumulated during his years as a social work manager. Until recently he would have expected the telephone to ring but Lenny, the probable source of the ranting, is no longer his responsibility. He returns his attention to the business of packing the boxes. Some of it is junk, he admits but perhaps worth keeping for sentimental reasons. Sitting on top of one of the boxes is a mug without a handle. Inscribed beneath the rim in red and gold lettering is a short extract from the motivational writing by Ellen Wheeler Wilcox: “The man worthwhile is one who will smile, When everything goes dead wrong.” The mug has served as a desk accessory for pens and pencils. The phone rings.
    “Lenny Jamison is ...”
    “That’s Susan’s case now,” he says curtly.
    “Yes, I know.” The receptionist’s voice conveys irritation and anxiety. “But Susan is out of the office, and he insists on seeing YOU. He’s VERY agitated.”
    Harry is silent for a moment as he considers the options. Friday afternoon and the office is almost deserted. The duty worker Helene, who would normally cover in the absence of the allocated social worker, has only been in the job for a few months and in his view is not quite up to handling Lenny. Lenny can be aggressive, he thinks then shrugs. “Yes ok, I’ll be along in a minute.”
    “A man worthwhile ...” he chuckles as he heads towards the noise. “...is the one who can smile...” Tricks. So many of them. Short-cuts, self-motivational devices, handholds, ways of dealing with the endless cascade of ‘this-and-that’ that has assailed him over the years as he laboriously clambered upward towards retirement. He knows the tools he will use to give the long-lasting medication in Lenny’s bloodstream a chance to reassert itself and allow the eclipsed, sane parts of his mind to re-emerge and take control.
    He stands for a moment outside the interview room listening to Lenny’s bellowing.
    “They’re after me again...THEY’RE after me.” Manic paranoia again, he thinks.
    Lenny is pacing up and down within the narrow confines of the room as he rants. The duty worker, Helene, now ashen faced, is standing by the door of the interview room. Harry smiles at her, briefly noting her pallor, then with a slight sideward inclination of his head indicates that it’s ok for her to leave. She frowns, unhappy that her almost-ex-boss is prepared to disregard a basic health and safety rule: ‘Potentially violent people shall not be interviewed alone.’
    “It’s ok,” he says. “Lenny and I know each other, don’t we Lenny?” He casually seats himself and watches Helene leave, aware that she will, dutifully, hover nearby in the corridor.
    Harry looks at Lenny, the skin flushed, the dishevelled clothes, the egg-like stain down the front of the pale blue shirt, the fleck of saliva twitching at the left corner of his mouth. A faint whiff of stale urine mingles with body odour. Harry smiles and casually extends a hand towards the seat opposite him. Just a casual gesture - an invitation to sit - but a pose he intends to maintain until Lenny complies. No words, not yet.
    “So, Lenny,” Harry starts quietly when Lenny eventually seats himself leaning toward, glaring. “You’ve got a problem. Is that right?”
    “The RESIDENTS ASSOCIATION” Lenny roars, beginning to rock back and forward.
    
“Tell me about...”
    “They put a dead blackbird ON MY GRASS.”
    Lenny rule number one: Firstly control the focus of his attention. Avoid judgements!

    “When do you think it got there?” Harry nods, reminding himself to speak softly and evenly. Lenny rule two: Always model calm. Fill his immediate space with calm! “Perhaps you think it ended up there during the night?”
    Lenny pauses for a moment.
    A reflective pause! Just a second. The higher bits of his brain have momentarily engaged. Good sign. Much quicker than I expected.
    By means of encouraging gestures and words Harry gently, gradually shifts and redefines the focus of Lenny’s awareness.
    There is a clock on the wall behind Lenny’s head. It frequently, momentarily, attracts Harry’s attention and he finds himself counting down the minutes before his final exit. The presentation of a departure gift - the expensive watch - the speeches, the waffle, are now behind him. His travel documents lie on the coffee table in his living room, the packed suitcase is in his bedroom. In a day’s time, he will be on his beloved Portuguese Silver Coast deciding which restaurant he will visit. Then the next day or a day later he will take the coastal tram to Lisbon. He will listen to Fado - fate music - the mournful yet uplifting, nostalgia-infused songs which speak to him about his life in ways beyond his ability to express.
    Now calm after nearly an hour Lenny stands at the exit to the building. He turns and glances at the receptionist area. “I was told that you...” He does not finish the sentence.
    “You’ll be fine Lenny,” Harry says. “You’ll be fine.”
    
Helene volunteers to carry one of Harry’s boxes to his car. “Can I have that,” she says pointing at the mug without the handle.
    The man worthwhile... It might help you get by. He laughs. “Sure.”
    As he drives home the image of Lenny comes to mind. Perhaps fitting that he should be there in the final hour or so in his job. Has it all been, in some degree, worthwhile? In a way he will miss Lenny and the others who added spots of colour and meaning to the grey administrative expanse that was his work in recent years.
    He hopes that Lenny will not miss him.

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