The gift of time and others

 The august gentleman in a dark suit and gray silk tie behind the Arnotts department store counter looked like he had dropped right out of an engraving. Amidst the young and hip who populate Dublin's bustling city centre, the Irishman in his 70s with perfectly combed white hair informed the world that refined men such as he were still around. 

He greeted me in the watch department as I was out shopping for an inexpensive stand-in for the one I had left at home on a six-day Dublin trip. With a subtle bow, he introduced himself as Mr. Frank Sullivan, the former proprietor of his own Dublin watch shop now enjoying a department store retirement gig. Then Mr. Frank Sullivan got down to business with serious questions about my expectations in a watch. 

My vague responses were all Mr. Sullivan needed and he was off to the races, scurrying around behind the counter pulling possibilities from various drawers and showcases. 

Once he had arranged the assortment of watches across the glass counter, Mr. Sullivan grandly presented each one, explaining its features and the history of the company from whence it came. Courtesy of his flourishes, the array of middle-of-the-road watches shined like sparkly treasures.  

While Mr. Sullivan was busy finding the watch that I should love forever, his colleagues in the department were ringing up sale after sale, quickly dispatching customers out the door.  This was while he escorted me on a travelogue through watchmaking, from Switzerland all the way to Asia.  

After one hour and with the field of candidates having been narrowed down to the one he pronounced perfect for me, Mr. Sullivan paused for a moment, leaned forward just a bit, and asked me this question:  

"Ellen . .  would you consider . . . buying a watch . . .from Arnotts. . . today?"  

~~~~~

It's been a number of years since I met the extraordinary Mr. Sullivan, and another 11 years have passed since I first wrote about my visit with him. During those passages of time, the world has changed a million times over. On that day in Arnotts, the internet was a baby and no one mentioned that it was poised to rocket the universe in a million ways. 

Mixing with the people of the world was once a given in everyday life. Now with little effort, it's easy to shop, order food, worship, and work with minimal human interaction. Sliding into hermithood has never been more doable. And it's kind of sad that some folks--particularly young adults--are missing out on the adventure found in encountering all sorts of others, particularly the others found at that mysterious place called work. 

Working away from home means you must get up, get dressed, and get out of your house to share space with people who are not like you. The workplace is the headquarters of insights that money can't buy, brought to you by folks rolling through from different walks of life (and who maybe think you're a bit unusual, too). 

My parents' co-workers came to life every evening at the dinner table, and I can still recite their names and ways. The only time I ever met any of my dad's colleagues was on a Sunday afternoon when I was seven years old. We paid a call to the beautiful Crestway Drive home of his best office buddy, the guy with whom he walked over to Kress's lunch counter for coffee every day. There we were, the four of us--mom, dad, sister and I-- wearing our church clothes, sitting in a row on the family's plush living room sofa. I don't recall what the grown-ups talked about, but the highlight of the visit was the family's pet monkey looking at us with great fascination from his cage right next to me on the end table.

Delta trips served up an assortment of interesting crew members for one, two, three or more days. Besides layovers, what I miss most about flying is sitting on the jumpseat for takeoff and landing with another flight attendant I had often just met. The jumpseat was the love of my life because it served up fascinating life stories and great shared secrets from someone often completely new. At the end of trips, it was, "I enjoyed flying with you, bye bye", and sometimes my path would never cross again with the one whose crazy personal goings-on had my head spinning for a whole trip. 

From college to the present, all of my jobs have come with fringe benefits in the form of funny, brilliant, quirky, hardworking, and kind people filling up my coworker Rolodex. And my current role is a vast colleague wonderland. I hope William and Annabelle are busy collecting work friendships and stories, and I expect you might have a similar inventory of coworker personalities and tales stretching across your work resume, as well. 

~~~~~

It's been so, so long since I got to spend time with Mr. Frank Sullivan, the hard working retiree amongst the young. In the weeks after I bought my watch, I did see him from a distance several times, busy presenting watch stories to the fortunate who had landed at his counter. 

According to my calculations, Mr. Sullivan has likely been gone for a number of years. But I still see him and hear his voice as I pay homage to his lovely self. And I am sharing him with you here in 2025.  

~~~~~

"Now, as he wandered along the street, he told himself that Paris was full of strange people, mysterious or amazing, who never came to light until something happened"

                                                                       Georges Simenon, Maigret and the Fortunteller, 1944

Making something happen begins with someone, somewhere getting out amongst people. You might find a charming Mr. Sullivan, a pet monkey intrigued by your sitting on their sofa, strangers who offer up excellent scoop or, at the least, you can share space with a kaleidoscope of colleagues and new friends. All of them make life more meaningful. 

During the bright new year 2025, I hope you'll get out there and find those strange, mysterious, and amazing people. 

That chosen watch from Arnotts is still around.