This has been bouncing around in my folder of unfinished writings for about 4 years. I know there was something in my life at that time that inspired me to write this character sketch, but I cannot remember it. I don’t think I’ve ever worked with someone exactly like this; he’s more a pastiche of personalities from several different people.
I had a brainstorm a few months ago regarding his “story.” There are still some missing pieces to the puzzle, though, which I have used as an excuse to not even try to write more. Seems that if I spent nearly as much time writing as I do coming up with excuses as to why I can’t write, I’d be well ahead of the game by now 😐
He had never been one given to fanciful thinking. Even as a child, teachers viewed him as highly unimaginative, noting that he found more satisfaction (but never pleasure) in facts than in what he would later refer to as artistic frivolity. Literature bored him. He had no time for make-believe stories designed to stimulate a part of his brain long ago choked by webs of disuse. Music only irritated him with its destruction of silence, and he could not stand the multicolored cacophony of what others considered art.
As an adult, his creative handicap never became an issue. His abundant knowledge of computer language—the only foreign language he deemed worthwhile—helped him easily secure work as a programmer, a position that required of him only straightforward left-brain rationalization. He quietly occupied a cubicle hardly larger in size than a veal pen, tapping away on his keyboard to a syncopated internal rhythm with an 8-hour beat. While he was never rude in his dealings with others, coworkers held the unanimous opinion that his social graces were on par with the machines he worked on so diligently every day. They never assumed he would be available for monthly happy hours, springtime softball teams, or even the occasional extended lunch down at the local diner.