I guess most of you remember the excitement and the uncertainty you felt on your first day of work, along with the pressure of being accepted and fit into the crowd.
Well, my first day on the new job started exactly like that. I remember being freaked out and not taking a single hour of sleep the previous night. And then I walked into the office, met with the manager, and shook what felt like a million hands. By noon, my anxiety was through the roof.
And then break time rolled around and I found myself walking into a break room packed with people, all sitting in their little cliques, laughing at inside jokes, and acting as though they’ve been best friends since childhood. And there I was, holding my homemade turkey sandwich, freaked out to even take a bite of.
Well, since every single table was taken, I just stood there with the paper bag, feeling like an intruder and wondering where to sit.
And then I spotted this man wearing a gray unform sitting by the window. And that’s where I though, “Finally, someone not in a group.”
The man spotted me and realized I was hesitating whether to approach his table or not, so he nodded at me and said I could sit there if I want.
Honestly, I felt relieved.
He told me his name was Charles, and I introduce myself as Charlotte.
I knew Charles was a great guy since since he was kind enough to a stressed-out new hire who was standing there alone.
At the time I had no idea whatsoever how much of an impact one casual invitation would have on the next eleven years of my life.
So the next day I decided to sit down with Charles again. Then the next day after that. In the end it sort of became our routine. Every single weekday at lunchtime we met and sat at the very same table near the window and we just talked about regular mundane things, like the weather forecast for the week, some interesting book or TV show, or some ridiculous work-related issues we had that morning.
Charles was the janitor of that particular building. Well, truth be told, he wasn’t really noticed by anyone in the office unless there was some problem with their desk or anything. But what I loved about him was that he knew how to listen without interrupting or giving random advice like he knew everything.
Through the years, our friendship became one of the most dependable aspects of my life. Like when I got my first-ever promotion, Charles celebrated it by going to the gas station near our workplace and getting me a cupcake. Then, years later, after my divorce, he was simply sitting there during our lunches, listening to my problems. And then, when my mother passed away and I returned to work feeling absolutely empty inside, he silently cut his sandwich in half and passed it on to me, since I forgot to bring mine.
He never tried to change my life around or lecture me. All he did was show up, and that was apparently all I needed.
Of course, not everybody at work felt that way. Initially, they were only teasing me a little. “Having another lunch with your boyfriend?” they would say. I laughed it off at first, but the comments kept coming.
It was literally impossible for anyone to understand why I spent my lunch breaks hanging out with a janitor when I could’ve been networking and socializing with some important people who could’ve helped my career move forward. Some even thought that I was jeopardizing my career because of my friendship with someone way below me on the corporate ladder. Others found it hilarious.
I never let that affect me, but there were moments when I had to admit that those remarks got on my nerves. During one of our meetings at lunchtime, I asked Charles whether all those rumors ever bothered him. He simply sipped on his coffee and shrugged.
“Usually, people make the most noise about what they don’t understand.”
These were literally his only words at that moment. Back then, I simply thought that he was trying to brush it off, but now I realize how deep those words were.
And anyway, time just went by quickly. Eleven years literally just went by without me even knowing it. However, one Monday Charles didn’t come. He was just not in his chair at noon. So, I assumed that he was maybe sick or something else. Tuesday comes, still no Charles. Wednesday is the same thing. Thursday comes, and my boss tells me: “Yea, your janitor died over the weekend from a heart attack.”
I didn’t even understand these words in my head. Charles? I just spoke to him a few days ago? The man who used to sit right in front of me during eleven years of my work in this office? It was impossible for me to believe that.
Office worked normally, while I felt that something was completely wrong. Break room seemed too noisy to me; that empty chair just stared into my eyes. Once I learned that his funeral was this Saturday, I knew that I had to be there.
I went all by myself. Not a single person from the office showed up. The service was small, only his family and a few people who knew him outside work.
Following the funeral, I sat all alone by the chapel when a man approached me and asked if I was Charlotte.
The man told me he was Charles’ lawyer, and at the time, the word lawyer seemed weird when attached to someone as humble and as grounded as Charles.
“I have something for you,” he said, and handed me a box. “Charles wanted you to have this.”
When I finally managed to get some alone time, I opened it up. And I saw photographs. Loads of them. The very first photograph left me dumbfounded. It was a photograph of me on my very first day at work. I was sitting opposite Charles, holding my lunch box and looking nervous. I never knew such a photograph even existed.
As I kept looking, there were photographs of pretty much all the phases of my life during these years, my promotion, chaotic days after my divorce, week after my mother’s funeral, memories which I couldn’t remember myself, memories which no one else would consider important enough to save. But Charles kept each and every one of them.
Then came the revelation which shocked me even more, Charles’s notebook. I had seen him pull it out of his pocket after lunch for the past few years, write a few things and go back to work. I always thought he was making notes about the maintenance stuff or any other to-do list. I was way off.
Every single page had something to do with me. And not in a strange way at all, just observations from somebody who really cared.
“Charlotte smiled today. First time in a week.”
“Promotion day. She’s trying to pretend it’s no big deal.”
“Her mother passed away. Remember to check if she’s sleeping.”
Page after page, just recording those occurrences that meant enough to him that he felt the need to record them for future remembrance. My eyes were literally blurring the ink as I cry through this diary.
Then I discovered a letter inside the diary, written to me, in which Charles recounted the years worth of criticisms our friendship had generated amongst other people. And yet none of it had ever touched him.
But that was when things took an unexpected turn. There was also a picture of a woman standing next to a much younger version of Charles. At first glance, I saw myself in the picture. But then I turned it around and saw those two chilling words: ‘My daughter.’
The rest of the letter was like a revelation of sorts. Long before we ever met, Charles had lost his daughter. And that was when his whole world collapsed. In the letter, he said that life had no purpose to him ever since. However, one day a frightened young woman sat opposite him in a crowded break room. I reminded him of his daughter, and hanging out with me he didn’t try to replace me with her, he was just happy he had company.
He finished the letter with a sentence that almost crushed me.
“Everyone assumes that I have made a place for you at my table. The truth is that you too have made one for me.”
That Monday, when some of my coworkers asked me about Charles’ funeral, I opened the box and showed them the photos and the letter.
All these years, people looked at Charles as some guy that sweeps the floor; someone not worth noticing. But now, they finally saw what I’ve seen from the start. A man with a history. A man with a gigantic heart. Someone who made somebody else’s life better.
No one ever apologized for making fun of my friendship with Charles, and truth is, I didn’t really need one. While sitting there staring at the vacant spot of the chair Charles used to take, I suddenly understood one thing. Being kind to others is never a waste of time. Small things could sometimes leave the greatest impressions. From a simple invitation to join a lunch table, our relationship turned into one of the most valuable friendships that I’ll ever make. On my first day, Charles offered me a seat. In the course of the next eleven years, he offered me one of the greatest gifts, his friendship.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
