Zeus
More than 30 years ago, I worked as a laborer for a construction company.
My labor partner was a little black guy who lifted weights. We worked on the rehab of a huge hospital in Buffalo.
I called him Zeus because he believed that he was a Greek god.
Zeus was a pretty good guy and he worked hard...
...when he was there.
Zeus would usually miss a day a week, and more than once, he asked me if he could borrow enough to get lunch.
I’d give it to him.
He was a good audience. I told him a bunch of stories, and a lot of jokes. We worked side-by-side for about four months.
It all ended abruptly.
Zeus missed a day, but he swung by the hospital with a sand pail.
Yeah.
A sand pail.
He was crying.
“I need money,” he said. “I need you to help me. Go around the hospital and see if people will donate to help me. My Mom is sick.”
I sprang into action. We knew a whole bunch of hospital people by then, and I walked the halls of the hospital, begging on behalf of Zeus.
I was his friend. I needed to bail him out.
About an hour into my charity mission (I’d raised about $30), I ran into a nurse that I knew well. I broke into my sob story.
She frowned.
“He’s looking for drug money,” she said.
I swear to God, the thought had never entered my mind!
I turned the money over to Zeus, and I never saw him again, but on Thursday I was at a job and I saw his name on a card at the time clock.
I called another laborer over.
“You know this guy?” I asked.
“Yeah, he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Was he a short, black guy?” I asked. “With muscles?”
“Short and black,” the guy said. “He didn’t have muscles though. He’s like old.”
“Like my age?” I asked.
“Yeah. Old. Like 50’s.”
That hurt.
“What was he like?” I asked.
“He was a moocher. Things came up missing around him.”
I was hugely disappointed.
“He missed a lot of time. It’s too bad. He was kind of a funny dude.”
I wished the story would’ve been different, but I was happy about one thing.
He is still alive.
Zeus: Greek God.
Maybe not.
My labor partner was a little black guy who lifted weights. We worked on the rehab of a huge hospital in Buffalo.
I called him Zeus because he believed that he was a Greek god.
Zeus was a pretty good guy and he worked hard...
...when he was there.
Zeus would usually miss a day a week, and more than once, he asked me if he could borrow enough to get lunch.
I’d give it to him.
He was a good audience. I told him a bunch of stories, and a lot of jokes. We worked side-by-side for about four months.
It all ended abruptly.
Zeus missed a day, but he swung by the hospital with a sand pail.
Yeah.
A sand pail.
He was crying.
“I need money,” he said. “I need you to help me. Go around the hospital and see if people will donate to help me. My Mom is sick.”
I sprang into action. We knew a whole bunch of hospital people by then, and I walked the halls of the hospital, begging on behalf of Zeus.
I was his friend. I needed to bail him out.
About an hour into my charity mission (I’d raised about $30), I ran into a nurse that I knew well. I broke into my sob story.
She frowned.
“He’s looking for drug money,” she said.
I swear to God, the thought had never entered my mind!
I turned the money over to Zeus, and I never saw him again, but on Thursday I was at a job and I saw his name on a card at the time clock.
I called another laborer over.
“You know this guy?” I asked.
“Yeah, he doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Was he a short, black guy?” I asked. “With muscles?”
“Short and black,” the guy said. “He didn’t have muscles though. He’s like old.”
“Like my age?” I asked.
“Yeah. Old. Like 50’s.”
That hurt.
“What was he like?” I asked.
“He was a moocher. Things came up missing around him.”
I was hugely disappointed.
“He missed a lot of time. It’s too bad. He was kind of a funny dude.”
I wished the story would’ve been different, but I was happy about one thing.
He is still alive.
Zeus: Greek God.
Maybe not.
Comments