Monday, June 29, 2015
There is nothing truly original in the world.
I ease off the gas pedal of my already outdated hybrid Prius.
My job will eventually fall prey to a computer named Watson. My practice will be gobbled up by the nearest Goliath medical center as history scoffs at the arthritic physician bending over a doorbell with leather bag in hand.
There is no flash of glory here. No smart technology.
The echo vibrates through cracks in the sidewalk and drags me unwillingly forward to the unkempt house at the end of the block.
Adapt or perish.
I open the door without knocking and find a decrepit figure slumped into a reclining chair in front of the television. His car keys were long ago taken by some relative or another. He waits for nothing in particular. Scraps of food have been left on the side table by a home health aid.
There are memories of being gainfully employed. Road trips across barren lands and such. His son is now grown up and makes decisions on his behalf. A nursing home is a far safer environment than this empty old house.
My visits to the end of the road are numbered.
Old is replaced by new.
Utility and functionality apparently are relative terms.
And by and by something is lost.
Posted by Jordan Grumet at 5:59 PM