No, I don't want to look at it and please don't touch me.

For one hour of my workday I sit up front at the reception desk and cover the phone lines while our regular receptionist goes to lunch. I usually look forward to this hour because there is nothing for me to do but surf the internet and answer the phone with ungodly disdain.
Every so often, however, I am treated to moments of pure terror and humor. On occasion people have stopped in to visit and in the process of saying "hi", stolen a laptop from the neighboring office. Once a woman appeared on the floor claiming she was an architect and that we had stolen her drawings. She had informed me that if us motherfuckers didn't return her blueprints she could sue our jive asses.
Today, on a day I was already suffering through (due to a small bout with Whiskey last night), I encountered my worst fear. Okay second worse fear (my worst fear would be a clown entering the lobby and trying to make me a baloon animal). I encountered mortality.
A very elderly "gentleman" exited the elevator out of breath. I didn't see him but I could hear him. He was wheezing. Not really an "I just ran to the fridge for more diet soda" kind of wheezing, but along the lines of "I could drop dead at any moment and since I have no next kin, because I have outlived them, you will have to arrange my funeral" kind of wheezing. I casually greeted him without averting my eyes from www.imdb.com and asked who he would like to see. "Wh-a-a-uh-uh-uht?"
"Who are you here to see?"
"L_____."
"Okay I will call him. Feel free to have a seat if you would like."
"Wh-a-a-uh-uh-t?"
"I said..." At this point I had finally mustered the energy to swing my chair around and came face to face with one of the most frightening creatures in my life. The image will be burned in my retinas for days, if not weeks. Picture: A man of about five feet (who may at one time have been six feet tall but now is hunched over, almost folded in half), wearing all black (with a huge brown belt), holding a black umbrella, a brown walking cane (presumably to match his belt), and wearing an almost priestly black hat (priestly in that Poltergeist II sort of way...you know that guy I am talking about). I also located the source of his wheezing. In what little bit of neck that man had left, there was a plastic tube sticking out. I don't know if you would call it a tracheotomy scar, but clearly someone had put it there using surgical instruments. He was breathing from the tube. Air whistled in and out and back and forth. You would think this would allow him to keep his mouth closed, but of course it hung, gaping. I could see only four teeth, although I am sure his floppy and wrinkled lips could have been covering more. Sticking out of his ears were two hearing aids. Not the sleek and stylish models you see being sold by Art Linklater on television. No these things could house two double AA batteries inside of them. Which brings me back to our stilted conversation.
“I said…jesus…feel free to have a seat while I call him.”
To those who are wondering. Yes I vocalized that “jesus”. I have this inability to remain couth when I am being freaked out. A substitute teacher I had in high school once, had a shortened arm due to the effects of thalidomide during her gestation period. She was subbing for my US History teacher for a week while he had gall stone surgery. It was on the third day that I even noticed. Usually she stood behind a podium or I was asleep, so I never paid much attention. But I was asked to help her pass out some study guides one day and trudged my way up there. I walked up to the podium and put my hand out to grab them. She extended her deformed limb my way.
“Oh jesus Christ. What happened?” My face contorted sideways, I squinted and backed up against the blackboard.
“Excuse me?”
“I said jesus Christ…what happened to the old study guides. This looks like a new format to me.”
“Oh well…I couldn’t find his template so I typed these myself.”
Yes, I thought, but did you type them with both hands? Before you banish me to hell, please realize that I am aware I am going there. So as not to embarrass myself, I skipped history the rest of the week. I think there was something about some war. I got a “C” on the test.
Back to the living death, though. After I asked him to take a seat. I called L____’s executive assistant. Of course she wasn’t there. Part of me delighted in the fact that she might have to deal with this man. So I called R___ to find out if she knew where L____ was. I was informed he had had a business lunch and wouldn’t be back for two hours.
“Excuse me…uh…sir. L___ is out to lunch. Could I take…”
“Wh-a-a-uh-uh-t?” Everytime he spoke he had to cover his trach tube with his index finger, making this strange suction noise, akin to what I would imagine it would sound like to get liposuction.
“Yooooooo will h-a-a-ve to speeeek uuup. I ha-a-a-a-a-a-a-…”
While he was straining to communicate he kept jabbing his index finger into his ear, making it deflate inward and pop back out.
“L_____ IS OUT TO LUNCH! CAN I TAKE A MESSAGE?”
“O-oh. Yeessssss.” This man had become the embodiment of what I imagined every Tolkein-sci-fi creature to look like. Something reptilian, but bipedal. At any moment I expected a tail to slide out of his pant leg or leathery wings to rip through his black shirt. He gave me his number and then slowly turned to go. I immediately turned my attention back to my computer and held my breathe to keep from breaking into hysterical crying.
Out of my peripheral vision I could see him nearing the elevator. He stopped. Turned and put his index finger over his tube.
If he tells the fate of the world lies in my hands right now or that I will die in six days I swear to god I am quitting my job.
“Could yooooooooou pleasssssssse go down the elevator with me?”
“Um…”
“I-I-I-I’m terribly frightened.”
You’re terribly frightened. Mr. do you see my knees shaking?
“Uh…yes. Sure.”
In the elevator he approached me very closely, covered his tube and spoke. “Sometimesss in elevators the pressure changes and I can’t breathe. I didn’t want to be alone.”
There are those moments in life, when you realize how shitty you are capable of being. I tried to be sympathetic, but I could barely muster the energy to pity him. The fact was, that this poor man, who means no harm and most likely enjoys life, terrified me. He represented everything that I was reluctant to become. I always used to joke that I want to be dead by 30. Sometimes I wonder how serious I am being. I take for granted the fact that I can speak whenever I want and that when I go to bed at night I will not stop breathing. Please insert some adage here about not knowing how long we have and living life to its fullest, because I don’t want to think about it.
The elevator opened on the ground floor, after what seemed like an eternity, and he exited the car.
“Thank you…young man. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”
He reached his trembling, liver spotted hands out to touch me.
Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch you motherfucker. Be human.
Contact. He skin was dry, scaly, and baggy. I could feel his tremors on my forearms. It took every fiber in my body not to tear my arm away and dive back into the elevator.
“H-h-have a nice day. Sir.” Instead I managed to be cordial. He turned to go and I stepped out of the elevator. I wanted to make sure he got out of the building safely. I watched him walk out onto Michigan avenue, amongst the hordes of people and window shoppers. He slowly faded into the crowd and my jaw finally released. I couldn’t help but think that somehow, I had escaped death.