Patriot Day
They call September 11 Patriot Day nowadays. At least that’s what it says on my company issued desk calendar. I don’t like that. I’m not sure what else to call it since Memorial Day and Remembrance Day are already spoken for. Patriot Day sounds like an old Soviet holiday. It sounds like a name for a holiday that comes from “them”, not “us”.
I walked downstairs at about 10:45 to clear my head after a couple hours of meetings and phone calls and e-mail answering. The work that the office-worker type like me has to do that keeps him from getting to his actual work, the work that produces something be it a summary, a report, an analysis, whatever. They were having a ceremony in the plaza in front of the building. I had seen an e-mail a few weeks prior asking for people who wanted to be readers. I only know two people that died that day and really only very peripherally; one was a guy I worked with at the deli back in college and the other was my sister’s ex-boss who I had met a few times years ago. So I didn’t feel qualified to participate. I figured there were enough people around who were. That’s part of being a New Yorker in the 21st century.
So I walked out to the plaza at 10:45 and a woman was reading names. She was up to the “S’s”. There were three people in a row named Scott. I wondered if they were related. I looked around and there were probably less than a dozen people scattered around watching. Probably half of them were just out on a smoke break. I lingered a few minutes and then slunk back into the building, ashamed. I felt like we shouldn’t be working, that we should all be required to be down there for at least part of this. Then again I don’t think the day should be a holiday either. No matter what the intentions of the creators, holidays in America eventually lose their original meaning and become excuses for furniture sales and cookouts. Fuck that.
Sorry for the language.
Around 1pm I went down to grab a sandwich for lunch. I went out the back door to the deli, and as I came back in one of the guards was telling people “We have music outside on the plaza, check it out!” I knew there was a musical portion to the memorial, and I think it was intended to be a “joyous celebration of life” type thing. I didn’t go. I think if I went out there and saw a whole lot more people out there enjoying the music than were there for the remembrance I would’ve punched someone. I went to the elevator banks and punched in my floor instead.
I went back in my office and took out my sandwich. I stared at the pile of papers I was working on.
Snow.
Good night.
I walked downstairs at about 10:45 to clear my head after a couple hours of meetings and phone calls and e-mail answering. The work that the office-worker type like me has to do that keeps him from getting to his actual work, the work that produces something be it a summary, a report, an analysis, whatever. They were having a ceremony in the plaza in front of the building. I had seen an e-mail a few weeks prior asking for people who wanted to be readers. I only know two people that died that day and really only very peripherally; one was a guy I worked with at the deli back in college and the other was my sister’s ex-boss who I had met a few times years ago. So I didn’t feel qualified to participate. I figured there were enough people around who were. That’s part of being a New Yorker in the 21st century.
So I walked out to the plaza at 10:45 and a woman was reading names. She was up to the “S’s”. There were three people in a row named Scott. I wondered if they were related. I looked around and there were probably less than a dozen people scattered around watching. Probably half of them were just out on a smoke break. I lingered a few minutes and then slunk back into the building, ashamed. I felt like we shouldn’t be working, that we should all be required to be down there for at least part of this. Then again I don’t think the day should be a holiday either. No matter what the intentions of the creators, holidays in America eventually lose their original meaning and become excuses for furniture sales and cookouts. Fuck that.
Sorry for the language.
Around 1pm I went down to grab a sandwich for lunch. I went out the back door to the deli, and as I came back in one of the guards was telling people “We have music outside on the plaza, check it out!” I knew there was a musical portion to the memorial, and I think it was intended to be a “joyous celebration of life” type thing. I didn’t go. I think if I went out there and saw a whole lot more people out there enjoying the music than were there for the remembrance I would’ve punched someone. I went to the elevator banks and punched in my floor instead.
I went back in my office and took out my sandwich. I stared at the pile of papers I was working on.
Snow.
Good night.
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