It Must Be a Sign

Currently, I have two signs on the window of my office, right next to my sign-in sheet.
They read:
"We currently do not have any winter coats or boots at our facility at this time"
and
"ID appointments are full for the month of December. We will have walk-in hours on Mondays and Wednesdays beginning in January"

This morning, I have been asked 8 times if we have any coats or boots available, and 5 people have signed up to inquire about an ID appointment. I even had one woman point to the sign that said we had no winter gear available, and ask, "Do you still have these?" Not knowing how to reply to that question, I said "Yes, we still do not have any more coats or boots available." Wrong answer, probably.

We have signs saying what our hours are. We have signs stating the purpose of each office. We have signs advertising events. We put up signs to answer what we predict to be the most commonly asked questions, and yet they remain the most commonly asked questions.

This may be due to illiteracy, due to lack of attention, due to the fact that may of the minds are on other things, many of these eyes have been trained to skim over surroundings to find life, or to find other eyes.

But sometimes I know they have read the signs. Sometimes, I will tell the same person the same information every day, and then I begin to see that the information itself is less relevant, but the human connection is key. I am beginning to think that our signs serve less to avoid questions, but sometimes start them; act as conversation pieces.
When there's nothing to talk about, you talk about whatever is on the walls.
When you don't have a reason to meet with someone, you look for one... and find it right next to the sign-in sheet.

Un-Popped Collars

I saw them again this morning on my way to work--we high-fived, actually.

Two guys, dressed as if they were on their way to a Hollywood movie premier: ironed black pants, button-up shirts, shined shoes, slick haircuts, complete with laptop-computer leather briefcases. They're all business. What business? It's none of mine... (they tell me).

I don't know where they get their clothes, but Darrell and Mr. Wilkerson are the best dressed men in town. Seeing them walk through the parkinglot across from Van Andel, the could have been en route from their Lexus to the Bridgewater building.

Darrell: Killer smile. New collared shirt every day--deep blue, crimson, gold. Walks like he has a million dollars in his pocket--not like he's weighed down by it or anything, but just that he knows it's there. He swaggers, he winks, and if he applied for a 9-5 minimum wage job, someone would probably think he'd be too overqualified (though I'm not sure he's applying).

Mr. Wilkerson: Looks like a 70's basketball player at a press conference. He's go the tamed 'fro, the over 6' stature, and a stride that lets him cover the basketball court in 10 steps. Skinny, healthy, and always matching--his pants, his shirt, his socks and shoes, and his swaggering partner.

I can't figure out what they do all day, but I have a feeling that after they take a shower and press their clothes outside my office, they just walk around town looking good. And why not? When you're used to being condescended, pitied, 'served', and sometimes avoided, it'd be nice to draw an attracted eye--to have someone look you up and down and say to themselves, those guys have it all together.

Whether or not they do is their business.