"Levy-EveryDayDifferent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Levy Robert J)

ROBERT J. LEVY

EVERY DAY DIFFERENT

There was an unvarying sameness to Lester Manning's days at the public relations
firm of Selvage & Fleischman that he found insidiously comforting and yet
vaguely pernicious. His job as the head copy editor, he once reasoned in a rare
flight of poetic excess, was like an old bowling shoe: It might fit perfectly,
but one could never quite escape the disconcerting knowledge that hundreds of
others had worn it before.

During his two decades at the firm, however, Lester had kept whatever fleeting
reservations he had about his stultifying vocation to himself. In the course of
that time -- by doing solid if uninspired work, rarely overlooking a serial
comma, never neglecting a misspelled word, truckling to those above him and
gently patronizing those beneath him, wearing faultless suits and unimpeachable
ties, in short, by fitting in perfectly and never ruffling feathers -- he had
risen to a position of solid respectability within the organization. That he was
a somewhat aloof man, accepted but not exactly liked by his colleagues, only
gave weight to the air of sobriety he brought to his work.

So when the company's director, Mr. Templeton, declared all Fridays hence
forward to be Casual Day, Lester, unlike his colleagues, remained ambivalent
about the lax bonhomie such an edict would undoubtedly encourage. It meant
change, and change was inimical to Lester's nature. Things had to be orderly.
Things had to be neat. "I's" had to be dotted and "t's" crossed.

However, there was another side to Lester. Typically, after work, sitting alone
in his modest midtown apartment, he would begin drinking scotch while the
sunlight waned. As the city grew dark, he would slowly fill with self-loathing,
his mood growing black as the night itself. Soon he would find himself embarking
on another round of endless introspection regarding the hollowness, pathos and
unending sameness of his life. He would stare at his own vague reflection in the
TV set, there behind the news broadcasts and music videos, and imagine his
ghostly face as an appropriate symbol of the life he led in the world--or
rather, the life he didn't lead. He knew himself to be a man incapable of living
a man so afraid of change and spontaneity that even the prospect of going
to.work in different attire completely unnerved him. At last, he would fall into
a fitful, unrewarding sleep.

When the Friday morning of Casual Day arrived, Lester approached it with all the
trepidation of a man confronting the gallows. On the other hand, his ablutions,
coiffure, choice of tie and the press of his pants were no less correct than on
any other day. Casual didn't mean sloppy, he reasoned.

From the moment he arrived at the office, he knew something was amiss. Everyone
he passed stared at him for a fleeting second, then turned away. The men wore
jeans, open-collared shirts and sneakers; some of the women wore culotte-style