The first time I saw him, he had just come into the office. I didn’t even know that someone new was starting that day. He came in very quietly and sat at an empty desk. Someone came to let him know that this wasn’t the right desk, so he switched places, very quietly again. It’s like he didn’t want others to know he was here. After he sat down, he didn’t look or talk to anyone. I was observing him. I should have been working but his behavior was so interesting, captivating. He had long and frizzy hair that was hiding half of his face. He also had big glasses, which made it difficult to catch a glimpse of his eyes. He was constantly moving hair out of his face. His movements were brisk but at the same time delicate. He was wearing several layers on him even though it was hot outside. He had brought a cardboard box that he put on his desk, and then proceeded to take everything out of the box. Some of the things were work-related: pens, staplers, lots and lots of sheets of paper. But he also had things that were odd: intricate drawings of what looked like historical scenes, and collectible items like small cars and comic books. I had never seen anyone bring so many personal items to the office before. I watched intently as he organized the things on his desk. It was very precise, as if he was following some sort of detailed system he had followed before. I wondered if his desk was arranged the same way at his previous job. This task took him a while and he was deeply focused. It seemed like no one else in the room had noticed him except me. I wanted to go talk to him and ask him why he had brought all these things, but I didn’t dare to yet. I didn’t want to disturb his process. I felt like I needed more time to observe and understand him.
I waited a little bit more and then I couldn’t wait any longer, I was itching to ask someone. I peeked my head into my manager's office and asked her ‘Who’s the new employee?’. She told me that his name was Paul and that he was an accountant. Accountant? That’s not what I would have pictured him doing. When I came back to my desk, Paul wasn’t at his anymore. I couldn’t focus on my work because I kept wondering where he went. After 20 minutes, Paul came back. He looked like he had run cause his hair was drenched in sweat. He was holding a brand-new can of paint in one hand and a brush in the other. Really confused, I stared as he sat down and opened the paint. Still, no one seemed to have seen him. Paul, to my utter amazement, dipped the brush in the can of paint and carefully started painting his desk in a bright shiny blue. Was this allowed? Could we just come in here and start painting our desks? If I knew this earlier, I might have done something better with mine. I turned around to look at my manager, who didn’t seem the least bit bothered. Was I the only one seeing this? Watching Paul paint his desk blue on his first day of work was like watching pigs fall from the sky. And yet, to him, this seemed just like any other day. Not an ounce of fear or doubt on his face. Not a single glitch in his confident movements. He then got up to paint the other side of the desk. The smell of paint was now spreading quite quickly around the office. I decided to get up and get a closer look.
I stood a few feet behind his desk as Paul was laying under it, as if he was fixing a car. The paint job was impeccable. Once he was done, he simply closed the can and turned his computer on. I got closer and tapped on his shoulder. He turned around and looked at me, waiting for me to say something. I gestured towards the can of paint ‘Can I…?’. Paul handed me the can. Since no one here seemed to care, I was going to do the exact same thing. Heck, I would paint the walls too if I felt like it. And so I spent the next hour painting my desk blue.
I stepped back to admire my work: two beautiful blue desks in a sea of grey plywood. It was now 3 pm. I had two more hours to kill in this prison. But now it felt like I could do anything I wanted here. Painting the floor sounded like a pretty good idea right now. I got on my knees and laid the first brush of midnight blue on the cement floors. Paul turned around and watched me for a few seconds. He then came, got down on his knees too and joined in to help. There was only one brush, so he used his hands to spread the paint everywhere on the floor. I dropped the brush too: it was more efficient with my hands. Paul was really focused. When his hair got in his face, he would sleek it back with his hands drenched in blue paint. I couldn’t tell if he forgot or just didn’t care. I was too shy to ask him. He didn’t look like he was much interested in talking anyways.
Suddenly, hearing movements around me, I raised my head. People were starting to get up from their desks and head to the door. 5 pm. I got up quickly and Paul got up too. No one noticed us or the blue floor. Their autopilot was set on getting out of this office. Once everyone had left, Paul said ‘Looks like we’ll have to finish this tomorrow.’ He grabbed a comic book under his arm and left, leaving me standing, covered in paint, on a blue floor, my whole body filled with adrenaline.