October 21, 2018

There was an old lighthouse keeper, who lived by himself for many, many years. Just the man in his tower of light and the sea. Every morning at precisely 6:00 AM, the foghorn would sound… a long, low, sad blast; it didn’t matter whether the lighthouse was blanketed in the deepest fog or being battered by the winds and waves stirred by a hurricane, or if it was the perfect summer morning blessed by bright sunshine and a warm breeze, the fog horn sounded. Every morning.

It was the kind of sound that would blow you out of your shoes if you didn’t know it was coming, but of course, the lighthouse keeper knew it all so well that it got to the point that he didn’t even notice it anymore–kind of like when you live near the train tracks or on a busy street in the middle of the city;  you just get used to the sound, the noise.

One morning, for some reason, the foghorn failed to sound, and the lighthouse keeper, precisely at 6 AM and ten seconds woke up with a start, sat upright in bed and exclaimed “what was that?!”

I dubbed him Gordon Ramsay Guy. Every weekday morning, he sat in the exact same seat at the exact same work table and as I headed through the reading room that led to the stairway to my office, I’d look up and he was there. A student, I’m certain, although what he was studying at 7:30 in the morning, every morning, I’m not sure.

Sometimes he was working in a notebook, other times he’d be texting. More often than not, if I wasn’t too early, he would also have his laptop open and I couldn’t help but look at the screen.

That’s how he got his nickname. I think I first noticed him last spring, and I have no idea how long he was there before that, but it was probably the image of Gordon Ramsay that caught my eye, filling the screen with redness and rage, screaming at some poor hapless chef wannabe in Hell’s Kitchen.

For days after that, I saw Ramsay there, throwing the chefs’ creations into the trash, disgust rippling through his entire body; I didn’t need to have volume to know what he was saying.

And it went on, and I couldn’t help but glance every time I went by. Always Ramsay. It seemed as if the student was perhaps taking a course on pop culture, or maybe on how not to be dick. It just didn’t look like he was leisure watching–why would a 20-something book it into school to sit and watch a cooking show if it wasn’t a requirement?

He went away for the summer, as most students do, but this September, within a few days of being back into the regular grind, Gordon Ramsay Guy returned

I can’t believe how happy that made me. And now, when he misses a morning–which he does very, very rarely–my entire day feels off.

Now he watches other stuff too, and in the few seconds I have as I pass by, I glance beyond his back to his screen to see what’s on. Ramsay sometimes, still, but also other reality-type shows and the occasional YouTube video. I have to say, he does always seem to be working on assignments. If he’s not texting.

I’ve only talked to him once, when I came through when they still hadn’t turned on the full overhead fluorescents, a moment of commiseration in the dark, and that was it. I didn’t want to spoil it. God forbid he should graduate; I won’t know what to do, as he’s become part of my morning routine.

And when it comes to routine, the morning is when it happens. I was taught, very many years ago in another job, that humans–at least those of us on this continent–are never more predictable than in the morning or whatever time we start our days.

Think about it—we’re always slightly hurried; we try to catch the same bus or train, or we leave the house at the same time, and more than likely we take the same route, day in and day out, to our places of work or learning or wherever we need to be. We don’t usually have appointments before work, and our time is usually pretty limited.

If someone was going to follow you, that would be the time to do it, so it’s the key time to make variations to your route and routine. If you’re feeling paranoid. Yes, creepy, I know, but when you work for the government, sometimes you have to think that way. And now that I’ve made you think about this, it probably makes sense to you too.

The other thing you’re taught is to be more observant about the people around you–the ones you see every day, like Gordon Ramsay Guy, or the woman with two-tone hair (dark underneath and streaky blonde on the top; by the hair on her coat she had cats—and based on length and colour, I’m sure more than one—a woman who used to ride my bus downtown 15 years ago–I still might recognize her if I saw her in the neighborhood.

When I took that bus, I sat in the same seat every day–right side facing forward, window seat right before the back door. I have no idea why, but it’s the one I chose. I still do when I ride the bus.

When I used to use the bathroom at work, I would go into the same stall. The second one of four. I have no idea why, but it perturbed me when someone was in “my” stall when I had to go. How dare they.

I can’t be the only one… or am I?

How do we choose these things? The route to work is easy–faster and most direct, most likely. But a seat–bathroom or bus–why is it the one I chose? Where’s the wiring for that?

So here’s what I plan to do about this. I’m going to shake it up—start to take a different route to work each day. I’ve most definitely become complacent. I’ll get my coffee at a different spot; change it up on transit and consider the other choices I make in my day… and I challenge you to do the same. Go ahead. Take the road less traveled.

And I’ll always wonder what happened to Gordon Ramsay Guy.