A true test of character

So, last month after a delightful visit to my beloved Washington to see both family and friends, I was sitting somewhat morosely in the Spokane International Airport waiting for a flight that would return me to my humdrum world of school, school, school (which, despite reports to the contrary, I do actually enjoy.  It's just that playing at home is so much fun!  School is, well, much more ordinary than playing with friends and family while shamelessly avoiding homework.  But then, I digress.).

So, there I was, feeling a bit lonely, a bit glum, and well, having my own little pity party.  From my vantage point in the airport, I was sitting some 20 feet from the over-priced convenience store that sells everything from peach rings, huckleberry hot chocolate mix, 'I heart Spokane' keyrings, and $4 bottled water.  When people walked through, they were very predictable.  Most stopped to peruse a few magazines, activate the "push me" paws of the stuffed animals (which, coincidentally were mostly beavers and bears.  Why?), and look over the variety of nostalgic and humorous Washington magnets.

And there was this guy.

This is Roger (as I found out when I bought an orange juice just before my flight boarded).

Roger presumably spends all day earning a living keeping post at this cash register or perhaps doing some other routine airport duty in Spokane's little airport.  And yet, somehow, that smiley demeanor you see in the picture above (go ahead, look again), is totally and completely sincere.  Without fail, for every customer that strolled up to the counter, Roger jovially asked, "How ya doin' today?  Where ya headed?  Ooooh, [insert place here, be it Milwaukee, Albuquerque, Boston, or Boise], that's exciting!  Goin' home or leavin' home?" After a small chitchat, the conversation usually ended with, "Well, just keep livin' the dream, right?  Have a great trip!"

And it was all totally genuine.  For the hour that I sat there observing his interchanges, not one person refused conversation or ignored Roger.  He managed to engage everyone at his little counter.  Everyone from the too-cool jock, to the young businessman in the pinstripe suit, to the earthy hiker who looked like she just stepped out of an REI catalog, to the bossy busybody in the matching tracksuit.  No one was above Roger's smalltalk. (and while some of you are wondering if this is because people are humoring him because he has some sort of developmental delay and is part of a government-supported vocational job training program, I assure you, he possessed all of his mental faculties.  He was honestly just that pleasant.)

On a related note (I swear its related), a few weeks ago a classmate and I were engaged in a morbid game graduate students sometimes play: What stereotypical patient would you be if you had a traumatic brain injury?  (this is very similar to another game called:  If you had to have a stroke, which part of the brain would you choose?)

If you want to know what type of TBI patient you'd be, there is a simple formula.  All you do is take your worst quality and magnify it by a million.  My classmate (who, by the way, has spent her career working with TBI patients, so she's got this down to a science) declared she has no doubt she'd be the mean, nasty patient who'd yell a lot and torment her therapists.  I was surprised given her pleasant demeanor, hilarious sense of humor, and the fact that she's completely fun to be around.  She explained that usually these worst qualities are the ones that you are the best at suppressing, though they are your natural tendencies.  The problem with a brain injury, see, is that you no longer have the ability to inhibit these qualities from barging on out.

I considered where I would fall.  I didn't think I'd be mean.  It's not that I'm angelic or anything, but I just don't have a tendency (suppressed or otherwise) to be mean, nasty, or vindictive.  When asked which patient I'd be, I concluded I'd probably be the excessive worrier.  Constantly, and pathetically, worried about every confusing thing happening in my world.

Without batting an eye, my classmate said, "Oh!  You'd be a crier!"  I probably would be.  Which is ironic, given my decided distaste for crying in general (not others crying, my crying).

So, what does this have to do with Roger?  Given Roger's genuinity (yes, I made that a word) for kindness, social engagement, and jollyness (yes, I made that a word too) even when working at what might be considered a dull, boring, or menial job, I'd put money on the fact that he'd be a pretty dang pleasant TBI patient.

When it comes down to it, the way any of us respond to less-than-desireable tasks (be it a job, an obligation, or the fact that we're returning to Nebraska after a fantastic visit home) and/or who we'd be if we had a head injury very possibly provides enlightening (if not disturbing) glimpses into who we are at the core of our character.

I don't know, I've just been thinking about this for the past few days.  For all that I want to be (kind, genuine, happy, at peace), my character still needs a lot of work.  Perhaps one day I'll get to a point where I can with confidence say, "I'd be the happy, but bumbling, and not at all mean or sobbing TBI patient!"

Aren't you delighted this blog provides a window into my weirdo thoughts?

What kind of TBI patient do you think you'd be?  Kinda scary to think about, huh.