He was seen as a workaholic.
Despite being in his late fifties, he was always in early and always the last to leave the office, week in week out. He never took holidays. The weeks just accrued on file somewhere. He was asked once or twice if he felt he should take a break, but it made no difference. It was not uncommon for him to keep himself busy at his desk for at least one and sometimes two hours after everybody left. He was grateful that the rest of the staff seemed to accept the fact that it was his personal choice to sacrifice his time and private life in order to serve the company.
It was never apparent that he was vane about his work ethic, or the way he sacrificed so much of his time. Nobody ever actually said anything negative about his long work hours, although the occasional quip about him being the ‘lights man’ alluded to his routine. He saw this as an obvious reference to the fact that he was always left to see that all lights on the building’s floor were switched off when he left.
However, it was different on this particular night. Becoming so absorbed in what he was doing, had him still in his room way after his normal time. He was amazed to see just how late it was, when sometime after midnight he was disturbed by a strange rattling sound coming from the outer hallway.
Soon after this, a woman appeared. A little surprised herself, she apologised for disturbing him and said that this was her night for emptying waste baskets and rubbish bins.
The number of hours working in silence and the solitude had to be the reason that he was happy to stop what he was doing and chat. The following half-hour was taken up with an idol, but surprisingly comfortable chat. He had little to talk about regarding his own circumstances, but she had her own interesting story to tell. The upshot of this being that she was a single mother of two, now living back home with her parents. She said she was only too glad to have a job that paid the bills.
Anyway, this prompted him to pack up, and on this occasion leave the lights to someone else. It was travelling home on the almost empty late bus that gave him time to reflect on the unexpected conversation. She was a nice person, he thought. She was going home to her children, while he was on his way to a small, empty flat. He wondered whether he was penalising himself for the emptiness in his life or was he doing what he does as a genuine sacrifice? It was the pedantic side of his reasoning that had him wondering whether it was a matter of sacrifice or forfeiture. He asked himself, was he paying a forfeiture or making a sacrifice?
Thinking about the woman, if it’s true that he was making a sacrifice, whose was the greater?