Categorical Aperitif

It is sometime in the late 1980s, and I am working at a small, struggling family-owned print shop in the Atlanta area. The shop is owned by a sweet, unassuming middle-class couple who remain among the nicest bosses for whom I have ever worked. Unfortunately, business is bad, and to make ends meet, the couple have taken jobs of their own and ceded management of the shop to an older Southern gent, a devout conservative Christian who, to give him credit, knows a thing or two about the printing business. (Later we would find out that he also knew a thing or two about piratical self-interest: all the while he was supposed to be out drumming up business for the shop, he was acting as a private salesman, taking business to other printers instead, presumably in exchange for a fee. I and others wound up getting laid off thanks in part to this fine Christian man. But who am I to complain? Perhaps Jesus told him to go rogue.) The pressman at the shop is another, younger Christian, but he came by his faith differently: a recovering drug addict, he told harrowing tales of blacked-out debaucheries, piles of cash, and Uzis pointed at his head, the upshot of which was that eventually he had his Road to Damascus moment, found God, and was now a happier, more stable man—though still quite an interesting fellow to talk to. I like him a lot; he is friendly, he has a great sense of humor, and he is a wiz with the printing press. (His talent with the press might well have saved the shop had the manager brought us the business that he skimmed for others.) Oh, and the pressman is married to a former prostitute who has her own thrilling tales of thug life. As workplaces go, it is an interesting one, at least.

Anyway, it is mid-January, and some TV station is showing The Boy King. I am working at the front desk, and I overhear an exchange between the young Christian pressman and the old Christian manager that is forever engraved in my memory:

Pressman (smirkingly): "So, [Manager]: didjoo watch The Boy King last night?"

Manager (scoffingly): "Ain't but one Bo-ah King, and he weren't BLACK."

Let's just say that I learned a few things about conservative Christian businessmen from that job. I don't know whether Manager Man is still alive, but I can guess how horrified he'd be to find that The Boy King entry on Wikipedia takes you to an article on King Tut. And if he is alive and hasn't had some change of heart and mind over the years, I can guess how he's feeling about tomorrow's inauguration.

Forgive me if his imagined pain gives me just a little joy.

// posted by nash @ 11:50 AM