During a trip to the library Sunday afternoon, I learned of the death, some two years previously, of a man I would gladly have dispatched myself had I possessed a legal excuse of some sort that would have granted me a pass in the matter. The man was a fool who could not write a readable sentence and who took pleasure in making miserable the lives of those who worked under his supervision. I was fired from a position I planned to leave anyway, only not as precipitously, for standing up to him during a heated confrontation over a promised raise.
A woman I encountered at the library, now employed thereby, had been a coworker at the small newspaper for which I briefly wrote business features. She said she and a few other writers had been “laid-off” within the past year. I asked whether the loathsome fool who had served as the paper’s editor-in-chief continued to “draw breath.”
No, she said, he died a couple of years ago.
“I never liked (worthless dead guy) anyway,” I replied.
The happy thing about the death of that worthless person, however, is that when it occurred, I was so busy living my own life that I took no notice, and had functionally forgotten the matter of my grudge against him. The continued life or death of the worthless man had no meaning for me.
Christov_Tenn 