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It's In The Eyes
By Dean Rotbart
When I was a kid, I remember watching a spooky TV series about aliens who come to earth and infiltrate our communities and governmental bodies unnoticed. So good are these aliens at taking the human form, that they are virtually indistinguishable from true earthlings in every respect but one: their pinky fingers.
For some reason, which I never really questioned nor understood as a child, the aliens couldn't perfectly replicate human hands. As a result, their pinkies were in a permanently dislocated state.
The TV series and its pinkies materialized in my memory a few days ago when I happened upon a childhood acquaintance who, now middle age, runs his own business near downtown Denver. My wife Talya and I were shopping for a new kitchen trash can when I spotted Jerry and his wife, Sandy, scouting for trash bags.
"Jerry, how are you? How are the kids," I inquired.
He and Talya, Sandy and I exchanged small talk.
'How's business," I asked.
"Just fine," he replied.
We talked about getting together. What else could we say? And then we headed off, all four of us knowing that our next reunion would have to wait for another chance encounter.
Walking to the car, I asked Talya if she had spotted it? Just as obvious as a dislocated finger, Jerry gave away the alien who occupies his mortal body. I saw it in his eyes. No longer normal. They are the eyes of an entrepreneur who slowly, very slowly, has been possessed by his business.
Jerry's eyes were those of a man consoling himself that "at least it can't get any worse," when somehow it always does. He eyes were those of a stroke victim who has so much to say, but can no longer form the correct words. (Even if he did utter them, who could possibly understand?) Jerry's eyes gasped, "My business won't fail so long as I have breath left in my lungs."
But his lips uttered only: "Just fine. Business is just fine."
For all the entrepreneurial success stories we read and hear about (many of which turn out to be mere mirages), there are far more stories like that of Jerry, an entrepreneur who continues to fight a battle that few but his own species can understand.
In earlier days, I, too, walked in Jerry's shoes. I have been so engorged with anger, disappointment, frustration, shame and failure that even when Talya asked me how I was doing, I could only respond "fine," lest the forces set loose by my true confession send my head twirling off like some whirly toy.
After running into Jerry, I thought to myself, "I really ought to form a society of alien entrepreneurs." We could all get together once a month and, fingers proudly dislocated, commiserate. Even if we couldn't actually let it all out, at least we'd be comforted by knowing that there are others just like us.
But I knew it could never be. Even if I did somehow manage to form such a society, no one who needs the support has the time nor the energy to attend. Instead, I wrote this column.
I hope those of you who know loved ones or friends who have become alien entrepreneurs will forward this article to them and let them know they are not alone.
Tell them, "We know you are out there. We see it in your eyes."
June 17, 2002
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