Angels Unawares

I

It was a warm, sunny morning, the kind of day that would have made anyone feel happy to be alive-or at any rate, the kind of day that should have made almost anyone feel happy to be alive. Somehow, it was all lost on Dr. Thom Staples, the newest psychiatrist at Southbrook Mental Hospital.

For Staples, aged thirty-three, the weather outside was irrelevant, for he always seemed to walk beneath his own private black clouds, which was ironic considering how much envy he was capable of inspiring. He was a brilliant man, having graduated at the top of his class and at one point considered to be one of the most gifted in his field. He had built up an impressive resume of articles in various psychiatric journals, and his new position at Southbrook carried with it a considerable salary increase. For all this, however, he was anything but happy. Staples himself was quite oblivious to his own misery, the result of which was that he made everyone around him miserable. Although there was no one who would think to dispute his brilliance, there was also no one who would admit to enjoying his company or to finding anything remotely likeable about him as a person.

As he entered the palatial Southbrook building, his new colleagues nodded to him politely but said nothing, making a point to get out of his way as quickly as possible. He had only been at Southbrook for a week, but they already knew him to be an impatient, rude man who despised having to change his own course or stop for the sake of anyone else. Staples did not return any of the greeting nods; indeed, the only acknowledgment he made of anyone’s very existence has an impatient harrumph when he thought he was going to have to stop for a nurse who did not notice that she was in his way as quickly as he thought she should have.

He strode purposefully toward the elevator, which was already quite full. A few of the people at the front of the throng saw him coming and groaned inwardly. They were almost ready to breathe a sigh of relief when the elevator doors began to slide closed, only to have their hopes dashed when Staples thrust his briefcase between the doors at the last possible second, forcing them to reopen. Rudely he shoved his way inside, forcing everyone else to make room for him. Meanwhile, those who were left behind on the ground floor enjoyed their own collective sigh of relief, thankful to have been spared having to endure any more time in his presence than necessary.

Staples was headed for the sixth floor, but the elevator stopped at each and every floor in between. Those who had the misfortune of having to exit before Staples had to do so by squeezing past him as best they could, for he himself did not yield so much as an inch of ground for any of them. A number of people who had wanted to enter decided instead to wait for the next elevator rather than have to push their way past him. For his part, Staples appeared to be either oblivious to or unconcerned with the inconvenience for which he was responsible.

When the elevator arrived at last at the sixth floor, Staples was too impatient to even wait for the doors to open all the way before he pushed his way through to make his exit.