I work here at the COB with a man named Tim, and he is a character. He's in his seventies, grew up on a ranch in New Mexico, worked for a construction company, and then served as a mission president in Guatemala. He has the personality of an old ranch hand - loud, gruff, politically incorrect, but with a very good heart. I just love him.
He likes to sit at his desk and holler when he needs help with something. For a long time, he'd shout, "Hey gorgeous!" There were a handful of girls within earshot, and we never knew exactly which one of us he wanted. It would be presumptuous to assume, (although Nicole and I were usually confident it had to be one of us) and a bit embarrassing to go to his office just to be told that you weren't who he was calling. A bit awkward for all, but we took it in good humor because it was Tim. It's like your grandpa calling you gorgeous. I do think, though, that someone got after him because it stopped. Honestly I kind of miss it.
Now, he hollers my name specifically, and nice and loud. He often has questions with his email, and seems to think that I am all-knowing. So he yells "Angie!", and I go to help. I tell him what to click on, it works, and then he tells me that I am a genius. That's right, genius. I guess it's not a bad switch from gorgeous.
The man can't spell, and is often standing in his doorway asking whoever will answer how to spell this or that. I should admit that I can't spell either, and usually am not the genius he needs for these questions. It's good that his voice carries to several other people. Someone is usually able to help him. Part of his job is to work with the mission presidents in Central America. He takes calls from them when they have questions or problems with something. Often the problem is an illness, and then Tim has to spell out in his notes different medical terms. One day, I went into his office, he wasn't in there at the time, to fix something on his computer. I glanced over at the wall and saw, written on a yellow sticky where it could be clearly seen, the word "diarrhea". Nice. I guess he got tired of asking how to spell it. I immediately got Nicole to show her. It's still funny.
Tim has asked a General Authority, "Have you been working out?", and another "What's your inseam?", and has announced to the entire floor, "When I die, my tombstone is going to read, 'Where the hell is my hammer?" Now that I think about it, I don't know that the whole floor was meant to hear that - it's just that his voice has one volume setting.
He has memorized countless poems, which really is great, and will stand at my desk (or anyone's who will listen) to share something. One of his loves is Robert Service, who writes cowboy poems. Very fitting.
Honestly, Tim is an all-time favorite. I just love working with him. It's kind of like having my dad around. And he's good at his job. I can count on him for help with anything. He is getting older, so I'm often concerned that he will decide to retire soon. I'd really miss him. Although, he did say once, when asked about taking a day off, "Why be home? It's just another fight.", so maybe he'll be around for awhile.