It was a strange turn of events, one that seemed so fitting for this life that feels like a bad screenplay at times. Two days prior I had told the pipe insulator on the job that he looked like that soft-spoken, wispy-haired actor from "Kung Fu" and "Kill Bill". He informed me that I was not the first person to say that so I didn't feel too off-base. One fortunate enough to not be in the building trades cannot fully appreciate how tiresome it is to constantly be referred to as "buddy", "guy", "pal", "brother", or "kid" while working with those who don't know, or care to know, your name. That's probably why this David Carradine look-alike didn't mind me calling him "Grasshopper" when I wanted to get his attention; anything was better than one of those other cliches, even the name of a character played in a lame 70s TV show.
After two short days of using that light-hearted nickname I almost spat out my chocolate milk while reading the newspaper at the deli as my coworkers' breakfast sandwiches finished cooking. A picture of David Carradine appeared next to a headline announcing his death. The circumstances were just as odd as the roles the man played: he was found hanging bound and naked in the closet of a Bangkok hotel. Foul play was not mentioned and no one seemed to want to suggest whether it was intentional suicide, though the man's previous autoerotic asphyxiation hobby had some shameful light shed upon it. I took a picture of the article with my camera-phone to show the insulator.
He already knew what I was about to tell him when I approached his ladder. "Let me guess: it's about my death." The words sounded strange coming from his lips, must've felt even more bizarre to be the one saying them. "I saw it on the news last night and thought of you." That statement left an equally unsettling feeling in my stomach. After all, only I am allowed to bring the characters at work home with me...
"So I guess this means I can't call you Grasshopper anymore," I said, shoving my phone back into my pocket since the proof would not be needed.
"The name's Craig," he said with the same grateful smile that Lazarus must've had two thousand years ago.
"That's easy enough. Same as my stepdad. Hey, Craig, if ya' need to talk at any point, feel free..."
"Don't worry, Mike. I won't go hanging my naked ass in any closets."
The joke went over well and I shot him a half-grin to show it, but on the inside I felt guilty. He'd taken the time to learn my name long before I'd bothered to ask his. There are worse things in life than shampoo in your eyes or buttoning your shirt wrong.
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