Friendship with Floyd
I first glimpsed Floyd lingering behind a pillar, shifting his weight and looking around at everything and nobody. I froze mid-step into the cold copy room and stepped one loafer’d foot back out onto the hallway carpet. Who’s the suit? Special Olympics HQ staff is fairly young and millennials tend to class the idea of wearing a suit every day to work with fax machines, shoulder pads, or dial-up. Relics. Is a board member lost in the cubicle maze? Are we being surprise audited? When I turned to fully face his direction I got a better look: immaculate dress, sizable glasses, shaved head. I opened my mouth to say hello and offer help, but before I could speak he’d noticed me noticing him out of the side of his eye and jetted around a corner. I jogged a few paces to the pillar at the end of the hall and looked left, catching a final look of him striding toward the exit. It was then I saw his sartorial piece de resistance gently waving in the wind of his gait: a black rope Croakie securing his glasses, tightened with an adjustable bead on the back of his head.
“HEY! Have you met Floyd yet?” Megan asked a couple weeks later, pacing toward me smiling and eyes sparkling with excitement. Megan manages two colleagues with intellectual disabilities and is always cruising around the office at high speed, juggling too many tasks for one person to handle. Despite workload, Megan always makes time for kindness and inclusion with a laugh along the way, especially for new employees getting oriented to the office like me. “He keeps to himself a lot, but once in a blue moon he’ll come by my cube and it makes my day. He’s always in a suit.”
I told her I hadn’t yet had the pleasure, but I knew Floyd had to be the mystery suit.
Before I worked at Special Olympics I worked in the fashion industry, and I too have a stylistic uniform of sorts: swingy black dresses. I value a commitment to personal style and knowing what look works for you. Well, Floyd works it in his suit and Croakie every day, even on Field Day. Looking sharp is his virtue, and I’d soon learn he pairs his tailored appearance with notable work ethic and a solemn commitment to professionalism in the office.
Weeks passed and one day I saw a mirror-shiny dress shoe sticking out of Megan’s cube. As I walked closer, I saw dress pants with perfect creases. Unless Tim Shriver was paying a surprise visit to Megan’s desk moments before departing for a board meeting I could only think of one person this Savile Row leg could belong to in our office.
“Bailey, this is FLOYD!” Megan bellowed as I passed by, her usual excitement turned up higher than usual.
Floyd tilted his head down to the side and shyly glanced up at me for a beat before looking away again.
“Hello,” he said, nodding.
Captivated by his style and cadence, I told him I’d like to get to know him and asked whether we could have lunch. He told me he “could do that”, so Floyd, Megan, and I scheduled our first “Lunch + Friendship” together.
Shortly after our introduction the emails from Floyd began to come without subject lines or words. Instead, the contents were pictures of fast cars in motion, celebrity gossip newspaper clippings, VCR / DVD combo units, Michael Jackson, microphones, mermaids — this was Floyd communicating to me what’s important to him. He does not email many people, and I knew I was one of the lucky few to get a peek into his mind. I saw an opportunity to jump right into Floyd’s world and responded with follow up photos or thoughtful replies.
Time went on and one lunch became two, five, ten, twenty. At Red Robin I learned about Floyd’s dream to be married, have children, and a house with wall-to-wall carpeting. At Rumors we bonded over the high cost of dry cleaning — dropping it off and picking it up is a grind but the real buzzkill is the expense. When Michael Jackson or George Michael came on at Shake Shack Floyd was quick to quip that although they’re gone, their music lives on. I learned about his careful care of his black lab Jake, planting and harvesting of tomatoes and cucumbers in the yard, and vacationing with mom in the family RV. I learned that, to Floyd, ketchup is king.
Over time I grew accustomed to one-sided conversation, engaging Floyd to learn more about him but not being engaged in return. I’d offer information about myself that went unacknowledged and eye contact was rare, but the seeming lack of reciprocation didn’t hurt my feelings. I know these behaviors are some of the various ways autism might translate through a person.
One day, after months of lunches and desk visits Floyd and I were in the copy room as he collected print outs of Ford Mustangs. I offered that both of my brothers had Fords for their first cars and for the first time Floyd turned to look at me, maintained eye contact, and asked a direct question.
“You have brothers? Where are they?” A smile played as his lips and he maintained eye contact until I began to speak, surprise and delight stalling my words. “They’re both in Texas,” I began, and he turned to rummage through the printer cast-offs for his photos, unfazed by the exchange. Our conversation abruptly concluded when Floyd walked out of the room — normal for us. I smiled and my eyes stung a little bit.
Floyd had been listening more than I thought. He began sprinkling our conversations with recounted details about his meetings with my husband Rick or would remind someone considering a menu that I am vegetarian. He’d state facts about me in the middle of conversations, “You lived in New York.” “You know how to drive.”
In terms of Floyd’s preferences, friendly touch is infrequent: a dap here or there. After careful consideration one day Megan and I asked if we might give him a hug. He paused, nodded, and replied, “I did that once,” and began describing the other friend he’d hugged years ago. Megan told Floyd how she doesn’t particularly like hugs either, and the brief group embrace was quickly disbanded by Floyd’s comical “tap out”. We did it!
Floyd’s worked at Special Olympics for 20 years, and I’ve been told by people who’ve known him for a long time that his evolution this past year has been positively remarkable. Twenty years of data entry, perfectly pressed suits, the green Metro line, pouring more sugar in his coffee than the liquid appears to be able to absorb, in at 10:00 AM, out at 3:00 PM, Tuesday through Friday, “no trouble at all”. Now, there’s more cohesive conversation, eye contact, and a hug on the books.
I’ve worked at Special Olympics for a year and some change and it’s been a joyful learning curve. Floyd’s perspective is essential — he delivers the most pared down facets of life. There is no excess with Floyd, no wealth of words. He simply speaks his truth. My favorite piece of Floyd’s profundity has been “Dogs are police officers, too,” but the most moving was his response when I asked to write about our friendship: “Friendship means making time to spend together”.
I look forward to me and Floyd making time to spend together for years to come.
