Scruffy
I knew immediately that this one guy was going to do something interesting, even as I sat there running papers into the heavy duty shredder. I just felt it by watching him. As he read his magazine, he had a confused look on his face. He paused every few minutes to look around the room as if he was trying to remember where he was, and what he was doing there. I nicknamed him Scruffy right away. He had long, stringy hair and a beard that was unkempt. He wore faded, baggy jeans and his shirt was so threadbare I could see his skin through it.