…and why is she in the library in the middle of the afternoon?
She’s sad, not the perky bank clerk with migrant (Idaho), college and life stories.
So I ask, “What’s going on?”
“I was let go, just like that. They called me just before my vacation, and they told me that was it, no health care, no payment, not a week extra.”
“How many years?”
“Twenty.”
She starts to cry.
I say, “You were great. Customers always wanted to come to your desk.”
“I guess. But the bank said I was not getting enough loans approved. I’d approve them, and then they’d be stopped.”
I am so damn lucky, 73 with some part-time work, house and car paid for, great health insurance. I tell her just that.
“I have some luck, car and house paid for,” she says. “But the health care is a problem, no Medicare, yet, too young.”
“I miss your book recommendations,” she says.
“OK, here are two. Let’s go get them,” and we do:
MY DEAR, I WANTED TO TELL YOU, World War One’s horrors, with some love tossed in.
MY AMERICAN DREAM, immigrants service, connive, and love is tossed in here, too.
“Thanks,” she says, after we get the books.
“I’m very sorry. You read about people like you being let go. Now I know one.”
“Yes, you do.”
And that’s for sure.
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky, early December 2011
