As yesterday was National Womans Day, we present this little slice of life which unfolded one day back around 1980. It goes to show that, when there is a writer around, even the most insignificant of conversations can be kicked around for years or dug out of the cold grave of memory (or in this case, the notebooks of Your Humble Narrator).
This involved roommates that once shared domicile with us, back when we could still stand the thought of sharing space with virtual strangers in order to save a buck. All of us knew each other but not too well. Becky had the lease, so it was her apartment technically. Steve was mainly on the mooch and was always trying to convert Becky into a Rainbow Vacuum Cleaner Salesperson – the end of the food chain for jobseekers.
Becky sat on the lumpy sofa with three cats, Steve and his wife.
“How was your day,” asked Steve?
“It sucked like Hell,” replied Becky.
“Why is that,” quizzled Steve? He liked to ask questions because he always had the answer before he even asked.
Becky recounted the events of her long, fruitless day. She related how she was victimized at her job and how she was constantly the victim of the inconsiderations of others. Becky was a loser, more or less, but had a big heart. People did take advantage of her, especially at work.
“Complain to your supervisor,” Steve counseled, as he was his wont to do.
“If that doesn’t work,” the advisor continued, “Go higher! Keep going higher and higher! Go as high as you have to go to get results! Thats is how to do it!”
Becky knotted her eyebrows together and scratched the back of her head with a pencil. “Do you mean, ” she countered, “That I should go to the President of the United States about my job as an assistant cook at a fast food chain?”
“Of course! Think positive!,” advised the Knowing One. “In fact, once I didn’t get my paycheck and I kept complaining. Finally, the damn thing was three weeks late so I called the White House and left a message for the President…a couple days later – I had my check! How about that?”
He turned to Carol, his long-suffering wife. “Didn’t I call the White House,” he asked her? “Yes,” she replied softly in a voice that sounded beaten down from too much agreeing.
“Wow,” thought Becky, in her open-minded way, “This guy is intense!”
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