I keep a frog on my pencil with big goo-goo eyes — the frog, not
the pencil, that is. The head is mounted on a spring that boings
back and forth when I flick it with my finger. It makes me smile
and is my favorite pencil thing. I got it at the closing of one
Cameron banking office last fall. I was working out of the
Houston office at the time and was brought in mostly to help
shred documents and box information that no one needed
anymore…at least that is what they said. Stacks of financial
records about families I have never met and probably never will
know lined the walls in the enclosed back room where the
shredder ran nonstop for two weeks. As I read their trials in
monthly reports, I could not help but listen to the voices that
spoke from the pages of the loan applications.
I wonder about the voice of one young man I read about. I wonder
if he was nervous when he signed that first loan note—or if his
dad, like mine, went with him to the dealership loaded with
competitor ads to strategically place on the desk (so as to
psychologically influence the salesman during the negotiation of
the final price). Only I heard his story…his and the other 200
or so people like him whose dreams I loaded on a truck bound to
the main corporate office to be silenced forever. There were
only four employees in Cameron, so you can imagine how close
they all were. I could only watch as this tiny network of people
struggled to maintain under the weight of big-business
arrogance. Their "positions had been eliminated," as if anyone
ever really could do such a thing.
Now, I've heard jokes about being a number, and who hasn't felt
like that during college registration or even at Wal-Mart for
that matter? However, I feel people in contact with large
organizations would be more accurate to simply say that they are
reduced to "things." What Corporate America will never concede
is that when you make a human into a thing, you must sacrifice
that which gives the person individuality and life.
Why should they concede? As individuals, we perform this act
voluntarily with our ideas of what it means to be successful.
Isn't success the accumulation of massive amounts of money?
Haven't we all been told to believe education will open its
doors? I for one was more than willing to give up my individual
spark for a steady paycheck and health insurance. So, like a lot
of people, I got my degree and a bank job and went after it.
Like few people, I discovered success was not contingent on
money or any tangible thing. For me, success was not an office
job or a condominium suite. It was the pursuit and fulfillment
of exactly what everyone wanted me to sacrifice. It was in
learning the value inherent in the human being, not for doing,
but for simply being. Of course, it was not until a few months
after that Cameron office closing that I began to learn and
really understand that and much, much more.
The lesson began the Monday after Thanksgiving last, when I was
called into yet another enclosed office, only to be told that my
position in the company had been eliminated. I felt devastated,
numb and speechless at the same time. It was during my first
contact with the unemployment office that I learned some people
were not that lucky. I distinctly remember walking into the
waiting area and looking into the eyes of those bold enough to
take them off the floor. I could not get over all the people in
that place. Men in suits. Women with degrees. Fifteen-, twenty-,
and thirty-year veterans of corporations gone under or bought
out.
I remember an older woman in particular who sat trembling beside
me: "I feel ashamed of myself, I feel dirty and incompetent. I
gave twenty years of service to that company, and all they could
tell me was Friday is my last day…Friday. What am I supposed to
do Monday?" I quietly lowered my eyes to the floor. It isn't
appropriate to hug total strangers.
The Cameron office died last year. Four people lost their jobs.
Hundreds of voices were recorded. They were all erased but one,
and you aren't supposed to hear it. I am supposed to be too busy
sacrificing to tell you. Oh, OK…do you know that when the last
desk had been removed from that bank, and everyone had
accumulated more office supplies than they ever could use for
their homes, I settled for a frog pencil with big goo-goo eyes?
Somehow, I can't help feeling I got the better end on that
deal…for the death of a bank comes easier than the loss of our
human spark.
About the Author: Indie musician, singer-songwriter, poet,
children's book author, independent publisher, wife, mum...and
lover of all things chocolate. Mallah Rych Hurst is the
Editor-in-Chief at http://www.poreepublishing.com Poree
Publishing...and makes an awesome roast. Her music can be found
under the band name, SOULEPHIX.
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