It's the post-season, so B is cracking her knuckles and muttering curses at the tv. That's how I feel about Congress. No one around here seems very concerned, but I'm still recovering from the trauma of 2008. We don't have a home, and have only the smallest of retirement investments, so we didn't lose much. But the memory of sitting in a drafty room filled with rumors of layoffs and hearing the Dean tell us briskly that "the trustees think you're overcompensated," isn't easy to forget.
Recession shaped the trajectory of my adult life. My dad got laid off my senior year of high school. I had plenty of skills doing the work that you do when you grow up in a tourist town; cleaning hotel rooms, washing dishes, and making sandwiches (best teen job in town-hostess, worst teen job in town-fish processing plant). By the time I moved to Boston in 1990, you had to know someone to get any kind of terrible job, which is how I got mine.
Work it out Congress, work it out.
No comments:
Post a Comment