Stowin' away the time
Are you gatherin' up the tears?
Have you had enough of mine?
—Fagen and Becker
Connie Counting G's
It’s three weeks until Christmas and I’m not in a merry mood, but the the stores are playing Christmas Muzak and are all decked out for the holidays.
Good for them if you like commercialism with a hefty dose of cynicism.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the Grinch or a crotchety Ebenezer—far from it. But I know the poor and unhoused suffer even more in the winter season and particularly when everyone else seems caught up with celebration.
I should add a caveat to the above—everyone is in a celebratory mood, except for the banks—they might put up a fake tree and scatter a few random ornaments around the foyer, but generally they’re pretty grim…
Business as usual, I’d say. I stare at the staid and stodgy workplace and ask myself, are there no workhouses? Are there no prisons?
To be fair, it’s not exactly Scrooge’s counting house, but nothing much changes within these walls. They still make time to dispossess you, regardless of season.
I’m trying hard not to be bitter but losing your company can do that to you right around Christmas.
“Good morning, Mr. Stevens,” Connie, the pretty young teller smiles, “All set for Christmas?”
“I will be after you cash this cheque,” I smile back, handing her my government rebate.
“No problem,” she replies brightly.
She takes my cheque and processes it, then heads back to another teller cage where she collects my cash.
Norm Albright, the manager, notices me and whispers something to the girl who nods soberly.
She returns with the cash and counts it out, then prints me a receipt.
“Mr. Albright asked that you stop by his office on your way out,” she whispers confidentially.
I nod soberly, mirroring her expression and head back to Albright’s inner sanctum.
I can’t imagine what Albright might want now, since he’s taken all my assets, but who knows what motives lurk in the heart of bankers who are only doing their duty?
I knock lightly on his half-open door and wait for him to invite me in.
He looks up, smiles and waves me in. “Please come in, Cole,” he says cheerily, “don’t worry—your banking is fine, I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”
He’s not a bad man, Norm Albright, just a functionary following orders—and very good at tracking every dollar. I should know—he has all of mine.
“Just wanted to inform you we have a seasonal special— a discounted rate for loyal customers at a half point above Prime, if you’re interested.”
Well, I appreciate the offer, Norm,” I tell him, “but a bargain is a bargain, only if you can afford it—and at the moment, I can’t.”
He nods sympathetically, albeit, a tad disappointedly. “Just remember, we’re here for you if you need us.”
“Oh, I think you’ve proven that to me,” I smile sweetly, my sarcasm not lost on him.
It was a sardonic kiss-off, but not totally undeserved. Yes, Norm deserved all the credit for being there and gathering up the G’s.
I head back home and stop off at McDonald’s to buy a hot takeout lunch for my unlucky guest—the homeless guy sheltering in my back hallway, but safely sheltering out of the wind.