"Three customers who have come in today just lost their jobs," he said, scanning my Diet Coke, a thin, tight smile on his face.
I looked over at the other cashier, a woman-child with two-toned hair and a loud, fake-gemstone headband. She nodded, her knuckles tightening on the counter.
"They've been a little weird to me lately," he said, half under his breath. "I hope there's no news."
I shifted, wondering if he was waiting for me to tell him, I, too, had lost my job.
"I've been laid off or had to quit because of impending lay-offs three times in my life," I said. "You realize after it happens a few times it's not the end of the world." I meant this to be encouraging. It didn't go over that way.
The girl behind the counter turned away, staring at the beef jerky.
"That's rough," he said.
"It always worked out," I replied, taking my soda and keys off the counter.
As I walked to the car, I thought of the year 2000, when I had three jobs because of the Internet bubble, when I sat through presentation after presentation telling clients they needed a Web site, it was the way of the future. And it was, but palm trees don't fix everything, Ma, and neither do Web sites. Or Twitter accounts. Or outreach.
The good news that came from the year 2000 was the knowledge that though things had changed, common sense had not. And it hasn't now, either. We move forward, we collectively convince ourselves as an economy that we know what we're doing, then Bernie Madoff comes along and points out that we have no clothes. If it seems too good to be true, it is.
And I thought of the conversation I had in the car this morning with the little angel.
"We'll go to the library when you come home," I said. "Our books are overdue."
"Daddy didn't want to get princess books last time," she said. "Will you let me get princess books?"
"Daddy doesn't like princesses as much as you do," I said. "Daddy reads with you, too. You have to throw him a bone. Why don't you get some princess books and some not princess books?"
She thought about this. "Do you like princesses, Mommy?"
"Well, I don't think princesses really exist, honey. I don't know any real ones," I answered. "We like them because they're not real. They have lots of money and no responsibility, which we think would be fun, but I bet it would actually be pretty boring. I'll read princess books with you as long as you understand that."
She thought about it a while.
"I still like princesses," she said.
"Okay," I answered, tapping my hands on the wheel. "We can get some princess books."
Sometimes we need to daydream.
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See my review of maternity tees on Surrender, Dorothy: Reviews!
