A few weeks ago I made a return visit to the Department of Social Services (DSS) office. I had to turn in my "proof of income" or as I like to call it "proof of no income". Everyone in the office was very nice. It was easy, peasy, lemon-squeezy. I exited the office and immediately noticed someone close behind me. The only way I could tell was by the sound. Clack, clack, clack, clack
I was being trailed by a Clacker. You know...a Clacker.
Clacker (noun) a woman, usually career-oriented, who wears shoes or boots with medium to high heels that make a distinctive, audible noise or "clack" on non-carpeted surfaces. Often used in the negative to denote women who attempts to intimidate other people (usually subordinates or co-workers) by exaggerating the noise the shoe or boot makes (the "clack").
I walked down the tiled hall...clack, clack, clack...down a flight of stairs...clack, clack, clack...through the uncarpeted foyer...clack, clack, clack...across one parking lot...clack, clack, clack...though another parking lot...clack, clack, clack...and finally I reached my car. The clacking takes a distinct left and stops when the Clacker reaches her car. There was a brief moment where I thought the Clacker was going to overtake me. I quickened my pace several times, but each time the Clacker quickened hers as well. Needless to say, this whole ordeal left me shaken and more than a little...jealous.
I used to be a Clacker. For the 16 years I worked at the City I was a Clacker. No, I was the Clacker, Uber-Clacker, Head Clacker in Charge. Why walk softly and carry a big stick when you can wear medium to high heel shoes or boots and make that wonderful, seductive, hypnotizing clack on every non-carpeted surface in the building? Some people are all crepe soles and surprise visits. Me? I'm all about announcing my arrival. Heck, I'm all about announcing my approach and my departure. Announcing it with a satisfying clack. I loved the sound of a good clack in the morning. It sounded like victory.
Now I'm just a tennis shoe wearer. Just like all the millions of tennis shoe wearers. Unwittingly skulking around and hating it. No one knows when I'm at the door. No one knows when I'm leaving the area. I can sneak up on people, but where's the fun in that? Really people, there's a reason why the armies wear boots that clack. Clackers inspire awe and sometimes fear. But maybe I'm giving too much credit to a sound a shoe makes. It just occurred to me that the only person who really understood the power behind clacking was me.
I was intimidated by the Clacker at the DSS office because that's how I wanted other people to feel when I was a Clacker. I was somehow above it all because I wore heels in a "flats" friendly office. I wanted to intimidate people with my heavy footfalls. I mourned when we moved from an office building that was almost entirely tile to a newer building with twice as much carpet. It was my own insecurity that led me to become a Clacker.
I was at a hospital the other day visiting a friend. I had come from a visitation so I was a little dressed up. I was wearing medium to high heeled boots and the hospital was exclusively tiled. The clack was deafening. I kept walking on my tiptoes because I couldn't stand everyone looking at me as I passed. For once, I wanted to be unnoticed. Not so I could sneak in for a surprise attack, but because the situation wasn't about me. I wanted the hospital staff to be concentratng on my friend, not my clacking. And I think that means I'm a little more mature than I was the last time I wore my boots. A little more mature and a lot less noisy.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Chapter 3-Jesus in my Inbox
Every year about this time I get a "forward" in my Inbox concerning "Putting Christ back in Christmas" or "Jesus is the Reason for the Season." Now that I'm unemployed I actually have time to read all the "forwards" I get. This year the forward had to do with saying "Merry Christmas" not "Happy Holidays". Because I know so many unbelieving retail store clerks have been saved by some well-meaning Christian saying "Merry Christmas" and not "Happy Holidays".
Let me stop here and say that I love Jesus. He is my personal savior and I believe he died for my (and everyone else's) sins. I just want to remind all these "Merry Christmas" types that there is a thing called a "silent witness". You know,that pesky little idea that how we act speaks louder than than the things we say?
This has been on my mind since I visited San Diego in 2005. I remember thinking, "Wow, California is so progressive, I've got to remember to say 'Happy Holidays', not 'Merry Christmas'. I don't want to offend anyone." So I said "Happy Holidays" to everyone and got a "Merry Christmas" back from most. I took a Christmas Eve dinner cruise and needed a cab when it ended. I walked to the cab stand and a cab came almost immediately. The driver was a very nice fellow and he engaged me from the moment I got into the cab. He asked if I enjoyed the cruise, how was the food, how I liked San Diego...all the small talk topics that make a cab rides go faster. When he asked me how I liked San Diego I told him about how surprised I was that so many people said, "Merry Christmas" and not "Happy Holidays". We talked a little bit about how the coasts are different than the Midwest and how San Diego was particularly tolerant about the differences between people.
He asked me if I was a Christian and I told him yes. He said that he was Muslim, but he had many Christian friends. He asked if I celebrated Christmas and I told him I did. I was leaned up in my seat so I could hear him over the road noise. He said, very clearly, "I hope you have a very Merry Christmas." I actually teared up. I told him that was a very thoughtful thing to say, especially because it's not a holiday he celebrated. He said, "I don't celebrate it, but I want those who do to have a wonderful time." I told him I hoped that he had a wonderful holiday time and was able to spend time with his family and friends. As I paid him he thanked me for talking to him during the ride. I smiled and squeezed his hand.
I walked into my hotel and took the elevator up to my room. I changed out of my dress clothes and into my pjs. I got into bed and thought, "If I were a seeker, I'd want to be a part of that guy's religion." The cab driver wasn't obligated to wish me a Merry Christmas or a Happy Holiday or any type of parting remark at all. He spoke the Merry Christmas from his heart. Speaking from the heart, honestly and transparently is what makes a faith, any faith attractive.
That was 4 years ago. I have no idea what the cab driver's name was or even what he looked like. He could be standing right in front of me and I would never know. What I do remember is a Muslim man who taught me alot about Christianity. And about the Christian walk and about our silent witness. Shoving "Merry Christmas" in the face of anyone who will listen is not much of a silent witness. I want people to celebrate who they are. I want to know more about their lives and their faith. I want to wish people a Happy Holiday, whatever their holiday is, and mean it sincerely. I want people to feel the reason for the season without me wearing a button or saying a word.
Let me stop here and say that I love Jesus. He is my personal savior and I believe he died for my (and everyone else's) sins. I just want to remind all these "Merry Christmas" types that there is a thing called a "silent witness". You know,that pesky little idea that how we act speaks louder than than the things we say?
This has been on my mind since I visited San Diego in 2005. I remember thinking, "Wow, California is so progressive, I've got to remember to say 'Happy Holidays', not 'Merry Christmas'. I don't want to offend anyone." So I said "Happy Holidays" to everyone and got a "Merry Christmas" back from most. I took a Christmas Eve dinner cruise and needed a cab when it ended. I walked to the cab stand and a cab came almost immediately. The driver was a very nice fellow and he engaged me from the moment I got into the cab. He asked if I enjoyed the cruise, how was the food, how I liked San Diego...all the small talk topics that make a cab rides go faster. When he asked me how I liked San Diego I told him about how surprised I was that so many people said, "Merry Christmas" and not "Happy Holidays". We talked a little bit about how the coasts are different than the Midwest and how San Diego was particularly tolerant about the differences between people.
He asked me if I was a Christian and I told him yes. He said that he was Muslim, but he had many Christian friends. He asked if I celebrated Christmas and I told him I did. I was leaned up in my seat so I could hear him over the road noise. He said, very clearly, "I hope you have a very Merry Christmas." I actually teared up. I told him that was a very thoughtful thing to say, especially because it's not a holiday he celebrated. He said, "I don't celebrate it, but I want those who do to have a wonderful time." I told him I hoped that he had a wonderful holiday time and was able to spend time with his family and friends. As I paid him he thanked me for talking to him during the ride. I smiled and squeezed his hand.
I walked into my hotel and took the elevator up to my room. I changed out of my dress clothes and into my pjs. I got into bed and thought, "If I were a seeker, I'd want to be a part of that guy's religion." The cab driver wasn't obligated to wish me a Merry Christmas or a Happy Holiday or any type of parting remark at all. He spoke the Merry Christmas from his heart. Speaking from the heart, honestly and transparently is what makes a faith, any faith attractive.
That was 4 years ago. I have no idea what the cab driver's name was or even what he looked like. He could be standing right in front of me and I would never know. What I do remember is a Muslim man who taught me alot about Christianity. And about the Christian walk and about our silent witness. Shoving "Merry Christmas" in the face of anyone who will listen is not much of a silent witness. I want people to celebrate who they are. I want to know more about their lives and their faith. I want to wish people a Happy Holiday, whatever their holiday is, and mean it sincerely. I want people to feel the reason for the season without me wearing a button or saying a word.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Chapter 2-It's a "Hand Up", not a "Hand Out"
I have literally said this phrase a million times. I said it when I dealt with people in the STD Clinic and when I help people at church. I remind people that there is no shame in accepting assistance when the assistance is needed. It used to be call charity, but charity, in its truest sense, has gotten a bad name. Check out the differences between the first set and second sets of definitions on this link: www.thefreedictionary.com/charity.
char·i·ty (chr-t); n. pl. char·i·ties
1. Provision of help or relief to the poor; almsgiving.
2. Something given to help the needy; alms.
3. An institution, organization, or fund established to help the needy.
4. Benevolence or generosity toward others or toward humanity.
5. Indulgence or forbearance in judging others.
[Middle English charite, from Old French, Christian love, from Latin crits, affection, from crus, dear; see k- in Indo-European roots.] ; The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
Charity [ˈtʃærɪtɪ]; n pl -ties
1. a. the giving of help, money, food, etc., to those in need
2. a. an institution or organization set up to provide help, money, etc., to those in need
3. the help, money, etc., given to the needy; alms
4. a kindly and lenient attitude towards people
5. love of one's fellow men
[from Old French charite, from Latin cāritās affection, love, from cārus dear]; Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged 6th Edition 2003. © William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd 1979, 1986 © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003
My well tuned suburban ears immediately notice the difference between "helping the needy" and "helping those in need". "Needy" is a value judgment, in fact, probably a series of value judgments. It implies something about the "needy" person. The "needy" person is needy because of some fault, lack or deficiency in their very character. Being "in need" doesn't put across that same vibe. A person "in need" is someone who is only temporarily needy (think natural disasters, mass layoffs, etc). Once that crisis passes the person is no longer "in need".
It's only an issue because I want to be "in need", not "needy". I don't want to be seen as needy, even though being needy doesn't really say anything about a person. It says something about their situation, their predicament, their story. Three months ago I was a 40 year old way cool suburban chick with a good job. I was neither needy or in need. Today I'm a 40 year old way cool suburban chick looking for work. I'm both needy and in need. My character is indeed flawed, as is everyone's. Fortunately, I can now admit that I'm needy and in need.
When I went to the DSS (Division of Social Services) to apply for Food Stamps (technically SNAP benefits, it's the new face of Food Stamps) I just knew that I would stick out. I knew that I would walk into that office and everyone would look. Not the type of look you give any other someone when they walk into a waiting room area. I would get the type of look you give when something is completely, totally and utterly incomprehensible. A Master's degree educated suburban chick in the DSS office? Does not compute! I was both humbled and horrified when I walked into that office. Humbled because I was finally admitting I needed help and horrified because I wasn't different. No eyebrows raised, no jaws dropped. All I saw was the one-sided smiles of my fellow DSS'ers. Clearly, they had seen my "kind" before.
I realized, in the waiting room, I'm not different. And, for some reason, that's a good thing. I'm just plain, old, workaday Karen. You can dress me up and take me out but at my core I'm made of the same thing as everyone else. Remember the blind guy in the Bible who's hanging out at a temple saying, "Alms for the poor?" And some people are standing around asking was it his mom's sin or his dad's sin that made him blind. Jesus finally tells the crowd that the man's blindness wasn't caused by sin at all, but rather the blind man is being used to glorify God. So this "needy" man, this blind man, this man who has so little status in his community is being used to glorify God. The blind man isn't needy because of some lack on his part or even some fault of his parents. His needy-ness had a higher purpose. Instead of being the least he was the most. And I hope that's how I see "needy" people from now on. To be honest, that's how I hope I see myself as well. That might be the hardest task yet.
char·i·ty (chr-t); n. pl. char·i·ties
1. Provision of help or relief to the poor; almsgiving.
2. Something given to help the needy; alms.
3. An institution, organization, or fund established to help the needy.
4. Benevolence or generosity toward others or toward humanity.
5. Indulgence or forbearance in judging others.
[Middle English charite, from Old French, Christian love, from Latin crits, affection, from crus, dear; see k- in Indo-European roots.] ; The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.
Charity [ˈtʃærɪtɪ]; n pl -ties
1. a. the giving of help, money, food, etc., to those in need
2. a. an institution or organization set up to provide help, money, etc., to those in need
3. the help, money, etc., given to the needy; alms
4. a kindly and lenient attitude towards people
5. love of one's fellow men
[from Old French charite, from Latin cāritās affection, love, from cārus dear]; Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged 6th Edition 2003. © William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd 1979, 1986 © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003
My well tuned suburban ears immediately notice the difference between "helping the needy" and "helping those in need". "Needy" is a value judgment, in fact, probably a series of value judgments. It implies something about the "needy" person. The "needy" person is needy because of some fault, lack or deficiency in their very character. Being "in need" doesn't put across that same vibe. A person "in need" is someone who is only temporarily needy (think natural disasters, mass layoffs, etc). Once that crisis passes the person is no longer "in need".
It's only an issue because I want to be "in need", not "needy". I don't want to be seen as needy, even though being needy doesn't really say anything about a person. It says something about their situation, their predicament, their story. Three months ago I was a 40 year old way cool suburban chick with a good job. I was neither needy or in need. Today I'm a 40 year old way cool suburban chick looking for work. I'm both needy and in need. My character is indeed flawed, as is everyone's. Fortunately, I can now admit that I'm needy and in need.
When I went to the DSS (Division of Social Services) to apply for Food Stamps (technically SNAP benefits, it's the new face of Food Stamps) I just knew that I would stick out. I knew that I would walk into that office and everyone would look. Not the type of look you give any other someone when they walk into a waiting room area. I would get the type of look you give when something is completely, totally and utterly incomprehensible. A Master's degree educated suburban chick in the DSS office? Does not compute! I was both humbled and horrified when I walked into that office. Humbled because I was finally admitting I needed help and horrified because I wasn't different. No eyebrows raised, no jaws dropped. All I saw was the one-sided smiles of my fellow DSS'ers. Clearly, they had seen my "kind" before.
I realized, in the waiting room, I'm not different. And, for some reason, that's a good thing. I'm just plain, old, workaday Karen. You can dress me up and take me out but at my core I'm made of the same thing as everyone else. Remember the blind guy in the Bible who's hanging out at a temple saying, "Alms for the poor?" And some people are standing around asking was it his mom's sin or his dad's sin that made him blind. Jesus finally tells the crowd that the man's blindness wasn't caused by sin at all, but rather the blind man is being used to glorify God. So this "needy" man, this blind man, this man who has so little status in his community is being used to glorify God. The blind man isn't needy because of some lack on his part or even some fault of his parents. His needy-ness had a higher purpose. Instead of being the least he was the most. And I hope that's how I see "needy" people from now on. To be honest, that's how I hope I see myself as well. That might be the hardest task yet.
Friday, November 20, 2009
TUC-The Prequel
I drove into work, late as usual. I flashed my badge at the red eye in the employee parking lot (on the mechanical arm thing, not the regularly drunk guy in the security hut). Nothing. Flash number 2-nothing. I was starting to get the message.
I pulled my car into the "visitors" lot and entered through the front doors. I climbed the stairs to the 2nd floor and walked the long walk down the hallway that led to the door nearest my desk. I swiped the red eye there. Beep but no green light. Swipe number 2-beep, no green light. The message became a little bit clearer. An employee from another suite came into the hallway and I begged a card swipe off her. Beep, green light, door opens. I walked into the suite and began what were, though I didn't realize it at the time, my last hours at my desk.
The good news is that I worked at the same place for 16 years. The bad news was that it was Monday and I had been fired the previous Friday. Oops, guess who they forgot to tell? I found out later that there had been a meeting on Thursday that described how someone was taking over my job. Uh yeah, wish I coulda been there.
I walked into the suite and my fellow employees looked startled to see me. The message became even clearer. They knew I'd been canned. I wasn't supposed to be there. I'm the ghost of employees past. One of the employees I supervised walked over to me, eyes obviously moist. Moist in the way that signals one of two things: a loved one has died in a war/a twisted mass of metal on a local highway OR you got 86'd and management forgot to tell you. He asked, "Can I have a hug?" I said, "Sure," and hugged him. He whispered the words "I'm sorry."
I sat down at my desk. I put my lunch on the floor. The same as I had done for 16 years. I looked around my desk and let it sink it. You didn't have to be Jessica Fletcher to solve this mystery. My employee badge has been deactivated, everyone looks scared to see me and my computer is gone. Message received. I'm officially unemployed. Officially.
Well, not quite officially. No one from management was claiming this one. I had been in the office for about 25 minutes when my manager came to the door and said (in a barely audible voice), "Ron and I need to talk to you." I told her I was in the middle of something (which I was, I was separating my paper clips from my employer's paper clips. Mindless but an effective way to hold back the tears). I look at her standing by the door and I say, "Ron's office?" She shakes her head "no". She points to the empty rooms down the hall. The rooms we always take people to when we don't want co-workers to hear what management is saying. "Give me about 5 minutes, okay?"
I sat at my desk and tried to determine the best tack to take: angry, indignant, indifferent, contrite, superior, surprised, not surprised or joyful. I had about 3 1/2 minutes to process 16 years worth of feelings. I walked into the tiny room where my boss and my department manager were sitting. I'd been in this room 1000 times at least. Today, though, the room seemed dominated by the circular table that inhabited it. From my perspective I felt small in comparison to this table and my bosses looked very big. Like adults at a kids' tea party. Awkward, all knees and elbows. My big boss said, "Did you get Jackie's letter?" I hadn't received it so I said, "What letter?" He inhaled audibly and said, "You've been terminated!" His tone of voice can only be described as the culmination of utter joy and complete exasperation.
"We're going to need you to get your things together and exit the building." I told them I had a Blackberry at home and that I would have to bring that by later in the day. "Your supervisor is going to help you." I said, "Okay." "Do you want me to have everyone leave the suite...?" he asked as his voice trailed off. I told him I didn't think it was necessary since everyone seemed to know but me. He gave me a smile, albeit a fake smile, and disappeared into the office landscape.
What he didn't know is that I had spent the last 6 weeks cleaning out my desk. I still had a lot to go through but thankfully my manager was there to monitor me. I mean help me. I guess Big Brother was trying to make sure I didn't swipe any company pens (aka Bic Stics, I can get them at any Walgreens 12 pens for $1), company Post-It pads (generic post-it notes of course) or any super confidential information. I loaded box after box on an industrial cart. After what seemed like forever, I was done.
My supervisor escorted me down to the lower level and I went to get my car. I pulled up and realized I had no room in my car for any of this stuff. I unloaded it and sat it one the sidewalk. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of watching me jam stuff into my already packed car. Before she walked away she asked if I had left anything in my office area. I realized that I had left my lunch. She was nice enough to go get it for me. It was half a burrito smothered in salsa and a bag of chips. The salsa was everywhere and she held the bag out in front of her like a new father carrying a dirty diaper. She asked me if there was anything else. I told her no. She had a look on her face...she didn't say "Goodbye" instead she said, "Okay". She said "Okay" and turned to walk back into the building. Now I was really, truly and "officially" unemployed.
I didn't cry right off. It came several hours later. After I spent $22 at a new thrift store and I was driving home. It came to me. The sadness and the tears came to me. Great big heaving sobs and heavy, long held back tears. My life of 16 years was now over. I had no money, no plans and certainly no new job. What struck me most was that 16 years, 5 days a week, 8 hours a day fit onto a single cart. Once it was emptied it was like I had never been there. Never.
I pulled my car into the "visitors" lot and entered through the front doors. I climbed the stairs to the 2nd floor and walked the long walk down the hallway that led to the door nearest my desk. I swiped the red eye there. Beep but no green light. Swipe number 2-beep, no green light. The message became a little bit clearer. An employee from another suite came into the hallway and I begged a card swipe off her. Beep, green light, door opens. I walked into the suite and began what were, though I didn't realize it at the time, my last hours at my desk.
The good news is that I worked at the same place for 16 years. The bad news was that it was Monday and I had been fired the previous Friday. Oops, guess who they forgot to tell? I found out later that there had been a meeting on Thursday that described how someone was taking over my job. Uh yeah, wish I coulda been there.
I walked into the suite and my fellow employees looked startled to see me. The message became even clearer. They knew I'd been canned. I wasn't supposed to be there. I'm the ghost of employees past. One of the employees I supervised walked over to me, eyes obviously moist. Moist in the way that signals one of two things: a loved one has died in a war/a twisted mass of metal on a local highway OR you got 86'd and management forgot to tell you. He asked, "Can I have a hug?" I said, "Sure," and hugged him. He whispered the words "I'm sorry."
I sat down at my desk. I put my lunch on the floor. The same as I had done for 16 years. I looked around my desk and let it sink it. You didn't have to be Jessica Fletcher to solve this mystery. My employee badge has been deactivated, everyone looks scared to see me and my computer is gone. Message received. I'm officially unemployed. Officially.
Well, not quite officially. No one from management was claiming this one. I had been in the office for about 25 minutes when my manager came to the door and said (in a barely audible voice), "Ron and I need to talk to you." I told her I was in the middle of something (which I was, I was separating my paper clips from my employer's paper clips. Mindless but an effective way to hold back the tears). I look at her standing by the door and I say, "Ron's office?" She shakes her head "no". She points to the empty rooms down the hall. The rooms we always take people to when we don't want co-workers to hear what management is saying. "Give me about 5 minutes, okay?"
I sat at my desk and tried to determine the best tack to take: angry, indignant, indifferent, contrite, superior, surprised, not surprised or joyful. I had about 3 1/2 minutes to process 16 years worth of feelings. I walked into the tiny room where my boss and my department manager were sitting. I'd been in this room 1000 times at least. Today, though, the room seemed dominated by the circular table that inhabited it. From my perspective I felt small in comparison to this table and my bosses looked very big. Like adults at a kids' tea party. Awkward, all knees and elbows. My big boss said, "Did you get Jackie's letter?" I hadn't received it so I said, "What letter?" He inhaled audibly and said, "You've been terminated!" His tone of voice can only be described as the culmination of utter joy and complete exasperation.
"We're going to need you to get your things together and exit the building." I told them I had a Blackberry at home and that I would have to bring that by later in the day. "Your supervisor is going to help you." I said, "Okay." "Do you want me to have everyone leave the suite...?" he asked as his voice trailed off. I told him I didn't think it was necessary since everyone seemed to know but me. He gave me a smile, albeit a fake smile, and disappeared into the office landscape.
What he didn't know is that I had spent the last 6 weeks cleaning out my desk. I still had a lot to go through but thankfully my manager was there to monitor me. I mean help me. I guess Big Brother was trying to make sure I didn't swipe any company pens (aka Bic Stics, I can get them at any Walgreens 12 pens for $1), company Post-It pads (generic post-it notes of course) or any super confidential information. I loaded box after box on an industrial cart. After what seemed like forever, I was done.
My supervisor escorted me down to the lower level and I went to get my car. I pulled up and realized I had no room in my car for any of this stuff. I unloaded it and sat it one the sidewalk. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of watching me jam stuff into my already packed car. Before she walked away she asked if I had left anything in my office area. I realized that I had left my lunch. She was nice enough to go get it for me. It was half a burrito smothered in salsa and a bag of chips. The salsa was everywhere and she held the bag out in front of her like a new father carrying a dirty diaper. She asked me if there was anything else. I told her no. She had a look on her face...she didn't say "Goodbye" instead she said, "Okay". She said "Okay" and turned to walk back into the building. Now I was really, truly and "officially" unemployed.
I didn't cry right off. It came several hours later. After I spent $22 at a new thrift store and I was driving home. It came to me. The sadness and the tears came to me. Great big heaving sobs and heavy, long held back tears. My life of 16 years was now over. I had no money, no plans and certainly no new job. What struck me most was that 16 years, 5 days a week, 8 hours a day fit onto a single cart. Once it was emptied it was like I had never been there. Never.
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