Minuscule Memories

I woke up this morning thinking about my old job at the bank.  Perhaps it was the drugs I’ve been taking to combat the onslaught of new allergens attacking my system.  Or maybe it’s just what it is, a dream; random thoughts that somehow stay glued to the side of your mind, and are knocked loose to make room for something else just as miniscule.

I’ve been consumed with budgets and all things financial of late, as we settle into our home here in Idaho Falls.  Having only one regular paycheck to count on makes you stretch your mind as well as your dollars.  It has not been without merit, though.  You look at your priorities a little differently, and become much more aware of how lucky you are to have one.

I met a lot of good people at the bank job of my memory, some which went on to become members of “The Ducks” (life-long friends and who I’ve known almost 20 years now) and those who I’d rather forget.   Amidst bank mergers and closures in the early 90’s, I was one of the first to be let go when the departments were ‘focused out.’  That’s what theycalled layoffs back then; focusing.  In any event, I had hoped their lens wouldn’t locate me and my little job as an assistant to a private banker, but alas, no such luck.  I was not only focused, they used the magnifying glass on my department, deeming me the most expendable.

There was a female loan officer there who wrote the wordiest and most succinct loan proposals for her clients.  Her penmanship was flawless, but she was known for more than that.  Because her proposals were so long, she wrote in the tiniest of letters, sometimes so small you needed a magnifying glass to read the sentences.  But the letters were perfect.  I often kidded her and said she missed her calling, and should have been a neuro-surgeon, performing scar-less operations with the tiniest of stitching.  But she loved banking.

There was another female assistant there who was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma, the very disease my youngest daughter would face 10 years later.  Watching my coworker battle the chemo and radiation treatments with grace and dignity, she served as the example of how to deal with a disease and still go to work every morning.  Watching her, I knew what to expect to happen to my daughter, and to always keep a positive face on everything.

Nearly twenty years later, the bank still stands, although yet under another name.  The miniscule writer was eventually focused out as well, as were many of my friends.  The lens knew no boundaries, and highly paid VP’s were either demoted, let go, or reassigned to other states.   My friend with cancer survived her ordeal but not her job.  It was not a good time to be a banker.

Perhaps the fall of the financial institutions, the mortgage crisis and the debacles on Wall Street these past years were the result of many of these mergers, magnified layoffs and mismanagement.  The ones who were not spared the glare of the lens were probably the ones who were the most aware of management’s arrogance, and called them on it.   Never before had I worked in such an industry where you had to keep your head down and your mouth shut.  The world was changing in more ways than one.

Banking has a vastly difference face nowadays then it did back then.  People are in more control of their finances, and have the luxury of choosing what institution they want to park their funds with.  It’s a competitive market again, one that is constantly evolving and changing.  I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a necessary evil.  Probably, it is both.

I often wonder what became of the miniscule writer and her heart for banking, if she found another job as fulfilling or if her love for creating was crushed.  There should have been more like her.  I know that my desire to write was enhanced by simply reading the scenarios she created in describing her client’s loan requests.

It’s funny where you find inspiration.

I hope she found what she was looking for.

In a way, she helped me find what I was.