c. 2019 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(10-19)
Friendship.
A human bond that
may exceed the limits of logic, self-discipline, practicality, and
decorum. A partnership often deeper and more everlasting than any
romantic paring. A connection likely to endure across decades of
mortal existence and beyond the finality of death itself.
This is the
definition of my non-marriage to Janis.
When I arrived at my
last supermarket, as Co-Manager in Geneva, Ohio, she was there
already. A clerk and dependable member of the crew. Bohemian as we
used to say. A feral cat in human form. One who was wild but pure,
not unlike Janis Joplin, the singer and 60’s icon. With long,
scattered hair and no makeup. Wearing clothes that looked like
thrift-store merchandise given new purpose. Sometimes, adorned with a
plastic spider around her neck. She had been cross-trained to perform
various responsibilities, including stock replenishment, cashiering,
ordering, receiving deliveries and file maintenance. All of these
tasks were accomplished with the same indifference to convention or
formality. She did the job. But made little effort to mimic habits of
her coworkers. Her preferred spot on the store map was one colored by
shadows. She sought no accolades or career advancement. Her
persistence was driven by basic need. Working for a paycheck. To get
cigarette money and funds for Chinese food or Taco Bell.
Our friendship was
forged in iron, after the Store Leader and Human Resource Manager
approached me with her personnel file. They hoped I would ponder this
accumulation of paperwork, critically. Each insisted that our
out-of-the-mainstream employee deserved to be terminated. Yet a quick
review uncovered only random notices of discipline, for minor
infractions. The sort of ticky-tack fouls that could have been called
against nearly every associate on our team. I reckoned that their
negative opinions were more founded on distaste for her rough
exterior than for real incompatibility in the workplace. As someone
carrying a toolkit of various skills, I reckoned that her employment
would be guaranteed for life at one of the company’s
corporate-owned locations.
When I voiced this
opinion, it fell like a meteorite in the sea. Swallowed up with waves
of disbelief, shock, and frustration. We did not discuss the issue
again as a trio of salaried supervisors.
Janis continued her
service over the years, seeking no particular distinction. She
labored, simply, for a paycheck. But I learned to depend on her for
extra duties. When our business sold to a new owner in the chain, one
who already held the Ashtabula location, she transferred to that
store as Head Receiver. This happened in 2016. Shortly afterward, my
tour-of-duty came to an end. Health concerns pushed me toward
retirement and disability. But we remained close, even at a distance.
She worked six days
out of the week.
We normally saw each
other only on Sunday. For a trip to the Waffle House in Austinburg or
Mary’s Diner, closer to home. At first, these encounters over
comfort food were heavy with stories of accomplishment and
satisfaction. But in recent months I noted a change in tone. From her
typical, free-spirited, breezy sort of thinking, to a darker mood.
She complained often about fatigue. Sometimes oversleeping in the
early morning, when her workday was about to begin. She was late and
late again. A vexing problem because of her important position.
Though I did not know it at the time, she had begun to slip in work
quality and accuracy. A dreadful development as steward of vendors
with incoming merchandise.
Sadly, she never
mentioned being coached or disciplined.
Meanwhile, I
suggested a doctor visit to assess her personal health. My own
physician was friendly and caring. A woman that seemed perfect to
handle this feral feline with respect. Instead of arguing, she
accepted. I was surprised, but happy.
Days before the
appointment, Janis revealed that she had lost her position in
Ashtabula. This ended a streak of employment that spanned 13 years.
My stomach churned with agony. Yet typically, she professed little
concern. I urged her to keep the date with my doctor. Her health
insurance was likely to continue for at least a few more weeks. She
agreed reluctantly. In reflection, I sensed that she knew that her
body had reached a point of exhaustion.
To ensure her
attendance at the clinic in Madison, I volunteered for chauffeur
duty. My Ford truck served as her personal taxi. I arrived early,
stalled only by a train on North Myers Road. At the doctor’s
office, she fumbled through forms authorizing care with obvious
disinterest. Almost like considering a plate of sour lemons at a
buffet. I sat in the waiting room while she was ushered toward an
exam cubicle. The expense of time seemed like a bargain because I
knew it would help her endure. I only hoped that any admonitions of
healthy conduct would sound sweet in her ears. Not bitter with the
din of dire predictions.
She appeared after
about 30 minutes. “You have to take me to the emergency room in
Geneva,” she spoke with numbness. “My blood pressure is very
high...”
I tilted my head. A
maneuver often used at home by my Labrador Retriever to indicate
serious consideration before an unwelcome task. “The emergency
room?”
“We have to go…
now,” she repeated. The doctor says to take me immediately.”
At Geneva Hospital,
Janis registered a blood pressure of 258/158. Amazingly, with no
obvious symptoms such as a headache, sweating, or jitters. The ER
physician immediately suspected Renal Hypertension. But tests
revealed other issues. She had a cyst on one of her ovaries. With no
shame, she confessed having discontinued medicines in the past
because they were a bother. Something I did not know.
After a long wait,
she gave us more unexpected news. “They are going to send me
downtown, to Cleveland. The main University Hospitals location.”
I gasped out loud.
Her residence at the
facility lasted for six days. They poked and prodded as medical
professionals are known to do, considering every possibility. Her
brain showed evidence of having survived small strokes. I realized
that her endurance with on-the-job duties had been a sort of miracle.
Having to check in product and break down a complete grocery order
every day was stressful work. The schedule must have taxed her body
to the point of breaking. In a sense, I felt that she was released
from service because of this silent sickness. A pity. Empathy for a
suffering member of the team seemed more appropriate than being
discharged.
But perhaps it had
saved her life.
I visited during her
stay with co-pilot assistance from my younger sister. My own
disability made navigating the streets of Cleveland less than ideal.
Yet we stayed connected, in person or over the network. I kept my
cellular device nearby throughout the week. When enough examinations
had transpired, Janis was freed from her room in the Lerner Tower.
Her adoptive mother, who was another member of the crew in Geneva,
provided homespun Uber service back to Ashtabula County.
Visiting the
pharmacy in town, hours later, felt very strange.
It rained through
the evening. Fogging my vision and multiplying threads of stray light
like cobwebs left from the woeful experience. Janis played on her
phone as if nothing had happened. Still, occasionally, she began to
choke on tears when revisiting her ordeal. Never surrendering to the
weight of her burden. But wounded without words.
My observations were
met with defiance, or deafness. “I know you do not believe in God.
But on an occasion like this, it is appropriate to say that he allows
u-turns in life. Hell, atheists can make u-turns. Anyone can...”
She pretended not to
hear.
“This was a
wake-up call,” I continued. “You could have been alone, on the
concrete floor at work. Do you understand?”
She scrolled through
noisy video clips on her Facebook account.
“You deserve a
second chance,” I declared. “Call your store. Talk to the owner.”
Janis frowned and
tightened her jaws. “I don’t want to go back there. Never.”
Worry over her crash
made me weak. I surrendered without further combat. My energy would
be needed in the days ahead. For trips to seek Medicare coverage,
more doctor visits, perhaps public assistance, and ultimately, a new
job.
I was her friend. A
connection made to keep.
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