Exit signs

My dog and I were out in the circle early this morning, when my neighbor emerged from her house with her dog, Lucky.

Jane had been laid off several months earlier from her admin job, the same day her husband was laid off from his drafting job, each from the same employer.

He got a new job, in San Diego. He stays in a condo they own down there.

We live 1,082 miles north, in Oregon.  His wife stays in the house where their two kids are finishing school.

They get together, every so often.

She said she could move down there after the last kid leaves home, in two years.

“And keep your house here?” I asked.

“Probably,” she said. “If we sold, we couldn’t afford to buy another one if we decided to come back.”

Jane told me the same company that fired her as an employee (with benefits), is the company that rehired her on a contract basis (no benefits). She’s working at that company, but being paid through a staffing agency.

She wasn’t hired to do the same job. It was a new thing. She goes around the building and checks the EXIT signs to make sure they’re lit.

“That’s good,” I said, “so I know where to go if I ever need to get the hell out of your building.”

“Right,” she said. “Or the next time I get laid off.”

She turned and walked back inside with Lucky. She had to finish getting ready for work.

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