When Sally Met Suzy
Sally did not meet Suzy in a large auditorium where a nominal, fifty-dollar fee was charged. That pink event saved breast-cancer patients in Africa even as it rescued American women with professional degrees. But Sally met Suzy on the shelf of book. At a location near you, she saw all the other consumers attending to this section of the store, and she knew she ought to go there too. Wherever the others are, go there. Just because you would never go to that section doesn’t make it wrong, and if millions of purchasers were leaving the Super Bookstore in a state of euphoria, it couldn’t only be the cinnamon chai latte or French press at work.
Sally bought Suzy for under thirty flat, in hardcover no less, 29.95 to be exact, and strode home with a wide smile on her face. It was 1999, a year of millennial expectation, and Sally knew good things were to come. She took Suzy’s wise advice and only invested in Index Funds; Suzy would have guided her to the ones with lower fees were it not deemed inappropriate to sell out her friends who remained in sales and brokerage. She also didn’t want to appear biased. Receiving larger cash advances from a mutual company than her publisher did not sit right with Suzy. It reminded her she should include a chapter in her next book reminding her following to be wary of product placement and stealth marketing. She always upheld the highest ethical standards; in fact, Brian and Larry and Jim wrote this in their blurbs on the back of Suzy’s book.
Sally took Suzy’s advice and invested her age in bonds and cash equivalents and moved everything else to stocks going long. Sally had a good job, so investing seventy-three percent in equities seemed a safe bet for her future. Until then, Sally had only practiced timely payment of her student-loan debt and swift deployment of her plastic cards. She had seven if you count two for clothing chains and two for gas. You know the names of the other three. Suzy said at least a 70/30 split for women in their twenties was a sound and common strategy that could lead to retirement. Yes, she would achieve that Golden R in the sky, Retirement, the raison d’etre for practicing the original three. Alas, soon after her initial purchase stocks took a dramatic turn South and by late 2002, Sally had lost half of her seventy-three percent.
She did okay with her bonds but not so well with her fund expense ratios or her job. The former were high above us, beyond a mortal view, and she lost the latter due to no fault of her own. She was one of nine thousand trimmed from her large conglomerate’s staff. To a degree, she was thankful. She had at least gotten her foot in the door and was permitted to take same foot with her when she was shown same door. So she took it with her other belongings and walked out into a brisk Manhattan day. Her joy was great when she saw Suzy walking straight at her! It was then Sally realized that Suzy’s publisher was another division of her own last employer. She was tempted to approach, ask for an autograph, and exclaim, “I’ve read your book!” or “How cool that we work together!” Instead, she smiled politely and saw Suzy’s straight teeth in return.
And so, as Sally walked away from employment, it was left ambiguous as to whether latent lesbianism in the polity of professional women was a reason so many bought Suzy’s warm and airbrushed face when they chose among the wide selection. Besides, as her coffee Buddy would say, “It’s not as if the guys who sell their financial-guru status would want just any reader tapping on their toes between the bathroom stalls.” Sally wasn’t sure that made sense, but she knew for certain she lost on stock, did well on bonds, lost her job, but did well with friends. If only there could be a chance he wasn’t.
But back to the story, Sally wanted to follow her dreams, so life took an inevitable turn toward an MFA program — yes different from the accounting position that had led her to work in the entertainment sector near the publishing division — but similar too. If she could understand “pro forma” and other sophisticated yet legal methods of counting, then perhaps she had the creativity to master a more, shall we say, creative discipline? Suzy always told young women to follow their dreams, so it was the natural thing to do. Buddy at the coffee shop said Clark said this too; Buddy liked talk radio and the sound of Clark’s voice. Sally was so thankful for the tuition reimbursement, the teaching stipend, and the opportunity to claim 45,000 additional dollars of student-loan debt in exchange for the status of master; she could see this advanced degree leading to proper overseer status one day. Suzy would always tell Sally that if she followed her heart, good things would come. “If you do what you love…” did not only imply we should take our time as we wipe.
Our tears that is, not only yours, and yes, perhaps Dave, Donald, or Dave at the other end of the shelf would have told Sally to cut up a credit card here or there or even grill an entire packet of student-loan payment slips, but they knew their professional purchasing customers lived in condos and that the maintenance fee had replaced the grassy green area behind the housing unit. The shredding machine had replaced the backyard barbecue; indeed, the latter was technology as backward as the humans who set fire to their food. They smiled too in that loving, fatherly way, so Sally couldn’t imagine them not having the best interests of the reader in mind. Besides, she had seen them on TV. They were inspirational speakers raising funds for public television, and they were live. Everyone knew that the people on the public television were the good people, unlike, say that station that called their lies news and called other news wrong. Only the unbiased would dare incinerate plastic to turn kind debtors into savers.
But back in our story, Sally landed on her feet. After grad school, she got a brand-new job, a new-and-improved opportunity, one of those shiny ones that are offered exclusively to masters under thirty. Or let us say forty if you’re older and opt to imagine a new thirty. And thankfully, there was Suzy again to teach her how to save so she could buy an affordable home. Renting was as good as throwing money away according to Suzy and Dave and Donald and Dave and Clark, and in fact an entire chorus of books keeping them company concluded the same. So diligent student of Suzy, Sally bought her next book for under twenty-five flat — thirty percent off for a bestseller discount! — learned how to use her mortgage calculator, and began to associate condos with fees.
By 2006, she had a nifty 20K saved in a bank, where her tight-fisted father had told her to stash her money all along. Now she was primed and ready to pay down. The third house she saw was a cute and affordable 3/2/2 and although she drove but one car and went in the privacy of a single room, she liked the nifty asking price and the way the agent told her it was possible. As it turned out, he was also a big fan of Suzy, and he won over Sally by showing such great respect for the older woman. He called her a financial guru intent on protecting the wealth of the young. Then, he said Sally was so smart for meeting Suzy. Then, he smiled and looked earnest. Sally left happy but did not give him her body; rather, at closing, she gave her signature to numbers that turned out to be a tad higher and more adjustable than Ernst the agent had initially quoted. But the house was hers so she had a place to call home. She would have invited Suzy and Dave and Donald and Dave and Clark for dinner, but work was busy and felt rewarding. It was like a rollercoaster, which made it that much more jarring when she was called into her cubicle to read the announcement of her dismissal on company email. It said everyone receiving this notice was terminated, effective today. Although severance would be impossible at this particular juncture, employees were encouraged to remove their possessions.
This was in late 2007, and Sally was not too upset. She finally had time to get up late, read her laptop screen, learn that hundreds of thousands were in a similar predicament, and she would soon be losing her housing too. This was not IMed, emailed, or printed clearly upon a pop-up alert; rather, it was surmised by her frugal father when she asked him to explain a recent piece of paper sent by the mortgage holder. The holder claimed to live in thirty different countries at once and be held by fifty-seven different entities. It seemed a small town in Sweden and a large bank in Spain were principle investors, but a Sheik in Oman and some Aussies in Dubai were also in on the mix. Dad then called his old Pal to confirm what he thought he knew about adjustable rates.
So Sally lost her job, half her home’s value, but thankfully, at least something more than her mortgage payment was able to rise in this time. Her property taxes went up! The cost of recycling was skyrocketing, and garbage collection was pricey as well. Sally was lucky enough to live in a city that ships its garbage overseas so unskilled children in undeveloped countries could mine it for spare bits of copper and glass. Imagine the magic of sifting through rubbish and uncovering a blackberry, ipod, or human part. Of course, this in turn was linked to a shrinking employment base at home, more obesity and drugs in the schoolyards, the church yards, the pews, and even the private yards of municipal employees increasingly anxious about their rising copayments and relationship with God. These were not good times, and Sally saw herself gain a few too.
Could it be a good time to marry and procreate? She tried that, using only websites for professional women and other searchers; Suzy had recommended her friend Donna’s book on how to search for the right search site. As it turned out, there were no good men. The good ones were all this, that, or the other; a fifth drank, gambled, or sank deeper into despair; and the remainder had all begun to radicalize, hate in groups, or otherwise express their net worth. Her earning’s history and educational attainment made her a poor match for the multitude in HVAC repair who kept their money in the bank. Grandma perhaps, but Dad doubtfully, would have been intrigued by the matrimonial prospects here, but these guys chowed like pigs and practiced non-standard verbs. Four and a half were sexist and two and a half stunk. Back at the bookstore, she intended to return Donna’s book for the full refund but learned she was past the thirty-day grace period. When she saw Suzy’s smiling face on top of a remaindered stack by the escalator, Sally thought, “Why not?” It was under seven flat — well, almost at $6.98 plus tax — and the front cover said there was an expanded section on how to prosper in troubling times.
Sally took Suzy’s new advice and sold unnecessary possessions. It turned out this was most of them. It was not hard to part with the loveseat upon which an inappropriate suitor had made an unmentionable noise. (It was loud and long, something she could not define.) After she waved goodbye to her viewing and listening technology, she was left facing her books about money. All of them of course were written by Suzy. It was then that Sally began to get angry with Suzy. Here she was an Ivy League grad with an MFA and nothing but debt, unemployment, and negative equity to show for it.
Sally considered going to Suzy’s office and pouring a liquid or gel on Suzy, but she did not want to risk a jail crime even if it was never explicitly warned against in Suzy’s writing. Also, she realized the advice she read in Suzy was more or less the same as the advice she could have read from Dave, Don, or Dave, or heard from Clark, or found online. More or less, they had all acted ethically and published the safe advice that everyone was publishing. Yes, it was more or less the safety of numbers: The “Everyone else said he had WMD too” defense. Sally had to admire the way the pieces all fit together. She knew it would be impossible to pour a gel or liquid on all of these displeasing advisors.
So instead, Sally called Dad to explain that she might be returning home after the men came to put the new locks on her house. It would only be until she could get back on her feet. Dad grimaced and growled and blamed Bush and the Congress and did not have kind words for the Daves, Donald, or this new fellow in charge. (Dad said he could stomach Jim and Clark and Brian and Larry.) Although he would never scream menacingly and directly at his daughter, he did invite her to move into the basement. It had been renovated into a toddler room when Sally was but an infant, and was in recent years used for storage. Before he could make the spare bed, he would have to move the cash hidden within the mattress, but at least they would have shelter with heating and Mom’s tender, moist chicken and cake.
The year Sally lost her house and returned home was a hard one for Suzy as well. She felt so awful because she knew there were so many more people who needed her help. She wanted to lead and help and save and cause her millions of readers to prosper, marry well, travel to the special places, and summer with the chosen few. She always felt this way, as if she could never do enough for breasts and women with poor saving habits, and the young men who called her show were so sweet as well. She sighed and reckoned that their mothers must be proud.
It took her but a moment to decide to put a crisp ten-dollar bill inside her latest hardcover. This book would protect her young millions from the crash. She would ship the book in recyclable plastic and sell it in stores all over the world; in a tribute to the changing times, she would airbrush her cover just a tad more, adding a hint of pink and brown to her smiling face. She knew her readers would not be offended; her warmth and compassion would outshine all complexion. She knew her readers would understand her intentions. She would give half her earnings to the good charities, and she would make amends to Uncle Sam. He sent kind letters concerning his debts and obligations, but Suzy’s accountant said they could save breasts in Africa and feed stomachs at a bookstore near you; she knew she could be convincing, and she would convince Uncle her interests were his interests as well. There were so many Ts to dot, and eyes to cross, and yes, you can see Suzy needed time off.
In such a short time, less than twenty years, she had gone from serving pastries in a coffee shop — indeed, the alienated labor of San Francisco or Miami — to becoming a million-dollar best seller of personal and professional advice. She had led millions of spectacular and educated young people to a state of economic bliss. Her back-cover claim that she had helped millions more than Dave and Donald and Dave and Clark all combined could be construed as true, and this in itself pleased Suzy immensely. But Suzy preferred not to dwell on past achievements; rather, she was ready to move on. Her next book would help her readership spend their money on their reward for buying her books. A vacation. Sally needed a job, but Suzy needed a break.
So Suzy shoved off to someplace Sally could never afford, but the day before the night Sally would dwell with Mom and Dad once more, Sally left Suzy’s books in the metal bin behind the Salvation Army store. A kind volunteer, improving his resume between paying posts, discovered these charitable contributions and considered them to be a lucky find. He sold them each for a dollar online. He then bought lottery tickets and lost, but he hoped Suzy would be happy he did not buy liquor or beer.
Perhaps this writer was that volunteer, a man on the margins of work who aspired for more. He would go to the bookstore cafes and keep his pen close to paper. Upon occasion, he would stare out at the Sallies and Buddies reading their Donalds, discussing their lives, and shaping their futures. They all had tidy stacks of inspiration, help, and how-to. He wondered how these readers could express their wants clearly; indeed, they could read a book and then tell a friend what they thought they would do.
Back at home, he would get more of it down on paper, and then at night, in his dreams, he would venture to a land that so few knew. He would be among the chosen — Dave and Donald and Dave and Larry and Jim and Brian and Donna and Clark — informing the masses on the correct steps to take. He would be among the vanguard of a bright life-coaching future. He would help the young achieve solvency, life partners, and long-term health insurance. At the least, he could get some of them laid, married, or at least attached online. His blurbs would appear on the back of their books, and the margins of his web log would host their warm grins.
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