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| Excuse me, Sir . . . |
Census.
That process, every few years, when the Government gets to perform
‘roll call’.
So to speak.
In 1981, Mom applied for, and was awarded, the job of Census
supervisor.
The job entailed working closely with a team of women who
quickly became her friends.
The work was, for the most part, fairly mundane, as each of
the women went door-to-door, collecting information on who lived there.
There were a few ‘hold-outs’.
And one or two downright nasties.
But the group managed to get the work done.
Noses counted.
And reports filled out.
It was time to celebrate.
Mom suggested that they all go out for a commemorative Chinese
Food dinner.
Reservations were made.
The women gathered.
Eating and hilarity ensued. Mostly at my Mom’s expense as
her co-workers proceeded to ‘roast’ their good-natured and long-suffering boss
who had become such a good friend.
The end of the meal approached and fortune cookies were duly
delivered to their table.
Each person seated there selected one.
Then they made a game of standing and reading their fortune
aloud.
Finally, it was Mom’s turn.
She got to her feet.
There was a breathless pause.
(Hey, it’s my story; I’ll tell it how I want . . .)
Mom grinned. “Oh, this is entirely appropriate,” she said. “It’s time to make new friends.”
Who says you can’t find truth in a fortune cookie?
