Counterpunch: Can the Institution of Marriage Survive the Recession
Text by Dave Landy | Winter 2011
My brother and I recently watched the Manny Pacquiao fight live from Cowboy Stadium on pay-per-view. His opponent, Antonio Margarito, fought valiantly but lost a twelve-round unanimous decision. Unfortunately, the event wasn’t that exciting - Pacquiao pummeled Margarito with 500 punches, bloodying his opponent and breaking the orbital bone in his eye socket. During the tenth round, when it looked like the fight would be stopped, my brother quipped: “Margarito’s getting beat down even worse than you have over the past year!” All I could do is smile and say “I know just how he feels”. Sometimes reality hits even harder than punches.
But that’s getting ahead of myself. This story actually began much earlier, although I didn’t know it at the time. My former employer, whose name I am not at liberty to mention, spent $25 billion to buy a subprime mortgage lender in California in 2006. I remember when our CEO announced the acquisition, emailing 150,000 employees to say that this deal was a “Grand-Slam Home Run”. Large deals happen all the time in a huge corporation, and most have little or no impact on our lives. This one was much different. Only three years later, this pathetic collection of mortgage obligations would go into default in record numbers and destroy my firm. We were sold (in a shotgun wedding ceremony arranged by the FDIC) for $2 a share to another large bank that I am also legally obligated not to mention. Stock analysts were predicting 25,000-30,000 job cuts. That message was loud and clear when I was not allowed to interview for my old job, running a large technology organization. Instead, this role was handed to a former math teacher with no technology background who plays in a rock band by night. It didn’t help my disposition when I saw internet photos from his band’s Halloween show, where he sports a doctor’s uniform with a name tag of “Dr. Seymour Bush” while drooling over his voluptuous teenage girlfriend dressed in a naughty nurse’s costume. When I finally sat down with my new boss, Seymour, he presented me two career options. I could stay with the company by accepting a demotion and a pay cut or be terminated and receive a one-year severance package. Conditions warranted that I swallow my pride and take the demotion – namely, the Great Recession and the fact that I am the breadwinner in a single-income household that includes two kids and two mortgages. However, for the first time in my life, I chose the road less travelled. On October 31, 2009, I became unemployed. The Year of Dave was underway.
The first few months were blissful. I was able to spend time with the family during the holidays and even did a lot of the Christmas shopping. I met my kids’ friends. I went to their swimming and tennis lessons. I got to know my autistic son’s social coach. Best of all, I decompressed. After a year of watching my company implode and my friends fired, I was finally able to put that ugly chapter of my life in the rearview mirror. It was during this time that I heard an old song by The Doors that really stuck with me: “Take it as it comes/Specialize in having fun!” Holiday season was in full force, with Jim Morrison as my role model. This period of “decompression” was a big party – holiday gatherings, drinks with friends, and lots and lots of eggnog.
When the calendar rolled and ushered in 2010, things began to subtly change. The kids headed back to school, yet I still had no intention to look for a job. The unemployment rate in Massachusetts was above 10% for the first time since World War II and there were no signs of hiring in the Financial Services sector. President Obama was too distracted railroading through his flawed health-care package to worry about job creation. Besides, I couldn’t think of returning to the Rat Race. I would laugh at the horrific rush-hour traffic reports around Boston and mock everyone who participated. As winter settled over New England, my wife and I found ourselves housebound for days on end, similar to The Shining. It was during this time that my wife’s attitudes changed. She was tiring of the Jim Morrison routine (which included an extra 20 pounds of me to love) and starting to become concerned that I might never find another job. My attitude didn’t help the situation. “I still get paid for another 9 months!” was my motto and the job search languished in part due to the economy but also my lack of motivation. I had used up all the sympathy my spouse could muster: in three months I had been transformed from a hardworking career-focused executive to a fat unemployed bum with a shaggy beard. No matter how hard I tried to keep to myself, no matter how many loads of laundry I folded, I always seemed to get in her way. She emphasized this fact by figuratively pissing on all the fire hydrants in the house. This was her territory and I was not welcome. I had become a stranger in my own home.
____________________________
____________________________
____________________________
____________________________
