P-Memories

 

We had two hours to kill before we met with the Ranger at Minuteman National Park. Without his information, my new novel Lexington: Anatomy of a Murder, could not have been written. That was one of the reasons I had come back to Boston to meet Jim.

"Do you want to see your old building?" Rick asked.

I had worked there for almost a decade. My co-managers from Polaroid Credit Union and I started the Digital Credit Union for the employees of the Digital Equipment Corporation (DEC). It has grown into a billion dollar financial institution. 

I'd left in 1988, when I moved to Europe. 

We found ourselves in a shopping mall/apartment complex that wasn't at all familiar when I realized that the DEC's office building that was behind our credit union building had been replaced.

Then I spied the red brick building. Somewhere, I have a photo of me in a pink dress holding the golden shovel, where I turned over the first bit of dirt to mark the start of construction.

The credit union had long ago moved its headquarters to Marlborough. 

We drove into the parking lot and around the building . I always parked at the very last space. 

The ATM window was no longer home to an ATM. 

The speed bump, which we had named Mount Handrahan, was gone. Because members had complained about its height, we had bumper stickers saying "I climbed Mount Handrahan" printed as a gift. We did spot them on many cars and even got requests for them.

My bladder was screaming for attention. "Let me out, I'll go here," I said to my husband.

"They probably won't let you in," he said.

The door was open and there was no one in the corridor.

Marty, the receptionist was long gone. The toilets were in the same place next to the elevator. I chose the cubicle that I had used probably a zillion times.

Back in the corridor I felt I was living in a Cold Case episode in reverse. 

Behind the doors where we had the branch, sports equipment was stored.

I did not have to go the first floor for a meeting with Liz, Harry, Claire and Annie. We'd been christened "The High Five" by my assistant John. He and I had shared an office with a half wall and a window that we could chat through. I would have loved to see if it were still there, but I didn't.

Other past moments flashed through my memory. I would not be able to eat lunch with Pat, Barbara, Rachel, Maca. I did not hear Don tell his joke in his Southern accent, about the dead dog.

I didn't have to worry about the monthly stats, plan any campaigns, diffuse the few complaints, train customer service people.

Still it was the best job I ever had both in personal development and watching the credit union grow. We were one of the most innovative credit unions in the country. We had a level of customer service that I have never found elsewhere.

Like in Cold Case the past morphed into the present. At the car my husband asked if I had found a toilet.

I had, and a lot more. For once I was happy I'd lived up to my nickname of Bitty Bladder.