“Yes.” It was an opening for one of Koesler’s anecdotes. “Did you ever hear about the guy who went to New York to get a job? He got in a cab and said to the driver, ‘T-T-T-Take me to N-N-N-NBC in a hurry.’ You see, he stuttered very badly.
“So, to make conversation, the cabbie asked, ‘What do you want to go to NBC for?’ And the guy says, ‘I’m going to an au-au-au-audition for a j-j-j-job as an a-a-a-announcer.’ When they reach NBC, the guy says to the cabbie, ‘W-W-Wait for me.’
“After a while the guy comes back and gets into the cab. The cabbie says, ‘So, did you get the job?’ And the guy says, ‘N-N-N-No; they’re p-p-p-prejudiced against C-C-C-Catholics.’”
Ethel laughed. “That’s funny. But, if you don’t mind, what’s it got to do with me?”
“Just this, Ethel: There seem to be an outstanding number of things in a hospital that are breakable. Test tubes come to mind; thermometers; breakfast, lunch, and dinner dishes; all the things that are used to carry specimens and medications around the hospital—the list just goes on and on. Almost everywhere you look in the hospital, there’s something breakable. Doesn’t it seem to you that this is not the best place to work for someone who . . . uh . . . has a problem with awkwardness?”
“I suppose. But I gotta work.”
“Well, then, not at a restaurant either. All those dishes. Maybe a dry-goods store. Something with a lot of cloth.”
“It doesn’t matter, Father. I think I’ve tried them all. There’s no place where you can’t spill things, break them, damage them, rip them, and on and on. When I got this job here at St. Vincent’s, I decided this was it. This was where it was going to come together. I would work here till I retire. And now I’m on the verge of being fired.”
“Well, we all have to alter our goals every once in a while, you know.”
“There’s something else.”
“There is?”
“It’s a fella. My first real fella, would you believe that? Yeah, I guess you would.”
“Not really . . .” Koesler attempted to dismiss her disclaimer.
“Sure you would. Anybody would. I mean, look at me. I know you’re a priest and all that, but you’ve got to have at least looked at girls. Marilyn Monroe I ain’t. Not really bad looking, but no raving beauty either: Just barely good enough so that a few fellas have asked me out down through the ages. But once we get out on the date and I spill and break enough things, that’s it! One-date Ethel. Until now. Now I got a fella and I think this one’s gonna take.”
Koesler felt himself desperately hoping that Ethel was right about this upswing in her love life. “Well, that sounds great. Just what the doctor ordered, as it were. If this works out—and you sound pretty confident—this job isn’t all that important. So what if you lose it? Your fella can bring home the bacon and you can gracefully retire and become a homemaker.” Koesler knew that by current standards this scenario reeked of male chauvinism. But for her benefit he was trying to conjure up a padded cell with as few breakables as possible.
“But see, Father, that’s sort of the good news and the bad news.”
“Oh?”
“The good news is I think I got a man and I think I really love him and I think he really loves me. But the bad news is he’s as clumsy as me. That’s why we get along so good. We wouldn’t even think about complaining about each other. It’s more like looking in a mirror.
“Besides, I think he’s so nice he might not dump me even if he wasn’t as clumsy as me. But the thing is, he is. And he’s gonna spend the rest of his life going from one lousy job to another. He ain’t got much of a job now. In fact, it’s a worse job than any that I’ve ever had. But even with all that, he still is a volunteer here at the hospital . . . ain’t that something?”
“That certainly is something.” Koesler got the image of two people slowly sinking in quicksand and being clumsy about it to boot.
“That’s why my original promise to myself is so important, Father. I got to keep this job. I got to prove to myself and the rest of the world that I can hold this job. It may be Bruce who stays home and keeps house. That’s fine by me. I don’t mind working outside the home. But I gotta keep this job, Father; I gotta!”
Koesler was impressed. He had met very few who were more determined than this young lady. Nor few who were more doomed to failure.
“All of which,” Koesler said, “gets us down to the question that occurred to me when you first began speaking to me. Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I thought you could help. Ain’t that what priests are supposed to do—help?”
For an instant, Koesler wondered if it had all begun in the early forties when Bing Crosby became Father Chuck O’Malley in
The movie was released two years after Koesler entered the seminary high school, so he hadn’t been intimately familiar with what priests could or could not fix before The Groaner became a clergyman. But Koesler’s many years of experience since his own ordination indicated that priests were by no means able to solve everything. That sort of magic was reserved to the world of fiction. And this was one of those cases whose solution was simply beyond his power.
“You’re right, Ethel: Priests are supposed to help. And I want to help you. But how can I?”
“Well, I thought you maybe would talk to Sister Eileen. Maybe talk her out of firing me. You could do that, couldn’t you?”
“Sure, I could talk to Sister. But this is her hospital, not mine. I can plead your case—and I will—but she’s the boss. Besides, I’m here only temporarily. Don’t you know the regular chaplain, Father Thompson? He’d be an even better go-between than I. He’s here full-time. This is his job. He’d be more familiar with the way this hospital runs. He knows Sister Eileen better than I do. I’m not trying to pass the buck . . . really I’m not. I’m just trying to get you the best help I can. “
Ethel’s shoulders dropped in an attitude of resignation. “Father Thompson’s a nice guy. He just ain’t here when I need him. By the time he comes back from vacation, Sister will have fired me. I just feel it.” There was a moment of silence, then Ethel spoke again. “It’s okay, Father. You talk to Sister and do what you can and I’ll appreciate it. But I gotta do something on my own. I gotta hold on to this job. That’s all there is to it. No matter what I got to do I got to hang on to this job. No matter what.” She began massaging her forehead.
Koesler was concerned. “Is there something wrong, Ethel? Don’t you feel well?”
“Oh, it’s okay, Father. Just a headache. I been getting lots of them lately. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the stress. It’s okay.”
“Ethel, I really think it’s a big mistake for you to put all your eggs in one basket. Particularly this basket. There are undoubtedly lots of jobs you could do well. Tell you what, I’ll even help you find one.”
“No, thanks, Father. I’ve gone as far as I’m gonna go. This is where the searching stops. I gotta make it in this job. I gotta make Bruce proud of me. I gotta hold the job for the two of us. And this is the one. It’s gotta be, no matter what. No matter what.”
Ethel rose from her chair a bit unsteadily. The chair tipped and fell.
Koesler half-rose as if to help, but she waved him away. “It’s okay, Father. I’m okay.” She picked it up with a “See?” and carefully slid it in place, hitting Koesler on the knee.
Koesler seated himself and watched her as she left the cafeteria. What chance did she have? None that he could think of. He would keep his word and talk to Sister Eileen in Ethel’s behalf. But he was certain it would do little good. Even if he could dissuade Eileen from letting Ethel go just now, she would go on causing havoc all around here. Eventually, she would have to go.
He only wished she were not sticking so single-mindedly to this specific position. Even with her penchant for clumsiness, she probably could wander from one job to another until money from something like Social Security would rescue her.
A vast pity, too, he thought, that she intended to marry practically a cloned klutz. She might have married someone who could have cared for her and removed her from what had become her enemy—the job market. Pity. A great pity.
Koesler now was virtually alone in the cafeteria.
