They put a price tag on a hero’s life today: $40. That was the clearance fee to take home the most decorated officer in our county. He sat behind bars, labeled “defective” because his hips hurt and his muzzle had turned gray.
My name is Sarah. I am fifty-two years old. Three weeks ago, on a Tuesday morning, a twenty-something HR representative from corporate handed me a cardboard box. After twenty years of missing my kids’ soccer games, working late nights, and giving my soul to the company, they told me my position was being “eliminated due to restructuring.” They didn’t say I was too old. They didn’t say I was too expensive compared to the fresh college grads. They just said: “We’re going in a different direction.”
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