I work at a bank. This past week, I had to go to our Central Operations for a training. While I was there, I noticed that the "back room" workers kept referring to what I do as working in the front-lines. At the time, it made sense. I am literally placed at the front of the bank. My desk is in the front of the lobby. People usually stop and ask to speak to someone when, technically, I am no one's secretary.
However, the past couple of days. The phrase "the front-lines" has vividly cast a blinding light into my eyes. I am the disposable. I am the first victim. I am the defeated. Women in their fur muffs and chanelle perfume blast their barrels at my defenses. They cut me with side comments and sneers. At the same time, the faith of an entire institution rests on the hope that I will succeed at what I do. Guard what is beloved to its people. Money. At the same time, I am the hope. I am the help. I am the hero.
With that being said, fight on all you front-liners. Fight on.
