The Mercury News

First missed paychecks ratchet up the anxiety

- By Paul Duggan The Washington Post

Gordy Sachs, 58, grinned sheepishly, staring at the table as his wife, sitting next to him in their dining room, explained how much Gordy enjoys working for Uncle Sam.

“His job is basically his life,” Lisa Sachs was saying. “I mean, it’s always a struggle getting him to turn off and take a break. He’d work constantly if he could.”

Glancing at him, she added in a rueful voice, “You know, I actually used to get mad at him for that.” And Gordy nodded, saying: “It’s true. I love what I do. It’s my passion.”

He’s an expert in fire safety and disaster management at the U.S. Forest Service. His biweekly salary — when he isn’t furloughed — is about $5,200 before taxes. “I’ve explained that my philosophy is, I work very hard to keep them safe and happy,” he said, meaning Lisa and their disabled daughter, Brandy, 33, who lives with them in Bristow, Virginia, 40 miles southwest of Washington, D.C.

But now, “I’m really anxious all the time,” he said, mainly because of Brandy’s chronic illness and hefty medical expenses. And because their money is dwindling.

“Never-ending worry,” said Lisa, also 58. “Neither one of us has been sleeping very well, not knowing if we’ll have enough to take care of her.”

This was Thursday morning, Day 20 of the partial government shutdown, and roughly 800,000 workers, including Gordy Sachs, were about to experience their first payless payday during the funding impasse between President Trump and congressio­nal Democrats. The Sachses, a oneincome family, have sufficient savings to make their February mortgage and minivan payments and to cover other expenses for a few more weeks, after which, if the standoff continues, they’ll be broke, Gordy said.

They’re far from alone in their dread.

Friday marked the beginning of a new phase in the second-longest U.S. government closure in history, as across the country, innumerabl­e workers living paycheck to paycheck must find another way. They’re putting off bills and selling possession­s, struggling to be frugal and pleading with creditors to be patient. The shutdown isn’t a just a looming threat to their wallets anymore. Now, if out of habit they look at their mobile banking apps, they’ll see no direct deposits.

The Sachses sat in their dining room Thursday doing arithmetic, adding this bill to that bill and subtractin­g from bank balances. Gordy’s Forest Service iPhone was on the table in front of him, its screen black. He’s on call in case of a disaster. Maybe suddenly he’ll go from idle and unpaid to working and unpaid. He said he wouldn’t mind.

Instead, he putters around the house, straighten­ing frames on walls, rearrangin­g furniture and vacuuming in hard-to-reach nooks and crannies. After a meeting between Trump and Democrats ended in acrimony Wednesday, Gordy decided to apply for unemployme­nt compensati­on.

“I have no choice,” he said.

Because the financial vise is starting to close.

“I can’t feel it yet. But I know it’s there. I know it’s coming.”

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