I got a letter yesterday from my therapist saying that she's retiring as of the end of May.
Now this is not someone I've seen for at least a year, maybe even two. But I remember learning about a psychology study in which it was shown that subjects could withstand an unpleasant stimulus longer and with less stress if they had a button they could push to end the stimulus. Even if the button didn't actually work and even if they didn't use it. Just knowing it was there helped.
I have two trains of thought here.
One: I'm coming clean. Yup, as Miriam chirped to me one day, "Mom, you have a mental illness." The official diagnosis is major depression, recurrent. I do take a selective seratonin reuptake inhibitor daily. You know, it's really not such a big deal. My kids know that I take happy pills and that no one wants to be around me if I don't. I kinda fold back into myself and am not alot of fun to be around, but that doesn't happen all that often. Otherwise it doesn't really register on my radar except for my tendency to question whether I'm being rational or not.
The second is that God certainly does work in funny ways. First I get this job and I think I'm all set. Then I lose said job. So I decide it must be time to get that Masters in Social Work I've considered for awhile. Only I find the program just as the application deadline is passing. I recently found out that I've apparently gone through a complete and very early menopause (sorry, TMI) so solving my life's purpose by having another baby isn't an option. (Not that it ever was, and I mean that. I have, however, known women who have exercised that option.)
I'm in the midst of figuring out what to do with the next chapter in my life, I'm not certain I'm thinking straight, I've recently experienced a massive hormonal upheaval, and I'd been thinking maybe it was time for me to check back in with the therapist for a little mental health tune-up. ONLY TO FIND OUT THAT SHE'S RETIRING.
Is there some message I should be getting from all this? Heavy sigh. Maybe it's time for me to grow up and take control of my life? And not settle for kitchen work? And that I can plow through this on my own?
Maybe I should just get a referral.
And how are you?
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Creepiness
When Miriam has an anecdote to share it always starts with "Oh my gosh, it was so funny..." (One thing I am very proud of is the fact that my children have well-developed senses of humor.)
Oh my gosh, it was so funny. We had this lockdown drill today during orchestra, right? And so, you know, Ms. Thomas is turning off the lights and we're all in the closet and Billy (I can't actually remember the name she said) kept just randomly saying "spaghetti"...
Maybe it's because I recently finished reading the book "The Hour I First Believed" by Wally Lamb (awesome and haunting), but I experienced a vague sense of horror.
My daughter, her whole school, were practicing what to do in the event a person with a gun enters the school and starts shooting. During the drill the teacher is supposed to turn off the lights and lock the door. The students practice hiding and being quiet.
I grew up with fire and tornado drills. We didn't prepare for someone trying to kill us, although I guess it's comparable to the "duck and cover" of a generation previous.
Even more startling, to me, was the fact that my children are of the post-Columbine, post 9/11 world. Oh yeah, we have these drills. No big deal. They really don't know any different.
It's not that I think the world has gotten worse because I really don't think that it has. People are nasty, brutish creatures capable of great cruelty and, unfortunately, probably always will be. The instruments and methods change but the song remains the same. The best we can do, I guess, is be aware of the dangers around us, try not to be part of it, create good Karma where we can...
...and have a lockdown drill.
Oh my gosh, it was so funny. We had this lockdown drill today during orchestra, right? And so, you know, Ms. Thomas is turning off the lights and we're all in the closet and Billy (I can't actually remember the name she said) kept just randomly saying "spaghetti"...
Maybe it's because I recently finished reading the book "The Hour I First Believed" by Wally Lamb (awesome and haunting), but I experienced a vague sense of horror.
My daughter, her whole school, were practicing what to do in the event a person with a gun enters the school and starts shooting. During the drill the teacher is supposed to turn off the lights and lock the door. The students practice hiding and being quiet.
I grew up with fire and tornado drills. We didn't prepare for someone trying to kill us, although I guess it's comparable to the "duck and cover" of a generation previous.
Even more startling, to me, was the fact that my children are of the post-Columbine, post 9/11 world. Oh yeah, we have these drills. No big deal. They really don't know any different.
It's not that I think the world has gotten worse because I really don't think that it has. People are nasty, brutish creatures capable of great cruelty and, unfortunately, probably always will be. The instruments and methods change but the song remains the same. The best we can do, I guess, is be aware of the dangers around us, try not to be part of it, create good Karma where we can...
...and have a lockdown drill.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Walking the Fine Line
Sorry to be so about me. I'm prone to introspection. This is a very "me"-oriented post, but I would love feedback on this. (Slow conversation, remember?)
If I had to pick one adjective for myself, I think it would be "ambivalent." I honestly don't know how I feel about certain things, even though I have very strong opinions in general. Don't get me started on Chris Brown and Rhianna, for example, or gay rights, or even where the best place to grocery shop is. I wouldn't hesitate to give you advice about your life (if you asked). The problem is I don't even know where to begin in advising me about mine.
Let's take the Home Sweet Home experience as an example (since, hey, it's only pretty much all I've been writing about, right?). On one hand I re-read that stuff and think "Hey, I'm really a brave person of ethics and principle." Just when I'm ready to don my blue tights and paint the red S on my chest I think "Or maybe I just have a horrible personality disorder that makes me unable to deal with authority." It is a very fine line between genius and madness, after all.
I have a voice in my head (not literally) that tells me that I'm really a smart person who is wasting her talents. I'm capable of so much more than what I'm doing, and I want to leave my mark on the world. I should at LEAST be pursuing a Master's in Social Work, perhaps establishing myself as an authority on geriatric quality of life issues.
On the other hand I've been told I have my own singular definition of success. It's always been important for me to feel good about what I do, and letters after my name and money shouldn't matter. I can minister to my own little corner of the world and that's just as worthwhile. I am not defined by whatever job I have (or don't have), and I shouldn't tie my sense of self-worth to visible accomplishments. Plus the fact that accomplishing stuff takes a lot of energy, and while I seem to have ambition I also lack drive.
Is it an oxymoron to be an ambitious slacker?
I'm also conflicted about my relationship with Home Sweet Home. I'd been dropping by a couple of times a week to visit my residents and pitch in around the dining room for various reasons. One was to show the head administrator, Jackie, that she wasn't rid of me yet. It also helped me keep abreast of what was going on in the kitchen and how procedures were changing just in case I did get called in to work. But I also felt I owed it to the residents. As I mentioned much earlier, this is a population that is easy to please. Just smiling at them and talking with them goes a long way. I know it's hard for them when staff people pop in and out of their lives.
The last time I was there was a week and a half ago. I hated seeing how the dining program has deteriorated from what I think it should be. The staff person is, in one case, too disorganized to get things set up so the residents are lined up in the hallway waiting to get in. The tables are sloppy and they don't get their water, or coffee, or tea in a timely fashion if at all. Or if it's an efficient hostess things will be set up, but the hostess is too busy to really pay attention to the residents' wants. It's very depersonalizing.
When I showed up it was generally at meal time. I figured I could hang out in the dining room and make certain that people got their clothing protectors, their coffee, or anything else they requested. The last time I did that the staff person, Ethel, was having great difficulty getting things ready. I tried to jump in and get people settled. One resident, Gloria, really wanted her coffee so I grabbed her cup to get her some. Ethel snapped at me that it was rude to do that for one person and not offer it to everybody. I calmly asked for the coffee pot and proceded to do just that. But Ethel had been so hostile that even Gloria commented on it. I also had gotten into the habit of adding people's sugar and creamer for them since some people have difficulty due to confusion or hand tremor. Ethel then snapped at me for not encouraging the residents to do for themselves what they could.
Ethel's comments shouldn't have hurt as much as they did. For one thing, I know that's just the way she is, especially when she's feeling threatened. In fact, I used to tell new hires to expect Ethel to yell at them. It's just what she does. But it crystallized for me my status as interloper. This was no longer my job, these people were no longer my responsibility. My being there made the hostess' job harder because I was constantly pointing out what needed done or relaying requests from the residents. I'm not so sure I'd want me there, either.
I also grew afraid that I was seriously over-estimating my own importance. The residents had a life before I was there and life goes on now that I'm gone. Maybe they don't need me as much as I thought they did.
Being away has been helpful for me. It's made it much clearer to me that I don't wish to return to that job. I've noticed that if I need things to do there are PLENTY of things to do around the house! Perhaps it's time to move on, start a new chapter.
But how is hanging out on Facebook and blogging going to help the world? Am I just being lazy?
"Darling you've got to let me know...should I stay or should I go?"
Am I living a bold, alternative life of being contented with what I have and what I'm doing or is that just an excuse for underachieving?
The world may never know. I just wish that I did.
If I had to pick one adjective for myself, I think it would be "ambivalent." I honestly don't know how I feel about certain things, even though I have very strong opinions in general. Don't get me started on Chris Brown and Rhianna, for example, or gay rights, or even where the best place to grocery shop is. I wouldn't hesitate to give you advice about your life (if you asked). The problem is I don't even know where to begin in advising me about mine.
Let's take the Home Sweet Home experience as an example (since, hey, it's only pretty much all I've been writing about, right?). On one hand I re-read that stuff and think "Hey, I'm really a brave person of ethics and principle." Just when I'm ready to don my blue tights and paint the red S on my chest I think "Or maybe I just have a horrible personality disorder that makes me unable to deal with authority." It is a very fine line between genius and madness, after all.
I have a voice in my head (not literally) that tells me that I'm really a smart person who is wasting her talents. I'm capable of so much more than what I'm doing, and I want to leave my mark on the world. I should at LEAST be pursuing a Master's in Social Work, perhaps establishing myself as an authority on geriatric quality of life issues.
On the other hand I've been told I have my own singular definition of success. It's always been important for me to feel good about what I do, and letters after my name and money shouldn't matter. I can minister to my own little corner of the world and that's just as worthwhile. I am not defined by whatever job I have (or don't have), and I shouldn't tie my sense of self-worth to visible accomplishments. Plus the fact that accomplishing stuff takes a lot of energy, and while I seem to have ambition I also lack drive.
Is it an oxymoron to be an ambitious slacker?
I'm also conflicted about my relationship with Home Sweet Home. I'd been dropping by a couple of times a week to visit my residents and pitch in around the dining room for various reasons. One was to show the head administrator, Jackie, that she wasn't rid of me yet. It also helped me keep abreast of what was going on in the kitchen and how procedures were changing just in case I did get called in to work. But I also felt I owed it to the residents. As I mentioned much earlier, this is a population that is easy to please. Just smiling at them and talking with them goes a long way. I know it's hard for them when staff people pop in and out of their lives.
The last time I was there was a week and a half ago. I hated seeing how the dining program has deteriorated from what I think it should be. The staff person is, in one case, too disorganized to get things set up so the residents are lined up in the hallway waiting to get in. The tables are sloppy and they don't get their water, or coffee, or tea in a timely fashion if at all. Or if it's an efficient hostess things will be set up, but the hostess is too busy to really pay attention to the residents' wants. It's very depersonalizing.
When I showed up it was generally at meal time. I figured I could hang out in the dining room and make certain that people got their clothing protectors, their coffee, or anything else they requested. The last time I did that the staff person, Ethel, was having great difficulty getting things ready. I tried to jump in and get people settled. One resident, Gloria, really wanted her coffee so I grabbed her cup to get her some. Ethel snapped at me that it was rude to do that for one person and not offer it to everybody. I calmly asked for the coffee pot and proceded to do just that. But Ethel had been so hostile that even Gloria commented on it. I also had gotten into the habit of adding people's sugar and creamer for them since some people have difficulty due to confusion or hand tremor. Ethel then snapped at me for not encouraging the residents to do for themselves what they could.
Ethel's comments shouldn't have hurt as much as they did. For one thing, I know that's just the way she is, especially when she's feeling threatened. In fact, I used to tell new hires to expect Ethel to yell at them. It's just what she does. But it crystallized for me my status as interloper. This was no longer my job, these people were no longer my responsibility. My being there made the hostess' job harder because I was constantly pointing out what needed done or relaying requests from the residents. I'm not so sure I'd want me there, either.
I also grew afraid that I was seriously over-estimating my own importance. The residents had a life before I was there and life goes on now that I'm gone. Maybe they don't need me as much as I thought they did.
Being away has been helpful for me. It's made it much clearer to me that I don't wish to return to that job. I've noticed that if I need things to do there are PLENTY of things to do around the house! Perhaps it's time to move on, start a new chapter.
But how is hanging out on Facebook and blogging going to help the world? Am I just being lazy?
"Darling you've got to let me know...should I stay or should I go?"
Am I living a bold, alternative life of being contented with what I have and what I'm doing or is that just an excuse for underachieving?
The world may never know. I just wish that I did.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
And Now the Rest of the Story - Speaking Truth to Power
I guess I'll finish off the Home Sweet Home saga since I've found writing about it very theraputic. Plus the fact that I did a radical thing this past week and DIDN'T visit Home Sweet Home...the first time I've gone that long without visiting since I worked there. It's given me a nice sense of distance.
OK. I left off in December and we'd just been outsourced and were awaiting the axe to fall.
Well.
Here is where it seems a pseudointellectual like me really doesn't belong in the blue-collar world. Have you ever seen the bumper sticker that says "Mean People Suck"? That's my philosophy. And I don't suffer jerks kindly. I've been through multiple bad job situations (I REALLY need to write about that sometime) and I've lost the ability to keep my mouth shut.
You see, the major way that The Healthy Foods Group keeps their costs down is through what one Home Sweet Home administrator called "pretty strict time management." As in, you're in trouble if you punch out past your scheduled time.
One problem that I know I have is my work pace. I have this bizarre perfectionistic streak so any job I do I want to do well. Really well. And I'll take time to do it. This first became apparent in college when my future brother-in-law hired me to clean his house prior to his wedding. He was flabbergasted by how long it took, but I bet his baseboards have never been cleaner! Tell me to wipe out a tray cart and I will crawl inside to clean it. I actually got reported to my supervisor for taking too long on this!! If I'm on dishwashing detail I want those dishes to come out clean the first time, so I really take the time to rinse. (Except at home [poor Tom!], but that's another story.) If I'm in the dining room being a hostess I will take the time to ensure that everyone has something they want to eat, and since it is their home I never felt it was appropriate to rush them out so that I could clear the tables. I got better and better at managing my time for the kitchen duties, but I was almost always late (by about 15 minutes) everytime I worked in the dining room.
So the first order from the new company was basically punch out on time or else. I noticed that we almost never saw Rat Bastard at Home Sweet Home in the kitchen, and he certainly never spent time in the dining room. Therefore it appeared that they were going to decide which staff to keep, probably, based on time records alone, not whether the job was being done well or not. And there were people who did not do the job well at all, but always punched out on time.
One bad day at work, and they were all becoming bad days, Rat Bastard DID happen to wander into the kitchen. My opening gambit to him was "And when are you going to become a company we would WANT to work for?" Needless to say the rest of the conversation did not go well. I pointed out to him that he had no idea what I did and I didn't think it was right to be judged by the time clock alone. At some point he said that if this were a Ford plant and people weren't getting their work done there was a problem. He tried to back-peddle quickly be saying "This isn't a Ford plant, of course...", but the damage was already done. I got his point of view. Loud and clear.
At some point a co-worker came up to ask a question, and I'd had it with Rat Bastard. Later on, the co-worker, Chantay, commented "Please don't act like that while I'm standing next to you." I guess I had started yelling and pointing and making something of a spectacle. I had reached the point where continued conversation with RB seemed pointless, so I told him (none too politely, I'm sure) to stop talking to me and answer Chantay's questions. His lips just kept flapping so I told him to shut up, and I walked away.
The funny thing? The few other people who were in the kitchen LOVED it.
I did not get fired, but I did get to have a meeting with RB and one of the secondary administrators, Greta. I had prepared myself. I wrote down my talking points. All I really wanted to say was that I wasn't happy with the way they were treating us, and since they clearly were intent on running the kitchen differently could they PLEASE give us a hint as to what the new schedule was going to look like and if they wanted things done differently would they help us?
Only it didn't go that smoothly at first. I noted that RB had a tendency to talk over me, which lead to me raising my voice until I told him to please LET ME FINISH. Greta sat back and pretty much watched the whole exchange. When RB left to take a phone call, I told Greta that I was pretty certain that I would be fired, and I requested permission to volunteer at Home Sweet Home when that time came. She said of course I could.
Overall the rest of the conversation didn't go too badly. RB assured me that they would help with the transition, they had plans to make the dining room program better than ever, blah, blah, blah...
As I'd mentioned in an earlier post, the kitchen was not a happy place to be. The holidays were coming and no one's job was secure. The amount of back-biting that started was pretty intense as people tried to establish themselves before the anticipated staff cuts. If someone called off we weren't allowed to call anyone in so we often wound up working short, which didn't help the stress level.
Neither my husband nor I are from Oberlin, so we usually have to travel on holidays to see family. Mine was not a good job to have for such a person since weekend and holiday times were necessary work days. In November I had switched working Thanksgiving for Christmas Day with a co-worker so that we could travel for Thanksgiving. I assured myself that working on Christmas day wasn't going to be that bad. I didn't have to work until the afternoon, and it would be time and a half pay. The young woman I switched with also thought she could New Year's Day for me so I figured we could travel again after Christmas. All was well.
Except that nothing ever works out that easily. My co-worker changed her plans so I worked both Christmas Day and New Year's Day which put a monkey wrench in the plan to visit my family after Christmas. But I just changed my plans and shortened the visit (no small feat when it's a 9 hour drive) because I NEVER called off. I simply do not believe in calling off unless I am genuinely ill (which oddly enough I never was). It's not fair to my co-workers or the residents. I worked on my daughter's birthday. I worked on Father's Day even though we already had tickets for all 4 of us to go to a baseball game. I worked on New Year's Day, again soothing myself with the thought that at least I'd get time and a half.
I remember quite clearly the day I found out that since we were probationary employees we were not entitled to holiday pay. I called Tom at home and asked him to give me a reason why I shouldn't just walk off the job right then. I didn't, although I can't remember him giving me a good reason not to. I was doing dishes that day, and I remember slamming two saucers together so hard that one broke. It felt kinda good. When a coffee cup came out of the machine still dirty I smashed it on the floor. Oops. I think I'd heard that the Healthy Foods Group would be responsible for the dishes.
At this point I was angry. Another problem I have is that I will take a lot before I blow my stack, but once I do I'm the Incredible Hulk minus the green skin and ripped clothes. ("Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.")
A word here about impotent rage. It's a very dangerous emotion and I can see how it pushes people to do outrageous things. I mean, you can rage against the machine all you want to, but the bottom line is THE UNIVERSE DOESN'T REALLY CARE. So what? People get outsourced every day and what I was experiencing was normal business practice. That only makes a person (me) want to lash out all the harder. It's like the Whos in Whoville screaming "We're here, we're here, we're here!" I just wanted it known that an injustice was being done AND IT'S NOT RIGHT!!
I had to put a little thought into this, however. Breaking things would not help my cause, and I'd only wind-up looking a little imbalanced if I did something like writing "Rat Bastard" with soap in his car windows. I needed to hit them where it would hurt without actually hurting anybody.
I came up with the perfect solution. On my break I found a blank piece of paper and wrote: "Did you know that the dietary department isn't getting holiday pay for Christmas or New Years? YOU'RE DEPARTMENT COULD BE NEXT. Organize, or start looking." I taped this on the back of the staff-room door and got back to work.
My immediate supervisor was upset, but I didn't deny making the sign. She pointed out that the new company wasn't REQUIRED to pay holiday pay anyway and probably told me not to do it again. At the very least it was clear she expected me not to do such a thing again.
But she left before I did and it was a Friday evening. One thing the new company had done for her was give her weekends off. (They also put her on a salary and THEN told her that 60 hour weeks were to be expected.) ANYWAY...on my next break, after she left, I borrowed some paper and tape from the nursing station and made 3 signs: one pointing out the absence of holiday pay, one pointing out that all dietary staff had lost their seniority and wouldn't get vacation time for a year, and another pointing out that the dietary staff had to pay the full COBRA for their health benefits for the 90 day probationary period. All three signs said "You're department could be next, organize or start looking." I drew little googly eyes in the o's of "looking" for emphasis. One sign went on the inside of the break room door and two by the time clock. I made sure they were where residents would not see them and I was very careful (unlike some staff) about not discussing any of our difficulties in their presence. I figured that it would be Monday before anybody of authority would notice the signs.
Also...what did I do that was so bad? Was this really worse than gossiping about what was going on in the break room? We'd heard rumors that two other departments were slated to be out-sourced and I was already telling those staffs to get out their jars of vaseline and bend over. Sorry. That was crude. But metaphorically very true.
LONG STORY SHORTER: The signs were discovered Saturday morning and someone told. My supervisor asked me on the phone, very wearily (the poor thing had a stomach virus) "Did you put up more signs?" I confirmed that I had, but also verified with her that I hadn't said anything that wasn't true. She thought I had finally done it this time. I told her I wouldn't hold it against her if she had to fire me. She didn't, but warned me that the chief administrator, Jackie, was very upset.
I was in an interesting place at this point. This job, for me, was never really meant to be permanent. I wanted a paycheck and practice getting out of the house regularly. But I wasn't supporting anyone and figured I was the person who could best survive being fired of all my co-workers. In a way I had nothing to lose so I delighted in yanking managment's chain. And the feedback I got from my co-workers was overwhelmingly positive.
The Quakers have a great expression for this - speaking truth to power.
Monday morning I called Jackie's office to say that I would come in early because I thought she'd want to talk to me. I didn't want to waste worktime on the matter. I came in an hour or so early and hung out in the break room reading so I'd be there in case she wanted to talk. I had no sooner punched in and headed to my dishwashing post when Helen, the supervisor, came up and said Jackie wanted to talk to me.
It's a bit of a walk from the kitchen to the administrative offices. I could almost hear Darth Vader's theme from Star Wars as we walked down the hall, up the ramp, and up the narrow stairs. Helen and I didn't even look at each other.
One thing I remember from the meeting was how beige it all was. Jackie was at a big wooden desk with a beige leather chair with her rather beige hair and hazel eyes and may have even been wearing light brown. It was all very beige.
Boy was she angry. The funny thing was that I at this point was rather calm and I still didn't really think I had done anything particularly wrong. She asked me how I could do such a thing and I calmly replied because I was angry. She thought that what I had done was poisonous for staff morale and she couldn't have anyone pouring vinegar in the pudding. I politely pointed out that I'd been working in that pudding and it sucked. I believe those were my exact words.
Turns out that my signs were not entirely accurate. At some point The Healthy Foods Group had decided to pay holiday pay for one holiday, but not both. I was glad to hear that. Jackie had also negotiated with them that Home Sweet Home would pay 25% of the COBRA and Healthy Food Group 25%, so covered employees were really only paying 50% of the cost of continuing their insurance. I thanked her for that, but pointed out that I knew of one cook who was going without insurance because she couldn't afford it. Home Sweet Home also decided to pay so that employees who'd been eligible for at least 2 weeks of vacation time would get one week paid, and people who'd been eligible for one week would get two days. I told her I didn't know that and thanked her for her caring. I still didn't apologize, however.
I also found out that I had actually violated one of the rules in the Healthy Food Group's employee handbook by posting my signs. I looked it up later and, sure enough, they have a rule against posting any handbills or notices while on work time. Although technically I was on my break. ANYWAY - Rat Bastard had offered to fire me and, interestingly, Jackie had said no. I wasn't going to quit, either. I pointed out (and this was when I started choking up, darn it) that I'd never called off, never been late, and had been nothing but a resident advocate.
Her phone kept ringing, and I was aware that my work was backing-up downstairs, so I mentioned that perhaps she had better things to do with her time. She reluctantly agreed, but not after warning me that my signs were going in my personnel file and and that such action again would certainly cause me to be terminated. She mentioned that if a union ever came in the "For Sale" sign would be going on Home Sweet Home, and, hey, it's called work and it's SUPPOSED to be hard. I had the presence of mind to let that comment go.
It was a lot like being chewed out by the school principal (I think. That never actually happened to me), and as I walked back to the kitchen I was strangely elated. I hadn't apologized, I still had a job, and I'd just been paid to be yelled at!!
As mentioned before, however, I was aware that I was probably in the most financially stable position of any of my co-workers. I was contemplating quitting, and had even told my supervisor as much (she was thinking of quitting, too), but I just couldn't. I couldn't give The Healthy Foods Group that satisfaction. I also was addicted to the paycheck. It comes in handy, ya know? So I told my supervisor that I wanted to be a PRN (as needed) worker only. I figured if they were really going to cut the staff to the bone they would need SOMEONE to cover absences. But this way the people who really needed hours would get them.
That was towards the end of January. The funny thing is, I haven't been called yet! I had my suspicions about that since call-offs were a pretty common occurrence. And I've since heard, from a very reputable source, that the supervisor has been told not to call me in to work. This was verified for me when another part-timer quit, and my poor supervisor came in on her weekend to do dishes. Hey, at least they don't need to pay her overtime, right? And I'm SUCH a troublemaker...
I've still been stopping by once or twice a week to visit some of my favorite residents, and when Home Sweet Home staffers ask me if I'm still working there I tell them that I don't know how to answer that question. I recently verified that I'm still considered a PRN employee, but I think it's going to have to be an awfully cold day before they call me. I'm still not giving them the satisfaction of quitting, but I've decided I can't go back. I can't work for those people. I just don't want them to know that...yet.
So here I sit blogging away.
I miss the paycheck and the sense of purpose.
OK. I left off in December and we'd just been outsourced and were awaiting the axe to fall.
Well.
Here is where it seems a pseudointellectual like me really doesn't belong in the blue-collar world. Have you ever seen the bumper sticker that says "Mean People Suck"? That's my philosophy. And I don't suffer jerks kindly. I've been through multiple bad job situations (I REALLY need to write about that sometime) and I've lost the ability to keep my mouth shut.
You see, the major way that The Healthy Foods Group keeps their costs down is through what one Home Sweet Home administrator called "pretty strict time management." As in, you're in trouble if you punch out past your scheduled time.
One problem that I know I have is my work pace. I have this bizarre perfectionistic streak so any job I do I want to do well. Really well. And I'll take time to do it. This first became apparent in college when my future brother-in-law hired me to clean his house prior to his wedding. He was flabbergasted by how long it took, but I bet his baseboards have never been cleaner! Tell me to wipe out a tray cart and I will crawl inside to clean it. I actually got reported to my supervisor for taking too long on this!! If I'm on dishwashing detail I want those dishes to come out clean the first time, so I really take the time to rinse. (Except at home [poor Tom!], but that's another story.) If I'm in the dining room being a hostess I will take the time to ensure that everyone has something they want to eat, and since it is their home I never felt it was appropriate to rush them out so that I could clear the tables. I got better and better at managing my time for the kitchen duties, but I was almost always late (by about 15 minutes) everytime I worked in the dining room.
So the first order from the new company was basically punch out on time or else. I noticed that we almost never saw Rat Bastard at Home Sweet Home in the kitchen, and he certainly never spent time in the dining room. Therefore it appeared that they were going to decide which staff to keep, probably, based on time records alone, not whether the job was being done well or not. And there were people who did not do the job well at all, but always punched out on time.
One bad day at work, and they were all becoming bad days, Rat Bastard DID happen to wander into the kitchen. My opening gambit to him was "And when are you going to become a company we would WANT to work for?" Needless to say the rest of the conversation did not go well. I pointed out to him that he had no idea what I did and I didn't think it was right to be judged by the time clock alone. At some point he said that if this were a Ford plant and people weren't getting their work done there was a problem. He tried to back-peddle quickly be saying "This isn't a Ford plant, of course...", but the damage was already done. I got his point of view. Loud and clear.
At some point a co-worker came up to ask a question, and I'd had it with Rat Bastard. Later on, the co-worker, Chantay, commented "Please don't act like that while I'm standing next to you." I guess I had started yelling and pointing and making something of a spectacle. I had reached the point where continued conversation with RB seemed pointless, so I told him (none too politely, I'm sure) to stop talking to me and answer Chantay's questions. His lips just kept flapping so I told him to shut up, and I walked away.
The funny thing? The few other people who were in the kitchen LOVED it.
I did not get fired, but I did get to have a meeting with RB and one of the secondary administrators, Greta. I had prepared myself. I wrote down my talking points. All I really wanted to say was that I wasn't happy with the way they were treating us, and since they clearly were intent on running the kitchen differently could they PLEASE give us a hint as to what the new schedule was going to look like and if they wanted things done differently would they help us?
Only it didn't go that smoothly at first. I noted that RB had a tendency to talk over me, which lead to me raising my voice until I told him to please LET ME FINISH. Greta sat back and pretty much watched the whole exchange. When RB left to take a phone call, I told Greta that I was pretty certain that I would be fired, and I requested permission to volunteer at Home Sweet Home when that time came. She said of course I could.
Overall the rest of the conversation didn't go too badly. RB assured me that they would help with the transition, they had plans to make the dining room program better than ever, blah, blah, blah...
As I'd mentioned in an earlier post, the kitchen was not a happy place to be. The holidays were coming and no one's job was secure. The amount of back-biting that started was pretty intense as people tried to establish themselves before the anticipated staff cuts. If someone called off we weren't allowed to call anyone in so we often wound up working short, which didn't help the stress level.
Neither my husband nor I are from Oberlin, so we usually have to travel on holidays to see family. Mine was not a good job to have for such a person since weekend and holiday times were necessary work days. In November I had switched working Thanksgiving for Christmas Day with a co-worker so that we could travel for Thanksgiving. I assured myself that working on Christmas day wasn't going to be that bad. I didn't have to work until the afternoon, and it would be time and a half pay. The young woman I switched with also thought she could New Year's Day for me so I figured we could travel again after Christmas. All was well.
Except that nothing ever works out that easily. My co-worker changed her plans so I worked both Christmas Day and New Year's Day which put a monkey wrench in the plan to visit my family after Christmas. But I just changed my plans and shortened the visit (no small feat when it's a 9 hour drive) because I NEVER called off. I simply do not believe in calling off unless I am genuinely ill (which oddly enough I never was). It's not fair to my co-workers or the residents. I worked on my daughter's birthday. I worked on Father's Day even though we already had tickets for all 4 of us to go to a baseball game. I worked on New Year's Day, again soothing myself with the thought that at least I'd get time and a half.
I remember quite clearly the day I found out that since we were probationary employees we were not entitled to holiday pay. I called Tom at home and asked him to give me a reason why I shouldn't just walk off the job right then. I didn't, although I can't remember him giving me a good reason not to. I was doing dishes that day, and I remember slamming two saucers together so hard that one broke. It felt kinda good. When a coffee cup came out of the machine still dirty I smashed it on the floor. Oops. I think I'd heard that the Healthy Foods Group would be responsible for the dishes.
At this point I was angry. Another problem I have is that I will take a lot before I blow my stack, but once I do I'm the Incredible Hulk minus the green skin and ripped clothes. ("Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.")
A word here about impotent rage. It's a very dangerous emotion and I can see how it pushes people to do outrageous things. I mean, you can rage against the machine all you want to, but the bottom line is THE UNIVERSE DOESN'T REALLY CARE. So what? People get outsourced every day and what I was experiencing was normal business practice. That only makes a person (me) want to lash out all the harder. It's like the Whos in Whoville screaming "We're here, we're here, we're here!" I just wanted it known that an injustice was being done AND IT'S NOT RIGHT!!
I had to put a little thought into this, however. Breaking things would not help my cause, and I'd only wind-up looking a little imbalanced if I did something like writing "Rat Bastard" with soap in his car windows. I needed to hit them where it would hurt without actually hurting anybody.
I came up with the perfect solution. On my break I found a blank piece of paper and wrote: "Did you know that the dietary department isn't getting holiday pay for Christmas or New Years? YOU'RE DEPARTMENT COULD BE NEXT. Organize, or start looking." I taped this on the back of the staff-room door and got back to work.
My immediate supervisor was upset, but I didn't deny making the sign. She pointed out that the new company wasn't REQUIRED to pay holiday pay anyway and probably told me not to do it again. At the very least it was clear she expected me not to do such a thing again.
But she left before I did and it was a Friday evening. One thing the new company had done for her was give her weekends off. (They also put her on a salary and THEN told her that 60 hour weeks were to be expected.) ANYWAY...on my next break, after she left, I borrowed some paper and tape from the nursing station and made 3 signs: one pointing out the absence of holiday pay, one pointing out that all dietary staff had lost their seniority and wouldn't get vacation time for a year, and another pointing out that the dietary staff had to pay the full COBRA for their health benefits for the 90 day probationary period. All three signs said "You're department could be next, organize or start looking." I drew little googly eyes in the o's of "looking" for emphasis. One sign went on the inside of the break room door and two by the time clock. I made sure they were where residents would not see them and I was very careful (unlike some staff) about not discussing any of our difficulties in their presence. I figured that it would be Monday before anybody of authority would notice the signs.
Also...what did I do that was so bad? Was this really worse than gossiping about what was going on in the break room? We'd heard rumors that two other departments were slated to be out-sourced and I was already telling those staffs to get out their jars of vaseline and bend over. Sorry. That was crude. But metaphorically very true.
LONG STORY SHORTER: The signs were discovered Saturday morning and someone told. My supervisor asked me on the phone, very wearily (the poor thing had a stomach virus) "Did you put up more signs?" I confirmed that I had, but also verified with her that I hadn't said anything that wasn't true. She thought I had finally done it this time. I told her I wouldn't hold it against her if she had to fire me. She didn't, but warned me that the chief administrator, Jackie, was very upset.
I was in an interesting place at this point. This job, for me, was never really meant to be permanent. I wanted a paycheck and practice getting out of the house regularly. But I wasn't supporting anyone and figured I was the person who could best survive being fired of all my co-workers. In a way I had nothing to lose so I delighted in yanking managment's chain. And the feedback I got from my co-workers was overwhelmingly positive.
The Quakers have a great expression for this - speaking truth to power.
Monday morning I called Jackie's office to say that I would come in early because I thought she'd want to talk to me. I didn't want to waste worktime on the matter. I came in an hour or so early and hung out in the break room reading so I'd be there in case she wanted to talk. I had no sooner punched in and headed to my dishwashing post when Helen, the supervisor, came up and said Jackie wanted to talk to me.
It's a bit of a walk from the kitchen to the administrative offices. I could almost hear Darth Vader's theme from Star Wars as we walked down the hall, up the ramp, and up the narrow stairs. Helen and I didn't even look at each other.
One thing I remember from the meeting was how beige it all was. Jackie was at a big wooden desk with a beige leather chair with her rather beige hair and hazel eyes and may have even been wearing light brown. It was all very beige.
Boy was she angry. The funny thing was that I at this point was rather calm and I still didn't really think I had done anything particularly wrong. She asked me how I could do such a thing and I calmly replied because I was angry. She thought that what I had done was poisonous for staff morale and she couldn't have anyone pouring vinegar in the pudding. I politely pointed out that I'd been working in that pudding and it sucked. I believe those were my exact words.
Turns out that my signs were not entirely accurate. At some point The Healthy Foods Group had decided to pay holiday pay for one holiday, but not both. I was glad to hear that. Jackie had also negotiated with them that Home Sweet Home would pay 25% of the COBRA and Healthy Food Group 25%, so covered employees were really only paying 50% of the cost of continuing their insurance. I thanked her for that, but pointed out that I knew of one cook who was going without insurance because she couldn't afford it. Home Sweet Home also decided to pay so that employees who'd been eligible for at least 2 weeks of vacation time would get one week paid, and people who'd been eligible for one week would get two days. I told her I didn't know that and thanked her for her caring. I still didn't apologize, however.
I also found out that I had actually violated one of the rules in the Healthy Food Group's employee handbook by posting my signs. I looked it up later and, sure enough, they have a rule against posting any handbills or notices while on work time. Although technically I was on my break. ANYWAY - Rat Bastard had offered to fire me and, interestingly, Jackie had said no. I wasn't going to quit, either. I pointed out (and this was when I started choking up, darn it) that I'd never called off, never been late, and had been nothing but a resident advocate.
Her phone kept ringing, and I was aware that my work was backing-up downstairs, so I mentioned that perhaps she had better things to do with her time. She reluctantly agreed, but not after warning me that my signs were going in my personnel file and and that such action again would certainly cause me to be terminated. She mentioned that if a union ever came in the "For Sale" sign would be going on Home Sweet Home, and, hey, it's called work and it's SUPPOSED to be hard. I had the presence of mind to let that comment go.
It was a lot like being chewed out by the school principal (I think. That never actually happened to me), and as I walked back to the kitchen I was strangely elated. I hadn't apologized, I still had a job, and I'd just been paid to be yelled at!!
As mentioned before, however, I was aware that I was probably in the most financially stable position of any of my co-workers. I was contemplating quitting, and had even told my supervisor as much (she was thinking of quitting, too), but I just couldn't. I couldn't give The Healthy Foods Group that satisfaction. I also was addicted to the paycheck. It comes in handy, ya know? So I told my supervisor that I wanted to be a PRN (as needed) worker only. I figured if they were really going to cut the staff to the bone they would need SOMEONE to cover absences. But this way the people who really needed hours would get them.
That was towards the end of January. The funny thing is, I haven't been called yet! I had my suspicions about that since call-offs were a pretty common occurrence. And I've since heard, from a very reputable source, that the supervisor has been told not to call me in to work. This was verified for me when another part-timer quit, and my poor supervisor came in on her weekend to do dishes. Hey, at least they don't need to pay her overtime, right? And I'm SUCH a troublemaker...
I've still been stopping by once or twice a week to visit some of my favorite residents, and when Home Sweet Home staffers ask me if I'm still working there I tell them that I don't know how to answer that question. I recently verified that I'm still considered a PRN employee, but I think it's going to have to be an awfully cold day before they call me. I'm still not giving them the satisfaction of quitting, but I've decided I can't go back. I can't work for those people. I just don't want them to know that...yet.
So here I sit blogging away.
I miss the paycheck and the sense of purpose.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
And Now for Something Completely Different
NOTE: This blog is somewhat sequential, so if it's not making sense just go back an entry or two.
I need to take a break from the Home Sweet Home employment saga. In case you've been following it I have been keeping in touch with some residents and co-workers. There have not been big lay-offs but everyone is pretty miserable.
And now to change the subject. NOTE: IF YOU HAVE A MORAL OBJECTION TO HOMOSEXUALITY DO NOT READ THIS POSTING. I respect your opinion so please be respectful of mine.
I almost called this entry "Personal Jesus" but was afraid an evangelical would find it and would think I was witnessing and I shuddered to think the response I would get.
I got to thinking one night (I'm prone to random thoughts) about how people personify God in order to feel closer to him/her. Take, for example, the hymn "I Walk in the Garden" (And he walks with me and he talks with me and he tells me I am his own...). I'm also a huge fan of Anne Lamott who, in her book Traveling Mercies (I think), wrote about how she would clutch a tissue during church so it would feel like God was holding her hand. In the Christian tradition God took human form, and I think we need to put God in a form we can love and understand. It got me to thinking...how would I personify God? What would my Personal Jesus be like? In the interest of full disclosure you should know that I'm a baptized Catholic raised in the hippie Quaker tradition who is currently Episcopalian.
I'M LAYING THIS OUT AS A THOUGHT, NOT TO OFFEND ANYBODY: A gay man. My Jesus is a gay man.
Not just any gay man. Not someone who is repressed, hostile towards women, or would dismiss me as a "breeder." I like comfortable, flamboyant, funny gay men. I could talk to him like I do my women friends because we have the same emotionality and empathy, and enjoy the same eye candy. Yet he is still a man who has that certain male energy. If a gay man tells me I'm beautiful or clever I take it as the highest compliment because not only do they tend to have exquisite taste, there's no hidden agenda. He may have sexual appetites, but they sure the heck aren't directed towards me!! Admiration from a heterosexual male simply comes from a much more complicated place. (Sorry, Tom. I love your admiration, too.) I don't know why (although my therapist had a few good guesses), but male approval devoid of sexual interest is a drug for me. Nothing else makes me feel as good about myself. I can feel loved, and safe, and there's no competition.
I'm at sort of a cross-roads in my life right now and searching for Mr. Fabulous.
I need to take a break from the Home Sweet Home employment saga. In case you've been following it I have been keeping in touch with some residents and co-workers. There have not been big lay-offs but everyone is pretty miserable.
And now to change the subject. NOTE: IF YOU HAVE A MORAL OBJECTION TO HOMOSEXUALITY DO NOT READ THIS POSTING. I respect your opinion so please be respectful of mine.
I almost called this entry "Personal Jesus" but was afraid an evangelical would find it and would think I was witnessing and I shuddered to think the response I would get.
I got to thinking one night (I'm prone to random thoughts) about how people personify God in order to feel closer to him/her. Take, for example, the hymn "I Walk in the Garden" (And he walks with me and he talks with me and he tells me I am his own...). I'm also a huge fan of Anne Lamott who, in her book Traveling Mercies (I think), wrote about how she would clutch a tissue during church so it would feel like God was holding her hand. In the Christian tradition God took human form, and I think we need to put God in a form we can love and understand. It got me to thinking...how would I personify God? What would my Personal Jesus be like? In the interest of full disclosure you should know that I'm a baptized Catholic raised in the hippie Quaker tradition who is currently Episcopalian.
I'M LAYING THIS OUT AS A THOUGHT, NOT TO OFFEND ANYBODY: A gay man. My Jesus is a gay man.
Not just any gay man. Not someone who is repressed, hostile towards women, or would dismiss me as a "breeder." I like comfortable, flamboyant, funny gay men. I could talk to him like I do my women friends because we have the same emotionality and empathy, and enjoy the same eye candy. Yet he is still a man who has that certain male energy. If a gay man tells me I'm beautiful or clever I take it as the highest compliment because not only do they tend to have exquisite taste, there's no hidden agenda. He may have sexual appetites, but they sure the heck aren't directed towards me!! Admiration from a heterosexual male simply comes from a much more complicated place. (Sorry, Tom. I love your admiration, too.) I don't know why (although my therapist had a few good guesses), but male approval devoid of sexual interest is a drug for me. Nothing else makes me feel as good about myself. I can feel loved, and safe, and there's no competition.
I'm at sort of a cross-roads in my life right now and searching for Mr. Fabulous.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Now Where Was I?
Ok. This may not be the most exciting story you've ever read, but humor me because this has all been buzzing around my brain and I got to get it out!!
So in early November we have the all staff meeting at Home Sweet Home to find out that they are in a bit of a pickle because their "bond mortgage" has been cancelled. I don't know what a bond mortgage is, but I know that sounds bad. Suddenly Home Sweet Home is without credit and in some trouble because our population had been low for the entire year as well.
They had my sympathy. The staff meals were cancelled, no turkeys for Thanksgiving, wage freezes...I was OK with that. We even expected a reduction in staff or hours.
One Monday in early December we have our dietary staff meeting and the Home Sweet Home director was there (which was unusual) and two guys we didn't recognize. This was the first time that any of us heard that we were being outsourced to a new company, and the changeover was happening the following Monday.
Our collective jaw needed to be scraped off the floor.
Then the two guys took over. The smaller, younger looking one I nicknamed "Suit" and I don't think he said anything the whole time. The older, bigger guy who earned the nickname "Hatchet" (which later morphed into Rat Bastard, but I don't want to offend anyone with my language) made a point of introducing himself and finding out who we were and encouraging us to ask questions and assuring us that they would try to make the transition as easy as possible although it may be difficult at first. Everything was OK -- even though we were now considered new, 90 day probationary employees for this new company so forget any seniority you may have had, as well as vacation time for the coming year, and you will have to COBRA your current insurance because, of course, 90 day employees aren't entitled to benefits.
I was in a really weird place. I was part-time, benefits were not an issue, and I wasn't trying to support anyone with my income. But I was surrounded by people who had years in at this place, many in fragile economic conditions, oh yeah, and did I mention that Christmas was only weeks away? And that the economy was tanking so jobs were getting scarcer? It was like being in a herd of panicking cattle. Stressful wasn't the word for it.
Even worse, we were effectively given the boot from the Home Sweet Home family. Not that they darkened our door often, but it sure seemed like we were seeing the upstairs management even less. "Fed to the wolves" was the phrase that kept bouncing around. Ironically, it was around this time that Home Sweet Home held its staff-appreciation in-service. Oddly enough, this also wound up being the day that the Healthy Food Group Company (yes, a pseudonym, from what I can tell they do have lawyers and know how to use them) needed all the full time staff to meet with them to make sure they understood the insurance situation, I think (as in, you ain't getting any for 90 days). This left us laughably short-staffed in the kitchen (I was working that day), so attending the staff-appreciation was largely impossible, although I was still inclined not to go on general principle. Worse yet, the kitchen had to make the food for the staff in-service. I told my immediate supervisor, Helen (not her name), that she should sneeze on the snacks (she's also a former Home Sweet Home staff person and thus in the same boat as everyone else).
In case any of you were at the in-service, she didn't.
Oh my, how can someone write so much about what is essentially a non-story? OK. I lost my part-time job. Bigger things happen all the time. But for me it was a rude awakening to the reality of the current economic fiasco, and the uglier side of unfettered capitalism.
OOPS! Time to pick up someone up from school!! More when I can get near the computer again!
So in early November we have the all staff meeting at Home Sweet Home to find out that they are in a bit of a pickle because their "bond mortgage" has been cancelled. I don't know what a bond mortgage is, but I know that sounds bad. Suddenly Home Sweet Home is without credit and in some trouble because our population had been low for the entire year as well.
They had my sympathy. The staff meals were cancelled, no turkeys for Thanksgiving, wage freezes...I was OK with that. We even expected a reduction in staff or hours.
One Monday in early December we have our dietary staff meeting and the Home Sweet Home director was there (which was unusual) and two guys we didn't recognize. This was the first time that any of us heard that we were being outsourced to a new company, and the changeover was happening the following Monday.
Our collective jaw needed to be scraped off the floor.
Then the two guys took over. The smaller, younger looking one I nicknamed "Suit" and I don't think he said anything the whole time. The older, bigger guy who earned the nickname "Hatchet" (which later morphed into Rat Bastard, but I don't want to offend anyone with my language) made a point of introducing himself and finding out who we were and encouraging us to ask questions and assuring us that they would try to make the transition as easy as possible although it may be difficult at first. Everything was OK -- even though we were now considered new, 90 day probationary employees for this new company so forget any seniority you may have had, as well as vacation time for the coming year, and you will have to COBRA your current insurance because, of course, 90 day employees aren't entitled to benefits.
I was in a really weird place. I was part-time, benefits were not an issue, and I wasn't trying to support anyone with my income. But I was surrounded by people who had years in at this place, many in fragile economic conditions, oh yeah, and did I mention that Christmas was only weeks away? And that the economy was tanking so jobs were getting scarcer? It was like being in a herd of panicking cattle. Stressful wasn't the word for it.
Even worse, we were effectively given the boot from the Home Sweet Home family. Not that they darkened our door often, but it sure seemed like we were seeing the upstairs management even less. "Fed to the wolves" was the phrase that kept bouncing around. Ironically, it was around this time that Home Sweet Home held its staff-appreciation in-service. Oddly enough, this also wound up being the day that the Healthy Food Group Company (yes, a pseudonym, from what I can tell they do have lawyers and know how to use them) needed all the full time staff to meet with them to make sure they understood the insurance situation, I think (as in, you ain't getting any for 90 days). This left us laughably short-staffed in the kitchen (I was working that day), so attending the staff-appreciation was largely impossible, although I was still inclined not to go on general principle. Worse yet, the kitchen had to make the food for the staff in-service. I told my immediate supervisor, Helen (not her name), that she should sneeze on the snacks (she's also a former Home Sweet Home staff person and thus in the same boat as everyone else).
In case any of you were at the in-service, she didn't.
Oh my, how can someone write so much about what is essentially a non-story? OK. I lost my part-time job. Bigger things happen all the time. But for me it was a rude awakening to the reality of the current economic fiasco, and the uglier side of unfettered capitalism.
OOPS! Time to pick up someone up from school!! More when I can get near the computer again!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Nolite Illegitimos Conterere Vos
That's what it said on a sweatshirt from Nashota House, a very high church Anglican seminary my mother attended (which would be a whole other posting in itself). I'm not sure the spelling is correct, but I'm clinging to the meaning.
This is the story of what happens to a person who takes a job that they probably are not suited for. It's not a happy story.
I have a bachelor's degree from Oberlin College that I really haven't parlayed into anything of substance. There was an intense social work stint (yet another entry someday), and an almost 10 year run as a paralegal in Social Security disability law. But what I think I really took away from Oberlin was the knowledge that I can work in a kitchen. I somewhat jokingly like to tell people I was a food service major. I know my way around a Hobart.
Thus almost 2 years ago, when I was ready for a regular paycheck again (my tortured work history is yet another posting someday), I had the good luck to have the manager of a nursing home kitchen in my bowling league, and I found out they were hiring. They needed part-time, I wanted part-time, so I applied.
It was a dream situation in so many ways. First of all, I was looking for a job, not a career. Second, I wanted something that was mindless and not likely to come home with me. The nursing home in question is only a 3 block walk from my house. It was perfect.
Let me qualify that. The situation was perfect. Working anywhere never is. Oh, yeah. There were bad days. As I used to like to tell people, food service is not a field that attracts the best and brightest. I would need 2 hands to count the number of people who came and went over my year and 1/2. And the ones who last are an interesting lot. Also, the work was physically hard, and there was a lot of it. An advantage was that time never dragged because I would be hoping the clock would slow down so I could accomplish everything I was supposed to. When I came home after work my daughters wouldn't hug me until I'd changed out of my nasty scrubs and washed up a bit.
What I did not expect was that it was an interesting place to work. To avoid any possibility of a lawsuit I will refer to it as Home Sweet Home. It's a private nursing home with only about 100 beds. I liked it because I noticed that the staff and residents knew each other. Residents could knock on the kitchen door to ask for things. One of the administrators was really trying to push for resident centered care, and it was impressed on us that this was their home.
They also tried to create a family atmosphere for the staff. They fed us meals. It was the same stuff the residents were having so if a resident complained I could say I was eating the same thing. I got a turkey my first Thanksgiving there even though I was just a part-time dietary aide. A couple of times a year they had staff-appreciation days. As a result there are some outstanding, caring staff there, as well as a few who really should pick a better profession. But it was a decent place.
I also found that I loved the residents. I was fortunate enough to be one of the dining room hostesses for the 40 or so residents who had lunch and dinner communally instead of in their rooms. They were real people to me, and I didn't have the disadvantage of knowing them before their health issues flaired. I liked them just the way they were, lucid or not. I also found them easy to minister to since they appreciated little more than being looked in the eye, smiled at, and called by name. Oops, I'm heading into another post territory.
PAINFULLY LONG STORY SOMEWHAT SHORTER: I thought I had picked a recession-proof job, but I didn't. We walked into a meeting one day only to find out that Home Sweet Home had outsourced us to a corporation (of bottom feeders) who walk in and promise they can run the kitchen better and for less money. Guess how they control costs?
This is where it became painfully obvious I was somewhere I shouldn't be.
To be continued.
This is the story of what happens to a person who takes a job that they probably are not suited for. It's not a happy story.
I have a bachelor's degree from Oberlin College that I really haven't parlayed into anything of substance. There was an intense social work stint (yet another entry someday), and an almost 10 year run as a paralegal in Social Security disability law. But what I think I really took away from Oberlin was the knowledge that I can work in a kitchen. I somewhat jokingly like to tell people I was a food service major. I know my way around a Hobart.
Thus almost 2 years ago, when I was ready for a regular paycheck again (my tortured work history is yet another posting someday), I had the good luck to have the manager of a nursing home kitchen in my bowling league, and I found out they were hiring. They needed part-time, I wanted part-time, so I applied.
It was a dream situation in so many ways. First of all, I was looking for a job, not a career. Second, I wanted something that was mindless and not likely to come home with me. The nursing home in question is only a 3 block walk from my house. It was perfect.
Let me qualify that. The situation was perfect. Working anywhere never is. Oh, yeah. There were bad days. As I used to like to tell people, food service is not a field that attracts the best and brightest. I would need 2 hands to count the number of people who came and went over my year and 1/2. And the ones who last are an interesting lot. Also, the work was physically hard, and there was a lot of it. An advantage was that time never dragged because I would be hoping the clock would slow down so I could accomplish everything I was supposed to. When I came home after work my daughters wouldn't hug me until I'd changed out of my nasty scrubs and washed up a bit.
What I did not expect was that it was an interesting place to work. To avoid any possibility of a lawsuit I will refer to it as Home Sweet Home. It's a private nursing home with only about 100 beds. I liked it because I noticed that the staff and residents knew each other. Residents could knock on the kitchen door to ask for things. One of the administrators was really trying to push for resident centered care, and it was impressed on us that this was their home.
They also tried to create a family atmosphere for the staff. They fed us meals. It was the same stuff the residents were having so if a resident complained I could say I was eating the same thing. I got a turkey my first Thanksgiving there even though I was just a part-time dietary aide. A couple of times a year they had staff-appreciation days. As a result there are some outstanding, caring staff there, as well as a few who really should pick a better profession. But it was a decent place.
I also found that I loved the residents. I was fortunate enough to be one of the dining room hostesses for the 40 or so residents who had lunch and dinner communally instead of in their rooms. They were real people to me, and I didn't have the disadvantage of knowing them before their health issues flaired. I liked them just the way they were, lucid or not. I also found them easy to minister to since they appreciated little more than being looked in the eye, smiled at, and called by name. Oops, I'm heading into another post territory.
PAINFULLY LONG STORY SOMEWHAT SHORTER: I thought I had picked a recession-proof job, but I didn't. We walked into a meeting one day only to find out that Home Sweet Home had outsourced us to a corporation (of bottom feeders) who walk in and promise they can run the kitchen better and for less money. Guess how they control costs?
This is where it became painfully obvious I was somewhere I shouldn't be.
To be continued.
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