I didn't have my license with me, and Mitch and I were in line at Rosauers with some groceries and an impulse bottle of wine. Mitch placed the items on the moveable-sidewalk-for-groceries and stood in front of me to pay. But I could tell upon approaching that the checker was going to be a douzie. She looked about sixty, and behind her glasses were eyes that meant business, that didn't take any shit from the slightly off-color crowd frequenting her store.
"Can I see both of your licenses?"
This was followed by the "Oh darn, left it at home" conversation that makes me feel like I'm a lying underage delinquent.
Mitch produced his. He asked our checker if she trusted me, and to my surprise she rang up the wine and bagged our things.
"I'm 23," I said. Being helpful. Demonstrating the considerable number of years I've been drinking legally.
"23, huh? If I could be 23 again... You know, I wouldn't. 33, yes. But not 23."
And any number of events, mere moments, can happen that cause lancing pain for years. There's no guarantee for future happiness, but I'm trusting my grocer. I think life's going to get better for us over the next ten years.
10.21.2010
10.18.2010
Job Politics
People complain about the politics at work: among teachers, in the YMCA, between Emily and her boss. I’ve decided the only way to properly complain about work politics is to insist that the politics are foul, not to bewail the fact that working includes politics. I entered the work force with an expectation for it to be something like school: set tasks and set ways to evaluate people’s performance. Of course teachers didn’t always like me, but there was a semblance of impartiality, grade-wise, throughout.
Emily isn’t great pals with her boss which has given rise to 40-hour graveyard shifts five weeks in a row. All requests to switch ignored.
The new girl at my work told me today that she quit her last job because “it was a popularity contest.”
Unless the job is one that requires a high degree of specialty or skill, and one in which a worker’s ability can be openly tested, (e.g. computer hacker, heart surgeon) there will be nothing stopping the pet favorite of the boss from getting a promotion or recognition or better shifts than someone more competent but less well-liked.
But complaining that these popularity contests exist is like complaining that there is traffic or a line at the grocery store or people living in the apartment upstairs (and banging around like crazy on a Saturday morning, I might add). Essentially that there are other people in existence and more specifically that in daily life we more often deal with people than with things or ideas.
Society is not made up of laws that shan’t be broken, mechanisms, or large inert structures. It is made up entirely of people—people behind every rule and interpreting every rule—and working with those people is largely the stuff of working at anything.
Still they suck. Rumors, caddishness, suck-up-etry, and all other manner of back-biting or falseness come in the door wages foolishly cracked open. But I’ll tell you the best strategy I’ve heard for dealing with it:
When I asked Carrie if the politics between the staff at the school where she’s student teaching were bad, she answered me, “Sure. But I don’t know much about them—I eat lunch with the bilinguals.”
Wise words, mes amis.
Emily isn’t great pals with her boss which has given rise to 40-hour graveyard shifts five weeks in a row. All requests to switch ignored.
The new girl at my work told me today that she quit her last job because “it was a popularity contest.”
Unless the job is one that requires a high degree of specialty or skill, and one in which a worker’s ability can be openly tested, (e.g. computer hacker, heart surgeon) there will be nothing stopping the pet favorite of the boss from getting a promotion or recognition or better shifts than someone more competent but less well-liked.
But complaining that these popularity contests exist is like complaining that there is traffic or a line at the grocery store or people living in the apartment upstairs (and banging around like crazy on a Saturday morning, I might add). Essentially that there are other people in existence and more specifically that in daily life we more often deal with people than with things or ideas.
Society is not made up of laws that shan’t be broken, mechanisms, or large inert structures. It is made up entirely of people—people behind every rule and interpreting every rule—and working with those people is largely the stuff of working at anything.
Still they suck. Rumors, caddishness, suck-up-etry, and all other manner of back-biting or falseness come in the door wages foolishly cracked open. But I’ll tell you the best strategy I’ve heard for dealing with it:
When I asked Carrie if the politics between the staff at the school where she’s student teaching were bad, she answered me, “Sure. But I don’t know much about them—I eat lunch with the bilinguals.”
Wise words, mes amis.
10.12.2010
a cup of coffee.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Jamie asked. Many suburban dwellers would say that she had just addressed the most religious man in town. He sits in front of the Lovejoy Surgicenter everyday. The plaque near its door informs those who pass by that the Lovejoy center has long been recognized as " a national model, offering a level of care unmatched in scope, thoroughness, and sensitivity." In the calender year 2000, the Lovejoy Surgicenter performed nearly 50% of the 7.111 abortions in the Portland Metropolitan Area of Clackamas, Multnomah, and Washington counties.
The convicted man is so busy sitting he doesn't have enough time to fix the sign he holds in his blistered hand. Some of the letters that spell out, "Save You're Baby" have fallen. The dirt and grim that bordered the missing letters still remain, becoming the one thing that kept the letters visible.
Startled by the young voice, the main looked at Jamie and said, "No Thanks, you can never be too careful 'bout except'n things like coffee. It might be poisonous. Don't mean to offend you o nothin'. He replied. "the name's Jack Martin." He smacked his lips and cleared his throat. "I've been sitting here for seven years now. No baby should die, that's just not just. Just not right you see? What about the father? What can he do? He has no choice. His baby just dies. He has no choice." He rocks back and forth in his rusted lawn chair. He looks at the girl for a moment and then stares at blade of grass in the cracked pavement. He was captured by what he saw as if he was watching a memory.
"I see." Jamie replied not sure whether or not to drink the coffee. It was still warm enough to sip. "I would like to ask you a question if you don't mind." Jamie shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She ran her fingers along the rim of the rejected red and green holiday cup from Starbucks. "How are you showing the love of Christ to the clinic's patients?"
Shocked and surprised he broke his concentration that was focused on the ground. He looked at her and replied, "Christ? You mean Jesus? Who said anything about loving Jesus?"
The convicted man is so busy sitting he doesn't have enough time to fix the sign he holds in his blistered hand. Some of the letters that spell out, "Save You're Baby" have fallen. The dirt and grim that bordered the missing letters still remain, becoming the one thing that kept the letters visible.
Startled by the young voice, the main looked at Jamie and said, "No Thanks, you can never be too careful 'bout except'n things like coffee. It might be poisonous. Don't mean to offend you o nothin'. He replied. "the name's Jack Martin." He smacked his lips and cleared his throat. "I've been sitting here for seven years now. No baby should die, that's just not just. Just not right you see? What about the father? What can he do? He has no choice. His baby just dies. He has no choice." He rocks back and forth in his rusted lawn chair. He looks at the girl for a moment and then stares at blade of grass in the cracked pavement. He was captured by what he saw as if he was watching a memory.
"I see." Jamie replied not sure whether or not to drink the coffee. It was still warm enough to sip. "I would like to ask you a question if you don't mind." Jamie shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She ran her fingers along the rim of the rejected red and green holiday cup from Starbucks. "How are you showing the love of Christ to the clinic's patients?"
Shocked and surprised he broke his concentration that was focused on the ground. He looked at her and replied, "Christ? You mean Jesus? Who said anything about loving Jesus?"
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