I wish I could say I have been away from my blog because I was on vacation. It is, after all, summer term here and that is traditionally when students such as myself sun themselves on tropical beaches and get drunkenly taped for “Girls Gone Wild.” Alas, there have been no beaches for me. I have been at work.
I don’t really like working. I would much prefer to be wealthy and idle. Or, if not wealthy and idle, I would like to do work and have the funding for my existence come from a source unconnected with that work. I volunteer; I love doing that. And I love watching kids, as long as someone isn’t paying me to do it. But it seems once money is connected to work, the people paying you go crazy, proportionate to their rank in a given institution. Unless they are mothers. Mothers who pay you to watch their children seem to go nuts no matter what their station in life. But we’ll get to that in a minute.
I’ve learned a few lessons about working, and I want to share them.
Lesson 1: Continued mediocrity won’t get you fired. Sometimes, you can move from mediocrity to outright subversion and you still won’t get fired. In fact, the people you work for won’t quite get that you are being subversive (or being an ass) and will reward you. Take, for example, this exchange:
“Okay people. We have to work on the new campaign for diversity. I want something with a bridge in it. Discuss.”
“Um, Diversity is a bridge?”
“That’s a good start. Go further.”
“Uhhh, Diversity is a rainbow bridge?”
“Again, good. But not enough. Adrienne? Ideas?”
“How about, ‘Diversity-A Bridge Over Troubled Waters. Fly on, silver bird. Diversity can lead us home.’” I snicker to myself.
“YES!” All heads swivel towards me, eyes glowing with admiration. “That’s perfect! Let’s get started on the banner!” I sigh, but know protesting is useless. I’ve done this before. I stand up and go get the puff paints. There is no use fighting people who actually think banners have something to do with diversity.
Lesson 1A: When you suggest something solely to be a jerk (or to spite someone), it will come back and bite you in the positive performance evaluation.
Lesson 2: Doing something well is an invitation to unnecessary pain. In my current job, I am responsible for planning events to raise money. Alas, I am good at it. This has led to the unfortunate consequence that more people want me to plan events. This raises more money that makes my bosses happy. However, an urban bard said it best with the phrase, mo’ money, mo’ problems. Take for example, this exchange:
"Hi, yeah. I want to plan a conference for a few weeks from now, but you didn’t give me the event estimate.”
“Um, I think I did. It was that document I sent you entitled, “Event Estimate.”
“Yeah, I got that. I read it. It didn’t have the fee breakdown on it.”
“Yes, I think it did. I’m looking at it right now and in 20 point, bold font it says, “This is the fee breakdown.” Twice.
“Oh. Well, I didn’t think that was actually what it meant.”
“Of course, sir.”
“So, can you send me the Estimate or what?”
Lesson 2a: Asking the heavens, “Why me?” will not yield a satisfactory answer.
Lesson 2b: I do not have the power to make someone’s head explode with the force of my thought alone.
Lesson 3: I can no longer babysit for money. I tried to deny this reality for a while. And some mothers were okay; they did not abuse me and make me want to hide under my bed, curled into (ironically enough) the fetal position. But then there were . . . others. Those who realized I am fool enough to love their children and will do whatever chore is given to me without protest. Because I will somehow think it is for the good of the child. I give you example three:
“Hi Adrienne, the baby is asleep.”
“Okay, when did he go down for his nap?”
“At mop o’clock.”
“What? Mop?”
“Ah, yes! That would be great, if you could do the kitchen! “
“What?”
“Oh, and the baby’s dinner is in the wash.”
“Wash?”
“Yes! Oh my goodness, you’re an angel! What would I do without you? You can do the few loads that are in my room.”
“Wait, seriously, what?”
“Oh, and just FYI, the baby had a temperature this morning. We think he might have dishes.”
I say nothing.
“Did you hear what I said?”
I heave a heavy sigh. “The baby might have a cold?”
“Yes! They’re in the sink. If you could wash them that would be great.”
Hours later, after doing all the household chores and keeping the child alive, I am paid the same amount I would be if I had just left her bundle of joy watch Sesame Street. And it wasn’t just the chores. Those I didn’t really mind. Sometimes I’d go to a house and instead of watching little Jane (whom I had been told I would be watching), I would be the party entertainment for Jane and three of her friends. Moms would say, “Oh, you don’t mind tutoring her in reading and then doing art projects, right? You did bring your art supplies I hope.” Or a mom would go out for an hour and be away for three. And, sadly, her cell phone would die. Or moms would call me and say, “I’ll see you at three tomorrow, just when you promised me you’d come.” I’d never have spoken to this particular mom in my life. But no matter. I somehow would have promised her I’d sit. And because I honestly believed a rip in space time could cause such a situation, I’d agree to go sit. And, possibly, mop.
People. Do you not realize you are placing the future of your namesake in my care? That I am sustaining the life you created? Does this mean nothing to you? You tip a freaking pizza delivery man, but somehow you regularly forget to pay me? Whatever. Send me the conference crazies. AT LEAST THE CRAZIES TIP.
So I’m done. I just woke up one day and realized I couldn’t do it anymore. I will miss the kids and moms who did not abuse me. But once you open the floodgate, the rest pour in. And by “the rest,” I mean, “those who are completely unable to give proper value to my labor.”
But at least I have learned these valuable lessons. Perhaps it will one day make a lovely three-point sermon.
That is, if they ever pay me to be a minister.
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