If someone were to gauge my strength at handling calamities, I’d probably be rated around an 8 or 9 on the Mohs Hardness Scale. Tell me I have a serious illness and I’m focused, clear, and concise when discussing options and prognoses; I might even make jokes. Tell me my father is on life support but my mother wants to pull the plug because he signed a DNR and it’s time to let him die, then I’m the only one in the room not crying, but holding my mother and brother as they do. However, paper-cuts send me into a fit of wailing, and having my ears pierced in January was one of the most painful, irritating things I have suffered, and continue to deal with on a daily basis.
The same principle applies to the trials at work. If the roof caved in, I would not be the one standing in the middle of the rubble, screaming like a banshee and crying for someone to save me. In my weakest moments I have never called out for my mommy, although, if you met my mom you would probably know why. My reactions are to pause, figure out what to do, and do it. I have trained myself well in the art of hiding my emotions and dealing with them privately. It’s the way of the warrior.
I am a warrior.
BUT…
A few things will derail me completely. By “derail” I mean come unhinged with anger.
Those few things that might derail me are often things that others would scoff at.
At work, we have a security alarm that protects our building while we aren’t around. Until recently, there weren’t many people on staff who knew what to do with it, even though it only involves having your own four-digit code and being able to read. Everyone has a personal code number. Almost everyone is petrified of the damn thing.
At one time, I had become so irritated with the sheer number of people who are far too intimidated to set the alarm at the end of the night, that I became the one who set it every single night. It became part of the routine. People got lazy and made me do it each night, which ultimately forced me to be the last person to leave the building and the only one who knew what to do if it went off. Two years ago, when I went on vacation, there were problems. It became evident that no one on staff had a clue what to do with the security alarm and I was forbidden to touch it at the end of the day with the hopes that this would force the rest of the staff to learn this part of their job. It worked for a while. If by “worked” it means that the alarm was set off with such frequency that the police started fining us for each incident, and sometimes we’d receive two to three fines per week. Administration put it high on the list of priorities for everyone to learn their fucking codes. It’s not hard! Four numbers! Put in your code and press the button that activates the alarm or deactivates the alarm. EASY! Five total key punches! Why these people resisted and screwed it up day in and day out, I’ll never know. If you can’t press five keys to enter and leave the building, you probably aren’t smart enough to be working at our library. That should be part of the proficiency for every position on staff. But it isn’t. If it was, we’d lose a huge chunk of our personnel.
Then we hired janitors who arrived each night as we closed, so people got comfortable not ever touching the security alarm again. They eagerly unlearned what they had been forced to learn, thinking they’d never need it again. The security alarm was something they evolved above, like a tailbone. Or so they thought.
About two months ago, a new team of janitors started cleaning our building, but the major difference with the new team is that they don’t arrive until midnight, which means that the staff has to close the building each night.
And turn the terrifying alarm on when they leave.
You should see these people!
The folks in circulation, with the exception of one person, race out the back door at the end of the night. They should have flames painted down their sides and parachutes that shoot out of their rectums when they reach the safety of the parking lot. Many times I have checked for skid marks in the shape of gym shoes on the staff side of the lot. I think that when the closing announcement is made, it is the equivalent of a starter pistol being shot. I don’t even see them move around behind the circulation desk, but five minutes after we close, they have Machu-Pichued the area. They leave all the lights on in the building, sometimes their own area fans, the fish tank, the bathroom lights, and I’ve heard that a few times they even left the cash register drawer in the register for anyone to have access to. These folks are in a hurry not to be the last ones out of the building. They don’t tell anyone else that they are leaving. They don’t offer to help others who still have closing procedures to complete. They bolt! They leave the building like they’re afraid they’ll lose their commercial sponsorship if they don’t cross some invisible finish line first. I don’t know if there really is a prize for the first closers out the door – I’m never out first – but there could very well be. That prize might just be that you make a clean getaway, which is a highly-coveted reward.
The youth department is much better and they, at least, check in with us to see if we need help or if we plan to stay later. That’s nice. We try to do the same for them if we finish first. However, it’s no less obvious that they want to leave in a group so that someone else will take responsibility for the alarm as well.
If you discount the UFO-like disappearance of the circ crew, and the well-intentioned cooperation of the youth crew, the problem really falls on the shoulders of one person.
We have one coworker who cannot keep track of her schedule, her obligations, her responsibilities, her overflowing email inbox, and, of course, won’t have anything to do with the security alarm. She claims she doesn’t have a code, but it’s as easy as just saying as much to receive one. Which she has received. And she has forgotten. It wouldn’t be a big deal if she wasn’t spending her desk shift preoccupied with her personal endeavors and she didn’t start cleaning up and shutting things down until well after the library has closed. With the janitors in the building, she could take her sweet time and leave whenever she wanted. However, now she has to hustle to get her closing procedures done so that she doesn’t have to be the last one in the building. This happens on nights when she’s being considerate. There are many, many nights when the group of us will be standing at the back door waiting for her, unable to leave because we can’t leave her alone in the building. If she can’t set the alarm, we have to wait for her. It’s getting really fucking old.
She is a manager.
Whose turn is it to baby-sit her tonight, we ask one another. Someone go check to see if you can speed her up.
Inevitably, she’s sitting somewhere sending out an email or printing a calendar and there is more waiting involved that no one can hasten. When she finally gets to the back door, you better have said a prayer that she didn’t forget anything, too, because it’s really hard to get blood out of drywall when you try to speed up time by slamming your head into the wall. I have actually been stuck at work until 8:30 because we waited for her for 20 minutes, got all the way out to our cars and were going to drive away before she remembered that her cell phone was still inside. This means someone has park, turn off their car, go back into the building, deactivate the alarm, let her go from the second floor NW corner of the building to the first floor SE corner of the building to retrieve her cell, return to you at the back door, then reactivate the alarm so you can leave. Again. And burn fucking rubber out of the lot before she changes her mind. Again.
This, I think, is why the circulation department breaks the sound barrier each night trying to leave. While it irritates the hell out of me that it’s like a reenactment of the Jamestown Colony disappearance on some nights within minutes of the library closing, with staff abandoning the building with frightening suddenness, I do prefer this to the member of our team who forces the rest of us to baby her. Not because she’s incapable of doing the alarm, but because she’s afraid of it and cannot for the life of her remember her code.
And if she had an ounce of wits about her, she’d request an easy code that consisted of her birth date or home phone number to make it easy.
Then again, that method might have been tried and failed as well.
I would rather deal with nightly knifings, gunfire and weather disasters than this.
Yes, I realize that it isn’t logical to prefer death and destruction to a bit of an irritant, but that’s how I am. It does not stress me out so much that I have $4 in my bank account, 9 pennies in my wallet and enormous medical bills that I owe, and will continue to owe because my health is only improving in tiny increments. It does not stress me out as much when I’m working at the desk alone and there are 8 people standing in line for help with the phone ringing and a policeman in need of some security camera footage of a bike being stolen. I can handle that. But the manager on our staff who forces us to stay late and wait for her, no matter what the hell she’s working on, just because she’s too flaky to remember her alarm code, makes me want to take a sledgehammer to the place.
If ever I go postal, let this be my manifesto that it wasn’t the Big Picture that broke me. Oh no. It was the miniscule bullshit. It was the fact that it’s routinely about 5-10º above comfortable in our office, despite having at least one fan going at all times; it was the innumerable pages made by one staff member seeking another staff member and roaring it into a microphone so often each day that I have developed a nervous tick and ringing in my ears; it was because of the repliers-to-all, who respond to an email and think the entire library should know that they agree with a primary (and arbitrary) email; it was due to the price of Coke in the vending machine going up to $1.25; and because I had to wait 10 extra minutes for the same person, night after night, who refused to learn how to use the security system that is easy enough for a child to use, not even as a courtesy to me, the only one who will always, always, always wait for her, no matter what.
By the way, what does get blood out of drywall when you beat your own head into the wall frequently?
The same principle applies to the trials at work. If the roof caved in, I would not be the one standing in the middle of the rubble, screaming like a banshee and crying for someone to save me. In my weakest moments I have never called out for my mommy, although, if you met my mom you would probably know why. My reactions are to pause, figure out what to do, and do it. I have trained myself well in the art of hiding my emotions and dealing with them privately. It’s the way of the warrior.
I am a warrior.
BUT…
A few things will derail me completely. By “derail” I mean come unhinged with anger.
Those few things that might derail me are often things that others would scoff at.
At work, we have a security alarm that protects our building while we aren’t around. Until recently, there weren’t many people on staff who knew what to do with it, even though it only involves having your own four-digit code and being able to read. Everyone has a personal code number. Almost everyone is petrified of the damn thing.
At one time, I had become so irritated with the sheer number of people who are far too intimidated to set the alarm at the end of the night, that I became the one who set it every single night. It became part of the routine. People got lazy and made me do it each night, which ultimately forced me to be the last person to leave the building and the only one who knew what to do if it went off. Two years ago, when I went on vacation, there were problems. It became evident that no one on staff had a clue what to do with the security alarm and I was forbidden to touch it at the end of the day with the hopes that this would force the rest of the staff to learn this part of their job. It worked for a while. If by “worked” it means that the alarm was set off with such frequency that the police started fining us for each incident, and sometimes we’d receive two to three fines per week. Administration put it high on the list of priorities for everyone to learn their fucking codes. It’s not hard! Four numbers! Put in your code and press the button that activates the alarm or deactivates the alarm. EASY! Five total key punches! Why these people resisted and screwed it up day in and day out, I’ll never know. If you can’t press five keys to enter and leave the building, you probably aren’t smart enough to be working at our library. That should be part of the proficiency for every position on staff. But it isn’t. If it was, we’d lose a huge chunk of our personnel.
Then we hired janitors who arrived each night as we closed, so people got comfortable not ever touching the security alarm again. They eagerly unlearned what they had been forced to learn, thinking they’d never need it again. The security alarm was something they evolved above, like a tailbone. Or so they thought.
About two months ago, a new team of janitors started cleaning our building, but the major difference with the new team is that they don’t arrive until midnight, which means that the staff has to close the building each night.
And turn the terrifying alarm on when they leave.
You should see these people!
The folks in circulation, with the exception of one person, race out the back door at the end of the night. They should have flames painted down their sides and parachutes that shoot out of their rectums when they reach the safety of the parking lot. Many times I have checked for skid marks in the shape of gym shoes on the staff side of the lot. I think that when the closing announcement is made, it is the equivalent of a starter pistol being shot. I don’t even see them move around behind the circulation desk, but five minutes after we close, they have Machu-Pichued the area. They leave all the lights on in the building, sometimes their own area fans, the fish tank, the bathroom lights, and I’ve heard that a few times they even left the cash register drawer in the register for anyone to have access to. These folks are in a hurry not to be the last ones out of the building. They don’t tell anyone else that they are leaving. They don’t offer to help others who still have closing procedures to complete. They bolt! They leave the building like they’re afraid they’ll lose their commercial sponsorship if they don’t cross some invisible finish line first. I don’t know if there really is a prize for the first closers out the door – I’m never out first – but there could very well be. That prize might just be that you make a clean getaway, which is a highly-coveted reward.
The youth department is much better and they, at least, check in with us to see if we need help or if we plan to stay later. That’s nice. We try to do the same for them if we finish first. However, it’s no less obvious that they want to leave in a group so that someone else will take responsibility for the alarm as well.
If you discount the UFO-like disappearance of the circ crew, and the well-intentioned cooperation of the youth crew, the problem really falls on the shoulders of one person.
We have one coworker who cannot keep track of her schedule, her obligations, her responsibilities, her overflowing email inbox, and, of course, won’t have anything to do with the security alarm. She claims she doesn’t have a code, but it’s as easy as just saying as much to receive one. Which she has received. And she has forgotten. It wouldn’t be a big deal if she wasn’t spending her desk shift preoccupied with her personal endeavors and she didn’t start cleaning up and shutting things down until well after the library has closed. With the janitors in the building, she could take her sweet time and leave whenever she wanted. However, now she has to hustle to get her closing procedures done so that she doesn’t have to be the last one in the building. This happens on nights when she’s being considerate. There are many, many nights when the group of us will be standing at the back door waiting for her, unable to leave because we can’t leave her alone in the building. If she can’t set the alarm, we have to wait for her. It’s getting really fucking old.
She is a manager.
Whose turn is it to baby-sit her tonight, we ask one another. Someone go check to see if you can speed her up.
Inevitably, she’s sitting somewhere sending out an email or printing a calendar and there is more waiting involved that no one can hasten. When she finally gets to the back door, you better have said a prayer that she didn’t forget anything, too, because it’s really hard to get blood out of drywall when you try to speed up time by slamming your head into the wall. I have actually been stuck at work until 8:30 because we waited for her for 20 minutes, got all the way out to our cars and were going to drive away before she remembered that her cell phone was still inside. This means someone has park, turn off their car, go back into the building, deactivate the alarm, let her go from the second floor NW corner of the building to the first floor SE corner of the building to retrieve her cell, return to you at the back door, then reactivate the alarm so you can leave. Again. And burn fucking rubber out of the lot before she changes her mind. Again.
This, I think, is why the circulation department breaks the sound barrier each night trying to leave. While it irritates the hell out of me that it’s like a reenactment of the Jamestown Colony disappearance on some nights within minutes of the library closing, with staff abandoning the building with frightening suddenness, I do prefer this to the member of our team who forces the rest of us to baby her. Not because she’s incapable of doing the alarm, but because she’s afraid of it and cannot for the life of her remember her code.
And if she had an ounce of wits about her, she’d request an easy code that consisted of her birth date or home phone number to make it easy.
Then again, that method might have been tried and failed as well.
I would rather deal with nightly knifings, gunfire and weather disasters than this.
Yes, I realize that it isn’t logical to prefer death and destruction to a bit of an irritant, but that’s how I am. It does not stress me out so much that I have $4 in my bank account, 9 pennies in my wallet and enormous medical bills that I owe, and will continue to owe because my health is only improving in tiny increments. It does not stress me out as much when I’m working at the desk alone and there are 8 people standing in line for help with the phone ringing and a policeman in need of some security camera footage of a bike being stolen. I can handle that. But the manager on our staff who forces us to stay late and wait for her, no matter what the hell she’s working on, just because she’s too flaky to remember her alarm code, makes me want to take a sledgehammer to the place.
If ever I go postal, let this be my manifesto that it wasn’t the Big Picture that broke me. Oh no. It was the miniscule bullshit. It was the fact that it’s routinely about 5-10º above comfortable in our office, despite having at least one fan going at all times; it was the innumerable pages made by one staff member seeking another staff member and roaring it into a microphone so often each day that I have developed a nervous tick and ringing in my ears; it was because of the repliers-to-all, who respond to an email and think the entire library should know that they agree with a primary (and arbitrary) email; it was due to the price of Coke in the vending machine going up to $1.25; and because I had to wait 10 extra minutes for the same person, night after night, who refused to learn how to use the security system that is easy enough for a child to use, not even as a courtesy to me, the only one who will always, always, always wait for her, no matter what.
By the way, what does get blood out of drywall when you beat your own head into the wall frequently?
3 comments:
$1.25? For 12 oz or 20? The vending machines around here are up to $1.50/20oz. Luckily, I know a place nearby where it's only a buck. And there's no alarm system where I work.
The first thing that strikes me: you don't all leave together? It's just a safety precaution: don't leave a single person to walk out in the dark, especially when you have a female-dominant staff. Somebody's going to get hurt that way.
The second thing: just set the alarm and leave her. Oops. Maybe the ear-splitting screech when she finally gets off her ass will motivate her in the future.
OMG! It sounds EXACTLY like my library. Only, neither circ staff nor children's set the alarm. Let me re-phrase, there are 2 peeps who won't I guess they figure they've been here long enough so they don't have to! @ the end of the day, I watch them sail out the door as if the alarm didn't exist, they suck bigtime.
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