A little desperate

I have begun to understand where the dry, sardonic humor of things like The Office and Office Space come from. Working in an office breeds quiet desperation.

I didn’t think it did, because for some time I was always busy (and happily so) in my office. But since all the changes occurred I have significantly less to do, fewer people to talk to, and generally less engagement with my fellow human beings. That’s where the impatience with the world begins—boredom mixed with the dawning of the realization of how futile and insignificant my job (sometimes) is.

But the good thing about feeling that way, but also still being young and not completely disillusioned, is that it lights a fire under you to do something about it. So I’m in the process of getting bus and/or train tickets to go visit my family in Boston this weekend. Take that, quiet desperation!

It also fuels a sense of adventure; I might have to transfer busses at 1:30am in New York City in order to get up north a little faster. A year ago, this prospect would have terrified me. I went up there a month ago believing that New York, in its vastness, would scare the hell out of me. But once I got there, I finally realized: I live in Camden. You can’t scare me.

(Well, that isn’t true. I get scared when a loved one is in danger of physical or emotional harm. But walking around the Big Apple at night? That’s a breeze.)

I’m trying to buoy myself up; a run today after work (it’s so nice outside!), a fruit smoothie at lunch, Pandora on my computer at work, and making plans for the holiday weekend. Life could be so much worse than being a little bored in the office, after all.

(Flexible Number of) Slow Takes Thursdays Vol. 2

So, I know that 7 Quick Takes are supposed to happen on Fridays, but keep getting inspired to do them on Thursdays. And mine are never very quick, so…

I move to institute (Flexible Number of) Slow Take Thursdays here on Drops of Jupiter! And if no one follows suit, that’s perfectly OK, especially if they already write Quick Takes on Fridays!

1. Habitforge: Leo Tolstoy once wrote (I’m paraphrasing) that morality and the whole essence of a person lies in the smallest of their actions and habits. After reading that, it dawned on me that not all of my actions and habits reflect the type of person that I want to be. (Specifically, I am quite a messy person. But I don’t really think that fits with the rest of my personality, and it certainly does not reflect the type of responsible adult that I want to be!) I let the notion drift around my head for a while, but not with any idea of how to change my behavior.

Enter inspiration from my lovely friend, Lindsey. She wrote a post on her family blog about Habitforge.com, a website that allows you to set up a goal and desire, and then tracks your daily progress on completing the goal for twenty-one consecutive days (on the premise that it takes three weeks to establish a habit). If you miss a day, you have to start over! So I set up an account and entered three goals: making my bed each morning before work (getting to it on my lunch break does not count!), picking all the laundry up off the floor and either putting it away or in the laundry basket before bed (my mother will be the first to tell you that I’ve been terrible at that for the last twenty-three and a half years!), and hitting all of my prayer devotions every day (I was getting woefully lazy at keeping up with those!).

I think what makes this so effective for me is the fact that I can see my daily progress (or lack thereof), and if I mess up, there’s no one to blame except myself. I hope to have become a habitually neat and responsible person at the end of this voyage, and then set new goals once I’ve mastered these! Thank you, Lindsey!

“You cannot dream yourself into a character: you must hammer and forge yourself into one." -Henry David Thoreau

2. Running: Along the lines of my wanting to be more responsible for myself, I’ve decided to be more proactive about the care and feeding of my body. As easy as it is to blame anything I don’t like about myself on genetics and lack of time or resources to exercise and/or eat well, the fact is that I am the only person responsible for my health and well-being! I don’t want to reach middle-age with manifold health problems because established crappy habits in my young adulthood. Moreover (and more importantly) my body is a gift from God (see Psalm 139:13-18), and the best way to thank Him for it and honor His gift is to take good care of it!

But, like my messy habits from early in life, it was hard for me to establish a routine to hold myself accountable for my habits. I’d typically go for a run whenever I felt like it, which sometimes meant only once or twice a week.

However, I’ve since been inspired by Christine, my roommate. She’s training for the Hood to Coast Relay in Oregon this coming August, and to keep herself on track she writes her running stats on a calendar so that she can commit to five runs per week. I don’t know if I can handle five quite yet, but since Easter I’ve been writing my mileage on a calendar. It hasn’t been spectacular so far, but it does motivate me to do better each week.

3. Work: Once again, work has been inordinately stressful lately. Without getting into the details of how it happened (who knows might read this blog!), the facts are these: Upper management (read: my supervisor’s boss) decided to change the chain of command in the social services office. We now report to the management/ leasing department instead of to Irma, the department head.

(Which, to my way of thinking, is a huge conflict of interest. The social services department was established specifically to advocate for our tenants when the rules and regulations of the leasing office shouldn’t necessarily apply to them for various medical and psychosocial reasons. Management suddenly controlling social services undermines the purpose and effectiveness of the office, and certainly undercuts our ability to serve our clients. It’s like forcing the defense attorney to answer to the prosecutor during a trial; the prosecutor would certainly win every case).

One of management’s first moves was to take away my office and give it to our new advancement director (a fancy term for the guy who raises funds for this building), and put me in his old office. On the surface, this shouldn’t seem like something to get upset about; it’s a nice office with a window to the park just outside. But it is situated far away from the social services office, within the building community center. The new geography has effectively removed me from my position as a case manager in social services. So my old department is significantly compromised with one of three case managers gone (and 402 tenants to keep an eye on), and my new position doesn’t really serve any purpose for my original assignment or the larger picture of social justice.

The other problem with this office is that the community center boasts a very nice television and a great sound system. But it’s on all the time, and it’s very loud. Irrespective of my disliking too much TV to begin with, having a television blaring in surround sound directly outside my office is not conducive to getting any work done. (Before you ask, yes, I turn the sound off every morning. But invariably, someone bangs on my window until I turn it back up. I'm lucky to go for an hour in silence.)

I worry that this may be an irreversible change, and though I’m trying to stay positive, I’m more than a little worried for what this means for the rest of my volunteer year. I feel that these new changes were not made with the wellbeing of our clients or social justice in mind. (I have to stop writing about this here because if I don’t I’m going to start spilling things that shouldn’t be posted on a public blog.)

4. JVC is awesome: One of the things that made me like JVC over a lot of other volunteer programs is that there is a strong support structure built into our lives as volunteers. We have: our immediate community of JVs; support people (usually FJVs who live in the area) who come hang out with us, pray with us, and buy us dinner and drinks; a Jesuit liaison, usually an SJ priest or scholastic who lives in the area; and the JVC office itself, whose staff keeps an eye on all of its volunteers, helps us with things like our medical insurance, and periodically comes to visit our volunteer communities.

Andrew, my community’s program coordinator, came to visit earlier this week. He checked in with each of us to see how we’re doing at work, in community, and personally. In light of the above work situation, we had a lot to talk about. I also was able to talk about some personal issues that I feel are not appropriate to talk about in my community, and my plans for next year. It was so nice just to have someone whose job is to make sure I’m being treated fairly at work and that I’m functioning well in other areas of my life. JVC is really great at making sure we have ready access to support like that.

I may be the only person in the history of “Quick” Takes to make four takes so long, so I’ll stop now. Happy Thursday, everyone!

Conversation between me and my boss

One of our tenants often soils himself, and his clothes are accordingly dirty. His aide rarely comes to work or does his laundry, so today we're stepping in and getting it done.

Irma: Molly, do you have any quarters?

Molly: No, but I can go get some from the drugstore. What are they for?

Irma: We're trying to clean Mr. Smith's clothes. And it's gonna take a Jesus, a Hail Mary, and a Hallelujah chorus to get it right. Amen, sweet baby Jesus.

(Molly collapses in a fit of giggles.)

Blessed are those who mourn...

One of the reasons I have been mildly terrified about my boss’ hospitalization/on-going health problems keeping her from work was my genuine concern that if the s*** hit the fan and we had a true emergency, no one would really know what to do.

Lo and behold, we had an emergency today. A tenant, who was by all accounts a very nice man, was found dead in his apartment. Sadly, that isn’t really a new thing around here, but it was the first time we had to go at it without Irma.

I didn’t go upstairs to wait with the body—my coworker and leasing agent went. I stayed downstairs to mind the office and try to manage affairs for everyone else. It turned out to be a good thing I was there, because the daughter of the deceased came racing in. She asked for her dad by name, and I guess the look on my face told her that he was already gone.


She reacted the way you would expect; dropped her bag, tried to get away from me, hyperventilating, and saying, “No” over and over again. Before I could stop her she tried to get on the elevator to go to her father’s apartment, and actually took a swing at me when I tried to stop her (don’t worry, I ducked.). Security intervened then because EMS expressly forbade the family from entering the apartment. After she calmed down we managed to get her into the security office to sit down.


A detective briefly interviewed the daughter and the fiancée of the deceased. They wanted to go upstairs immediately to see the remains, but security took me aside and said that it would have been too traumatic for the family to see their loved one in that way. So I took them (after a LOT of talking) to a conference room in my office and got them settled with water and tissues.

After we got them settled, hours of agonizing waiting began. I escorted the daughter to the bathroom because she needed to vomit (which always seems to make people feel better when they’re upset), and came back and waited with them until the authorities released the body.

I would have liked to have consoled the family in shifts, since I didn’t feel adequately prepared to counsel anyone so soon after such a traumatic event. But a co-worker sort of put her foot in her mouth and offended the freshly-bereaved family, who politely (I confess, I would not have been so polite!) threw her out of the room. They asked me to stay—I guess I’d established some sort of trust with them. (Evidently, helping someone who tried to hit you when they need to vomit must make them think you’re trustworthy.)

Grief comes in waves—sometimes we sat in silence, sometimes the ladies would burst out laughing, but more often than not they broke into unadulterated weeping. Whenever one or both was lucid enough to want to talk to me, they’d soon phone a relative and the waves of sobs would come back.I’ve never lost a parent, but I’ve lost enough people before to know that all of this was natural, and I certainly remember how it feels. Nothing you feel seems rational, and for a moment you think you may be absolutely crazy for feeling the way you do.

For my part, I didn’t talk a whole lot unless I was spoken to or telling them what was happening at that moment (“The authorities have given permission for the funeral home to take him.” “The funeral director will be here within the hour.” “Would you like me to call a pastor?” That sort of thing.) When the funeral director had finally arranged the remains so that the family could see him, both women hugged me before they left to see him.


I suppose I could have gone upstairs with them, but I felt like it would have frightened the women too much if I hadn’t reacted well to the body. So the guards and the funeral director escorted them upstairs. By then, it was long into my lunch break, so I went for a walk by the river and got some food.


I have a feeling we’ll all be pretty useless for the rest of the day—this morning sapped our strength. At least it’s Friday, so we can blow off some steam after work! The whole morning was emotionally exhausting (God bless the priests, chaplains, and pastors who do this all the time!), so I’ll be glad to not have to come in tomorrow.

Redeeming moments

Sometimes all you need to brighten your day is tiny, senile Hispanic ladies heaping blessings on your head for helping them.

"Que Dios te bendiga, m'ijita! Jesus te bediga mucho! La Madre de Dios te abrace en los brazos y te bendiga!"

:)

6 Not-So-Quick Takes Thursday

Please pardon my long absence from the blogosphere! I can't really claim to have been more busy than normal, so I guess I have no excuse. But work has got inordinately more stressful in the past few weeks, so maybe there is some excuse.


I can’t think of anything hugely post-worthy, so in the spirit of those 7 Quick Takes that I see here and there (though they are traditionally done on Friday. I am such a rebel.), I will just point out a few things that have happened on late that will fill people in on the last few weeks.


1.   Adoration: I love Adoration, but since I left Bellingham it was a lot harder to find place to make a holy hour. However, our new friends, the Franciscan Volunteers (FMV’s) over at St. Anthony of Padua parish, are in charge of running Adoration on Monday nights in their church. Last week it was my turn to coordinate my community’s spirituality night, and I just wasn’t feeling up to leading (or participating in, for that matter) a discussion. So rather than labor through a conversation that I felt might be difficult, I took everyone to Adoration, instead. I think we often forget that listening in silence to God is as integral to a prayer life as talking to Him. I know it did me a world of good to catch some quiet face time with Jesus, and I know it made Him happy to be visited by the Camden JV house. I’m also hitting Adoration on the first Friday of each month at a parish in Central Philadelphia, and if the FMV’s move Adoration to Tuesday nights, I’ll likely go every week for a few hours. I’m so happy to have found places that offer this devotion—it always helps me, no matter what I’m doing.


2.   Kevin and Becky: Our wonderful support people (the aforementioned Kevin and Becky) came to visit us this past Monday for this week’s spirituality night. We are so lucky to have them to support and guide us—both during serious times like spirituality nights, and during fun times, like before and after spirituality nights! We sat around and talked and laughed for a long time the other night, and it was just so much fun, and so relaxing, to have them with us.


3.   Work: All right, I’ll come clean: work has been ulcer-inducing for about a month. Last month, my boss had resolved to quit her job in this office. I support her in that decision with 90% of my heart—she is far too over-extended working here, and many of the players in the complex game that is running this building have unwittingly placed far too much responsibility on shoulders. Between that, the fact that she has a large family who depends on her, not to mention three daughters and manifold health problems, she really needs a less stressful job!


But that other 10% of my heart is split the following ways: 5% doesn’t want her to leave because I really love working with her and can’t imagine what this job would be like without her. As far as I’m concerned, she makes this job what it is. That 5% wants to scream, “Please don’t leave me! I don’t know what I’m doing without you!” The other 5% knows that this office would practically disintegrate as soon as she leaves—she’s the only licensed social worker here, she knows the tenants and their life stories by sheer dint of the fact that she is related by blood or marriage to practically EVERYONE who lives here, and because she’s been here for six years, she has established such deep trust with our clients that they won’t deal with anybody else in our office. She’s the only competent case manager here, as well—I genuinely worry that the quality of our office’s work with decline if she leaves.


And if that weren’t stressful enough, she was admitted to the hospital on Monday. Those manifold health problems came to a peak that morning and we rushed her to the ER. She’s been in the hospital ever since. That day, I was the only person in the office after she left, which was quite harrowing and very stressful. Since then, we’ve been hobbling along without her.

On top of all that, a tenant that I worked with pretty closely died over the weekend. There have been moments this week when I wanted to crawl under the desk and suck my thumb instead of dealing with the chaos swirling around me.

4.   Springtime: In a miraculous reversal of weather patterns, it has been BEAUTIFUL around here for the past week and a half. Today we expect a lot of rain, but from last Friday until Wednesday, it has been positively gorgeous outside! That kind of weather requires running by the river and reading on the back stoop. I know we’re in for some scorchers this summer, so a fair-skinned carrot top like me has to pick and choose when she goes outside. (Even on Sunday, I covered my neck, shoulder, and upper chest with a blanket. Skin cancer just doesn’t sound appealing).


5.   Weekend reprieve: Given the high level of stress at work the past month, I made a point to REALLY enjoy myself last weekend. On Saturday I went to an Irish pub in Philly with Bridget, a volunteer with the Sisters of Mercy (known as the Mercy Volunteer Corps). She and I share an affinity for Celtic music, and we want to find some live music to listen to. The live band wasn’t actually a band; it was a group of people who happen to play Irish instruments. Whoever can and wants to just shows up and sits with the musicians, and they improvise and play along. It was a really nice time, just hearing them play (especially because it was FREE!).


The next day, Sunday, I slept in, went for a run by the river, and then went to the Philadelphia Museum of Art with Steph, my roommate. On the first Sunday of every month, the PMA has free admission! I plan to go every month until I move away (except next month—the first Sunday is Easter Sunday. Although if we go to the Vigil Mass the night before, we can certainly hit the museum before Easter dinner). The European art section has AMAZING pieces from old altars and such, and ancient illustrated prayer books, a mock chapel with real French Gothic stained-glass windows, etc. I felt like a kid in a candy store, but it was better because all the proverbial candy was free!

After the PMA closed, Steph and I took pictures on the steps out front (the Rocky steps! We sang the theme song and everything!) and in front of the Rocky statue. They’re on my phone, so I can’t post them here. :( THEN we grabbed a quick bite at Cosí and hung out in Central Philadelphia until evening Mass at Old St. Joes’s. It was a perfectly lovely day.


6.   The eagle has landed: Rejoice, my brethren: Joseph Michael Downes has returned to American soil! Joe came back from his Tour d’Europe yesterday. He landed safely in Boston and is staying with my godparents, our aunt and uncle. He’s going to visit with all of our family members in Massachusetts for a while, especially our Uncle Terry (Joe’s godfather), who is pretty sick right now. (Don’t worry—he should make a full recovery. It’s just a long row to hoe at this point. He’s such a trooper). Before Joe journeys west, he’s going to come visit me in Camden! I can’t wait to see him—I haven’t seen him in seven months. We’ve never gone that long without seeing each other!

Hmm, that was only six takes. But it’s already a pretty long blog, so I’ll stop now.

Right, so... this is what happened in January...

I really should update y’all on my life this month—I just can’t think of anything significant enough that it would be interesting to read that can also be posted on a public blog… some private stuff, etc. You know how it is.

Ok. Umm… I returned to work on January 4th after a nice (albeit short!) week at home with family and friends. Among my favorite days were a shopping trip in Seattle with my mom and sister, a gorgeous performance of The Nutcracker with said mom and sister (AND I ran into my old music teacher, who was there with his daughter!), a surprise visit to Bremerton to visit Andrew, Lindsey, and the babe (whose laugh is so intoxicating that I physically can’t keep from giggling when I hear it), a New Year’s Eve party (where I found many old friends and caught up with them… Neil, Jacob, Casey, Matt, Nicole, Lilly… I miss all of you!) and several quiet, one-on-one days with a few dear friends.

Work has been pretty stressful since I’ve been back. One of my cases was supposed to be resolved the Wednesday before last, and I was excited because it was the culmination of three months of hard work on my part. The client desperately needed a doctor’s appointment that she was finally going to have that afternoon. I stood with her and waited for her medical transportation to arrive. And we waited. And waited. And then… we waited some more. Long story short, it turned out that her medical transportation request was never sent. I was unbelievably frustrated—the rest of this woman’s life hinged upon this doctor’s appointment, and something as trivial as a clerical error kept it from happening. We were back at square one, and she’s been declining since I got her case in October.

The rest of the week didn’t seem to get better, and I found myself looking forward to Friday, which was the day I was going to take the GRE. (How stressed out do you have to be to look forward to a standardized test?) I took a personal day, drove to Philadelphia, and took the exam. I scored right around the middle of the bell curve, and I’m still waiting on the Analytical Writing score. I felt really good about the writing section, but only time will tell.

I had realized a few days before I took the test that I really had no idea as to what master’s program I wanted to enter, so I decided to hold off on applying anywhere for a while. I have some ideas now, but I don’t want to rush into anything and I do want to take a little bit of time to clear my head and plan carefully.

The following week was a short one for us JVs because we took off for Dalton, PA for Re-Orientation. It was only the second retreat where all of JVC East was present—the ninety of us won’t see each other again until Dis-Orientation in (gulp) August! We stayed in a seminary (although right now it functions as a retreat center because there aren’t enough vocations to fill the giant building) for the week, and I must say that I really appreciate the appeal of being a seminarian! I had my own little room with a desk and a rocking chair, which is really all I need. I never quite realize what the privacy of one’s own room feels like. The Fatima Center staff fed us very well, and (my favorite part) there was a Eucharistic chapel just down the hall from my room. If I had had the privilege of attending theology classes all day (I did, actually, but they weren’t necessarily comprehensive about our faith), it would have been a week in the life of a seminarian. Since I can’t do that, maybe I’ll go get a theology degree…

I think that our community as a whole found a lot of growth, both personal and communal, this past week. It wasn’t always pleasant, but it was a growing experience. After we had a talk at dinner on Monday, it felt like we’d knocked down a wall that had kept us from communicating fully. So I guess it was a big help. As it was, I called a few friends back home for support, all of which helped me somewhat.


On a semi-related note, our community was also in charge of planning Mass on retreat. Among other things, we planned the music—which is always my department. I must say, we have talented musicians in JVC East! Being the de facto director, I got a lot of compliments (which I tried hard to spread to the rest of the choir/band) on the music. People were pretty moved, and I was happy with it.

Now that I’m back at work, life didn’t wait for me to get back into the swing of things gradually. By 2pm on Tuesday (my first day back) I had to help break up a brawl in the lobby! Two women in their fifties were fighting over a boyfriend (I think—there was a lot of R-rated Spanish getting thrown around, but I caught most of what they were yelling at each other). The guards pulled off the aggressor, and I pulled away the one that was clearly losing the fight (she didn’t really fight me back, thankfully). Is it bad that I’m not shocked at any of this anymore?

So, now you’re caught up! Hopefully I won’t leave everyone hanging for a month again for a while.

And the world keeps turning...

It was so lovely to see everyone while I was home! I love and miss you all!


Life here continues to trudge on. We did lose a tenant a few days after Christmas. It wasn't unexpected, as she was terminally ill. But I'd just had her in my office less than a week before she died, so it's a little shocking that she was so close to the end at that time. Still, this is the first time that I haven't been sad that a tenant passed away. She was ready.


It's good to be back with the roommates. We need to get back into the swing of things in terms of scheduling food (we completely exhausted our "emergency reserve" food during that snowstorm, and now we have no food! Last night we went to an evening Mass specifically because they serve dinner afterward!), community and spirituality nights, although that will be hard because this month's schedule is crazy.


We're going to Scranton next Thursday for Re-Orientation, which sounded so far off when we first got here! We'll be there for almost a week. The following week, all of the former Camden JVs are coming to our place for a reunion (which they sort of planned without telling us; the first we heard about it was that six people will be crashing on our floor for a weekend. On the upside, they remember what it was like to be a JV and will treat us to groceries in return for our hospitality).


We have to start planning for our big event next month: the Valentine's Day party. Remember how each JV house is assigned a holiday party (each community is responsible for throwing a party, which relieves financial burden for the rest of the houses for the rest of the year)? We have Valentine's. (An aside: I'm really not the partying type. It seems like most JV parties eventually devolve into beer pong and romances that become awkward in the sober light of day. I like to either play hostess in the kitchen, or hang out in a quiet corner and talk to someone. I think I'm too old a soul to enjoy big, loud parties). Which is not to say that I'm not excited-- I love throwing parties a lot more than I love attending them.


Going home was a very timely balm for my soul. I spent a lot of time on the move to visit my loved ones, and even then my time was so limited that I didn't get to see everyone. BUT, I'll be back in June to go to a couple weddings, so try to catch me between nuptual gatherings! My big concern after the break was getting enough rest, because I kept waking up early and staying out late while at home! That schedule, plus the plane ride and the jet lag are making me a little sleepy today.


Work has gone a bit nutty-- for various reasons, upper management has decided that it's the best use of resources to take a case manager (yours truly) and stick her with the after-school child care program. (I've trained for four months to be a case manager, and now with four hours' warning, they're putting me in child care? I'm pretty miffed.)


I wanted a better way to end this, but I can hear a lady with Altzheimer's yelling down the hall, and I just know she's headed for my office door...

Musing out loud

Since I’ve been battling some fairly negative feelings about work, I decided to take an inventory and look for things that affirm my vocation as a JV this year. What follows is what I focused on, and then what I took away from it.



Scenario:


About a week ago, one of our tenants was trying to cross the street in front of our building. It was dark and raining, so it was hard to see him, and a driver hit him. (Don’t worry—he’s OK. Busted knee. He should be fine in 6-8 weeks.)


But I didn’t know that he was OK when I got the radio call that a tenant had been struck by a car. So I grabbed his medical file and sprinted out of the building, pulling on my coat as I ran. (I think my speed rivaled my sixteen-year-old self during track season). He was conscious and talking, so Irma and I weren’t really needed, but we hung out anyway to keep him safe from traffic. After they loaded him into the ambulance, we went back to the office and business as usual.


The following day, one of the guards was teasing me for how fast I booked it out of the building to the accident (The guards tease me a lot. Third grade was over a long time ago, guys…). Before he could go on, a tenant punched him in the shoulder (softly) and said, “Shut up. She loves us, that’s all.”


Thoughts:


“We are not called to be successful; we are called to be faithful.” –Blessed Theresa of Calcutta


Social justice is intimately linked with the dignity of the human person. Where that dignity is not being affirmed, there is injustice. So at its base, my job is to affirm the dignity of our tenants.


And the thing I am coming to realize is that, while I spend most of time trying to affirm dignity in the most practical of ways, like organizing home health care, scheduling doctor’s appointments, and making sure everyone is well fed and taking their medicine, those tasks are not really my primary function.


To affirm the dignity of the poor and marginalized, we have to start by loving them. My primary function is to love the people here.


I didn’t realize it, because so many days I look at my work as a long list of tasks to accomplish. But checking off all the items on that list is not why the tenants are happy that we’re here.


They’re happy that we’re here for the simple fact that they feel loved because we are here.


Mother Theresa’s words remind me that some days will not be successful—patients don’t always comply with doctor’s orders, doctors’ offices don’t always complete the paperwork we need, and people that we try to help don’t always survive. But the point of our efforts isn’t that we succeed every time; it’s that we keep trying because we love the people we’re serving. The mere fact that we show up and keep going every day is more important than winning every battle that presents itself.

Happy Advent!

It’s been a while since I posted. Work has been fine—no major incidents or issues. There was one dude who got hit by a car, but he wasn’t severely hurt. I guess I’m getting more and more used to life back here, because things shock me less and less. My first six weeks here were so filled with huge, strange emergencies, but I didn’t know that they were anomalies. So it’s a little less crazy in terms of horrible things happening, but no less so terms of how fast we move around here. I would never have believed how often so many people have to go to the doctor for so many problems if I didn’t work here, or who have a whole other host of issues that need tending to.

A quick aside—I think a lot of the tenants think I’m a receptionist, not a case manager. Maybe that’s because I’m the youngest person here, or maybe that it’s because I’m young and a woman, but it’s still frustrating. On the other hand, the ones that know that I’m a case manager often come to me with a problem that I have no idea how to fix. It’s one of the drawbacks of never having the same day twice, I suppose. That’s a weird conundrum—the people I can help don’t think I know what I’m doing, and I have no idea how to help the ones that do believe in me. (This is a fairly broad generalization—I do a lot of work most of the time! I’m just referring to a few specific issues that tenants have.)

Community life is going well. Last night we made an Advent calendar from today until Christmas Eve. It was a lot of fun! Amber got a little wooden frame that used to be part of a set of barnyard toys. She put in little dividers so that there were twenty-four slots, one for each day. It’ll be exciting to see what everyone else put in, and what we are given to meditate upon for the day. I added a few… actually, I’ll wait until the days that we open the Advent calendar to tell you what’s in it! Oh, I love this time of year!

Speaking of Christmas-y stuff, the JVC Camden Christmas Extravaganza shall commence this Saturday. (Yes, it has an official name. Shut up.) We’re going to take our community Christmas card photo, then get a tree, then have dinner at Buca di Beppo’s, compliments of Amber Rose’s parents! (Thanks, Col. and Mrs. Yakkel!!!)

I’m starting the countdown for my visit home—23 days! Just over three weeks! I am so excited!

Love to all,

Molly

On-the-job frustration

OK, I will admit it—there are days when my job makes me crazy.

I realize this is merely an initiation into working life in general, but when it’s still a fresh, new feeling you can’t help but vent a little.

I feel badly even mentioning it because, in the immortal words of Drew Carey, “Oh, you hate your job? There’s a group for that. It’s called ‘Everyone’ and they meet at the bar.”

And before you get concerned, no, I do not hate my job. It’s just like any other job with high and low points. Sometimes you just have to vent about your low points.

I feel that this scenario sums up my feelings the best:

My good friend’s aunt wrote a book some years ago called “Six Years of Grace.” It’s about her (the author’s) experience living as her ailing mother’s caregiver during the final six years of her mother’s life. As any person who has ever been involved with caring for elderly people will corroborate, she describes in a couple of scenes how she (naturally enough) sometimes became frustrated with attending to her mother.

At one point, the author hears her mother ring a bell for help with something, and the author walks into the room and, somewhat exasperatedly asks, “What do you want now?”

But before she can even chastise herself for being short with her, her mother smiles and tells her, “Oh, sweetheart. You sound like a new mother.”

While I work primarily with elderly and disabled adults (who are among our society’s most vulnerable), it feels as though I am the new mother of a lot of small children and babies. [Except they don’t smell nearly as nice. ;)]

Let me be clear—children are precious. They are warm, adorably squirmy, sweet-smelling bundles of joy, life and unlimited potential.

But they also have a LOT of needs. And they cry when those needs aren’t met. Even once they’re toddlers (Lord help us, they have the capacity to complain at that point), they will cry, kick, stomp and throw tantrums if something that they believe to be a need (wanting a toy, a cookie, not to go to bed or clean up a mess) is not being fulfilled. And that can wear on the people who are there to serve their legitimate needs.

This is how I feel at times when serving our tenants. Very often someone will come into my office demanding attention now, damn it—which is off-putting to begin with. And so commences a meeting in which the tenant complains about having to pay a bill, follow a rule, or a problem with another tenant.

My office is here for the expressed purpose of advocating for the tenants, so it is understandable that they would come here for someone to back them up in whatever they happen to be feeling. But sometimes, after so many complaints, “repeat offenders” (the same people complaining about the same things at least once, if not several times a day), and a whole host of needy people looking to us to drop everything and hold their hand through something that they are clearly able to do for themselves, you get just a wee bit… annoyed.

Even as I write this, I am reminded of how working with the elderly is so necessary in our culture nowadays. We need people to do jobs like this because it affirms the dignity of the elderly and the physically and/or mentally handicapped. This helps me be well-rounded in my pro-lifeness. We need more people caring for the elderly. Even so, it has its challenges (namely, the ones I have described).

I do not dislike my job. I do not dislike the people that I serve. I do not wish to work with a different population or demographic. But I do get frustrated and, admittedly, annoyed sometimes. That is a natural part of any ministry.

So I suppose I just needed to put these thoughts into words. Giving voice to what I am feeling helps me handle it. We just had a spirituality night last night, and we actually focused on anger (don’t get concerned—we’re not having problems. It was more like preventative maintenance). I can no more tell my occasional anger and frustration to go away than I can tell a stomachache to go away. I need to express it and care for it.

Ennui and emergencies

I had started a post last Friday to let everyone know that I was settling into work to the point where everything felt like a routine. It was so calm at some points that one could even have said that a few of my days were boring. I actually looked up the word “ennui” one day, just to see how aptly it fit the string of quiet days.

But before I had finished a paragraph of that post on Friday, the day became a piping hot bowl of insanity. Before my morning coffee was even cooled down enough to sip without burning my tongue, security radioed that we had a situation in the back parking lot. I went outside with the social services and management teams to have a look. A guard had found a girl, perhaps twenty years old, unconscious and slumped over in the driver’s seat of a car that was still running. There was a hypodermic needle in her hand.

I won’t lie—I thought she was dead. Her skin was so pale it was gray, and her lips and hands were turning purple. Before I noticed that her chest was rising and falling slightly, my first thought was shock at how calmly I was processing my first dead body. At least, one that wasn’t already inside a coffin.

One of the hardest parts of this job for me is that we cannot, legally, touch a person who needs medical attention. (For example, if a frail tenant falls down, I can’t help her up. I have to wait with her until a guard or EMT comes around.) So we stood and watched, unable to help the girl, until EMS arrived. Those guys are really good at what they do—before her coworkers pulled up in an ambulance, the first EMT who arrived stuck something up the girl’s nose, pulled it out through her mouth, and the girl finally stirred and woke up. She was stoned out of her mind, but at least able to walk to the ambulance that drove her away.

The day went back to normal, and that familiar, sometimes suffocating ennui began to creep in again until I was handed a big pile of paperwork. (I’m told it’s practice for the winter months, when I will have a LOT of paperwork to do, pretty much all day long, to help the tenants with energy bills.)

The day plodded along, with Pandora and the occasional office gossip to keep me from going crazy from boredom. But around four o’clock, the second wave of madness hit. We got a call that a tenant was having trouble breathing, and an ambulance was en route. That’s nothing out of the ordinary around here, so when the plant manager radioed for a social services escort to the tenant’s room I just grabbed the file and ran upstairs (the rest of the SS team was handling another situation.)

But when we got there, the routine call seemed a lot less routine. The tenant in question has asthma, so I think I just expected to witness an asthma attack. It turned out she was in anaphylactic shock—she had a food allergy that none of us knew about. (Which made me feel dumb; I was flipping through her file specifically to find out if she had any allergies. The line read, “Allergies: None.” Go figure.) She was refusing her oxygen mask and gasping out the words me muero (Spanish for I’m dying) over and over again. Right after EMS walked in, she stopped breathing, fell unconscious, and flopped backward onto her bed. For the second time in one day, I thought the poor woman was dead.

This resuscitation was a lot more violent than the one I’d witnessed in the morning. The paramedics shoved a tube up her nose because her throat was clenched and our guards had to hold her down on her bed when she began to fight (tubes in your nose really hurt, and she was really out of it for lack of oxygen anyway). They had to move her to a gurney using the comforter on her bed, and I was terrified that they would drop her. She was still gasping and flailing around when they took her away.

The most interesting realization for me as I witnessed both of these events (and that’s about all I do during them: I witness. I'm professional moral support) was that, while I could certainly feel my body reacting to the situation—tense shoulders, a furrowed brow, and an eventual headache—I did not get emotional or upset. I think that’s part of learning to do the emergency part of this job. But it certainly is different from the way I thought I’d handle emergencies. As recently as senior year of college, high-stress situations made me cry. The difference now is that even after everything was resolved, I don’t get upset. I went home, lifted weights until my arms shook, did yoga, and the workout made me sleep for thirteen hours the following night. But I never became emotional. I think it would be too exhausting.

Lockdown

Today we locked down our building for two hours while the police and a SWAT team had a standoff with one of our residents. Nobody was killed or injured, so I promise that this story has a happy ending.

We had known that the tenant in question was mentally ill, and he’d become increasingly unstable in the past two weeks. Reports were piling up. Our staff felt threatened. We tried to file police reports, but for some reason there was never anything that they could do about him. We were becoming increasingly alarmed and wary of him, especially when we found out that he has weapons charges against him, and claimed to have a gun in his apartment.

Then this morning, he called the crisis hotline for himself. Because he made the call himself, the police and EMS responded. And because he, not our staff, phoned them we had no idea what he had said or threatened to do. But whatever it was, it must have been very serious. Our first inclination that anything was wrong came when two police officers entered our lobby with assault rifles.

Upon hearing about the incident, our security and maintenance staff sealed off that (the twelfth) floor of the building. We secured one elevator for the exclusive use of emergency personnel—the other was operated by one of our janitors, who escorted people up and down in order to make sure that no one got off on the twelfth floor. Those in their apartments on the twelfth floor couldn’t leave for those two hours.

At first, there were only those few officers upstairs, and an ambulance waited outside. But as we watched on the security cameras (they wouldn’t let social services staff anywhere near the actual apartment), more and more officers went upstairs to the scene as the first hour ticked by. I counted thirteen police officers, but I wasn’t that alarmed until a homicide detective walked in and requested an escort to the apartment.

Then, at almost the one-hour mark, the lead SWAT officer walked into the lobby and told us to secure the whole front of the building. That is, get all the tenants out of the lobby and front parking lot, and nobody other than our staff and emergency personnel were allowed to enter through the front door.

This is more difficult than it sounds, because the tenants really didn’t want to be told that they couldn’t go in and out as they pleased. It took a lot of polite (and a few not-so-polite) suggestions/commands on our part to divert people walking around to the back of the building. The other problem was that many of our frail tenants were stuck outside, unable to come in and with no place to sit down and rest. I ran in and out quite a few times, trying to get people with canes and walkers into wheelchairs or onto benches. We also had to keep all of the tenants who were inside their rooms when the incident began from leaving—by then both elevators were off limits, and so was the stairwell.

Once we made sure that the lobby was secure, the SWAT team itself went upstairs. Rifles, shields, helmets, body armor—these guys were prepared for whatever was going to come out of that apartment.

But still, nothing happened quickly. The officer who was on the phone negotiating with the tenant said that they wanted to get him out of there as quietly as possible. Whatever the tenant was telling the police, it was serious enough to warrant moving slowly.

My supervisor wasn’t here when this all started—she wasn’t feeling well and had gone to the doctor. She got the phone call to come in before she could even go get a prescription filled. When she showed up, we started calling everyone else on the twelfth floor to see if they were all right. Most of them were just annoyed because they couldn’t leave their apartments.

At some point, one of our managers came to ask me to help clear the people who had gathered around the grounds. Apparently, the cops were afraid that if the tenant was armed, he would start shooting out his window. We nudged the people as well as we could, but beyond the borders of our property, there wasn’t a whole lot we could do—we have no authority over anybody who is not a tenant. The officers took over for us.

Then, when we were waiting to go back inside the front doors, the officer at the door asked us to please not stand on the edge of the curb, just in case the tenant decided to jump out of his window.

We watched on the security cameras right into lunchtime—by then, we were tired and hungry, and most of us had to go to the bathroom. But no one wanted to leave.

At almost 1pm, they finally radioed that he was out.

I didn’t see it—I had been sent to the office to fetch a file for my supervisor. I’m told that he wasn’t wearing shoes or a shirt. His hands were bound behind him with a zip tie. Each arm was held by an officer. He was limp, like a ragdoll. Three officers followed him. They walked him out the door and put him in the back of a police car.

As the dénouement began, I was pushing our wheelchair-bound tenants back into the lobby to go up to their rooms. Walking past the police cruiser, I saw him, the tenant. He was lying on his back in the back of the cruiser. We locked eyes for a second, and then I went back to helping the other tenants.

He looked a lot more peaceful than I thought he would—maybe it was just a look of defeat. They took him to the hospital, where hopefully he’ll get the help he needs.

The SWAT team was clearing out and the cops were searching the apartment when my supervisor told me to take my lunch break.

We’re all coming down from the adrenaline, still. The rest of the day went on as normal, though I must say that I don’t remember a lot of it.

The day I interviewed for this job, my supervisor told me that I’d never experience the same day twice. I sincerely hope she’s right.

But the good news is that we all kept our heads, from the police, and SWAT team to the security officers and the social services and management staff. None of the tenants got hurt, not even the one who was at the greatest risk—the tenant in the apartment, himself. This story very well could have had an unhappy ending. Instead, we just have a really crazy story to tell.

Emergency on Highway 2

I was trying to think of a witty way to begin this blog so that it wouldn't sound so serious, but I can't think of anything. So I may as well just say what happened today. I will preface this by saying that no one was seriously injured.

Sharleen and I were driving back to our shop in Snohomish from Skykomish, which is in the mountains just inside of King County. We were a little early because we finished the road that we needed to work on, and we had business to tend to at the shop (e.g. cleaning our truck because it's covered in mud from all the rain, taking care of the new brushcutter because we're only just getting it back from the mechanics on Monday and needed to work out the details today). Also, the fair opened today and we were fairly (no pun intended) certain that the traffic would hold us up for at least thirty minutes. All of this by way of explaining why Shar and I were headed east on highway 2 at 3:13 this afternoon.

Between the towns Startup and Sultan, there is a road called (fittingly) Sultan-Startup Rd. It loops around highway 2. As we drove past, a silver car was stopped on the highway, left blinker on, preparing to turn left onto the Sultan-Startup road. We were driving in the opposite direction.

When we were directly to the right of the silver car (in terms of distance, my body was about 10 feet away), a red pick-up truck slammed in the back of the silver car.

Ever fill a balloon with confetti and then pop it? That's what the collision looked like. Glass sprayed everywhere and the silver car shot forward about 500 feet. Its back tires exploded. Whatever the exhaust pipe is connected to fell out of the back of the car and dragged along the pavement. I saw the initial crash to my left out the driver's side window; the rest I saw in the rear view mirror.

We pulled off the road as soon as we were able to, about .4 miles from the crash. Shar called 911 because I was driving (though she had to use my phone because she has a Blackberry and can do everything on it except make a phone call. It was one humorous moment of this whole ordeal.). Then we looked at each other and both said, "We have to go back."

See, we're both certified flaggers. It is recommended, though not required, that in an emergency situation a certified flagger handle traffic until the road is clear. So we whipped back around and got back to the scene of the accident before the cops got there. I grabbed my gear and a sign and started flagging immediately; Shar (former Navy, so she knows what she's doing) went to check on the drivers.

The guy in the silver car was a younger guy, probably 25 years old or so. The man driving the red pick-up was an older gentleman, probably between 60 and 65. The steering wheel hit him in the chest and he was complaining of chest pain. Considering the speed of the impact and how little damage there was to the truck, I think it was definitely good that EMS took him to the hospital because I worry that he may have taken the brunt of the impact in his chest. He didn't even tap the breaks before he hit, so he was moving really fast and may have had internal damage.

So anyway, in order to deal with the incredibly high volume of traffic (remember, the fair opened today), I had to don my orange and practically dive in front of the traffic in order to get them to stop. Once the Sultan police, sheriff, and state patrol (yes, representatives of all levels of law enforcement) and EMS showed up about three minutes after Shar was able to start flagging the other end of the "zone." We controlled the traffic for about an hour while the cops cleared the whole mess from the road. They kept thanking us for stopping to help.

Once the vehicles were cleared (the sheriff drove was able to drive the truck into a driveway, but a tow truck had to come for the silver car), the troopers used their cars to block traffic in both directions where Shar and I had been standing so that we could go back to our truck and leave. We got out of there around 4:15. And actually, we weren't even late getting back to the shop. We weren't able to take care of the equipment like we wanted to, but we were so glad to be able to go home on time (more or less) that we didn't mind losing the usual "close down" window that we get on Thursdays.

So the adrenaline is still pumping pretty hard, but at least it's over. I think what scared me the most was being to close to the accident the second that it happened. If the silver car had been pointing its wheels toward the road he was going to turn onto (like 80% of drivers seem to do), he would have careened right into us. It was a close call.

I am glad we were able to help. My heart stopped pounding as soon as EMS showed up, and then it was just like a normal day at work (albeit with a LOT more traffic than I'm used to. Then again, I usually work county roads, not state highways). The day had been pretty slow and lazy, and then it exploded into a grand finale just before the end. What a day.

Back in the saddle

I'm home from the beach, back at work, and fighting a cold-- and oddly, in a decent mood. Maybe that's just because I'm still fresh from the vacation. Expect pictures soon, though I only got a few good ones.

I did FINALLY meet Miss Ellery, and I think I'm in love! She's a tall little thing; 24 inches long at just under three months. So she has a lot of length but not a lot of muscle tone to move it around. She notices everything, expecially sound-wise-- I noticed that she paid special attention when someone started singing (erm, guitly) and when the music from the TV changed. Let's get this girl into piano lessons, stat!

Less than two weeks left of work!

Bare bones blog

I'm going to keep this as short and sweet as possible, because if I look at the computer screen too long my head is going to explode. Read: I have a very nasty headache.

Today I woke up with a sore throat, sore head, and a sore ear. The throat and head, I believe, are related. The ear, I know for sure, is sore because there's an inflamed blackhead on the inside. Ouch.

I flagged today. All day. Except for when we drove east to Skykomish to check out a road that needs to be worked on.

I came home from work and ran a few errands: replaced the battery in my phone (the battery wouldn't hold its charge and I kept missing calls), got a few new books and a new set of headphones.

The books and headphones are in prepartation for the drive to Oregon tomorrow night. My family's down there, and I'm joining them for the weekend along with Maddie and Amanda.

Thus, I am waiting for a load of laundry (full of summer clothes) to wash so I can put it in the dryer before I go to bed.

I really want to go to bed. I do not feel well.

I really hope a mini vacation helps. Come December (and winter break), I intend to take a weeklong (or so) sabbatical all alone. I don't think I've been by myself on my own terms, or on a bona fide vacation for the past three years. I am overdue. And I need some rest.

Now that's what I call a BIG lapse of concentration

Has it really been so long since I last blogged? Huh.

The blog has fallen by the wayside, but oddly not because I'm any more busy than I ever was. Part of me claims a need for privacy-- many of the things in my life of late that I really want to write about have been of a pretty personal nature. And those things are, well, personal. They go in the real diary, not the online one. The people who need to know do know; the people who don't need to know may find out one day, but at least they won't have found out because I spilled my guts in cyberspace. Nothing huge, just things that I feel need to remain close to my heart.

Since the last post (June 18?!?) I have moved home for the summer, with intermittent trips back home to Bellingham. Most were to sing at Sacred Heart, a few were for rehearsals for wedding music, twice was for moving my things out of my wretched apartment (AND, let it be known, the lease EXPIRED today at 5pm! I'm free! And now I officially live at the Siena house), and once was just because I wanted to see everybody.

People have come and go quite a bit this summer: Cory and Athena, quite notably, took off for Arizona shortly after their wedding. And oh buddy, do I miss them. But remember, we all receive the Blessed Sacrament. And if Christ is present to me in the Sacrament, He sure as shooting is present to them in it, too. So really, how far apart are we? Lauren, Athena, Sara, Andrew, John, and Cory have all left 35th St, which means next year... well, they won't be there. But again, we'll never be very far apart. I've also seen some people that I've missed: Lauren came home for a baby shower, and I got to hang out with her and feel the baby kick; Jacob has returned from Alaska, and it's seriously like he never left, and I got to hang with Lindsey a bunch before her wedding.

This summer has entailed: two weddings (congratulations to the Gaunts and the St. Hilaires! I found myself wishing at Andrew and Lindsey's wedding that I had been born into the St. Hilaire family-- that would have been a great childhood! And Andrew would have been my brother!), four dead deer (I'm back at the county road crew, by the way), a lot of reading, a lot of flagging, knitting for imminent babies, driving around a lot and singing a lot.

This month ought to prove quite fun: we've already had the St. Hilaire wedding, next Thursday I head to Oregon with the family for a few days, then I'm hitting a ball game with Patrick the next weekend. Sprinkle the word "work" into that list a few times and you basically have the rest of my summer.

My last day of work shall be the 5th of September. Soon after I'm going back to Bellingham to go on a peer minister retreat to prepare for the coming year. So I think I'm going to hit the ground running, and may not stop until at least December. No matter. My extra-curricular life is composed of taking care of 1) the faith, 2) the friends, and 3) liturgical music. Life is pretty damn fine.

Glorified unemployment

As today was my last day of work (YAHOO!), I feel a little reflection is appropriate. This wasn't a bad summer job. I'd never do it full time, but there are definitely things that I enjoyed. Of course, there were things that I disliked, too. That's why they have to pay you to show up.

Without further ado, here are my reflections.

Things I Shall Miss About My Summer Job

1. Watching the sun rise as I drive east every morning.
   
2. The espresso stand right by the shop.
   
3. Some of my co-workers.
   
4. Sprawling views of the Cascade Mountains, if I’m in the right spot.
   
5. Ample time to read while driving around.
   
6. Generous and thoughtful drivers who stop to give the flaggers ice water and fresh fruit.
   
7. Friendly kids and dogs that run up and beg to play with you while you stand there.
   
8. Feeding horses at the edges of the pastures.
   
9. Being outside all day, getting the best tan (or the most freckles) that I’ve ever had.
   
10. Playing with my walkie-talkie.
    
11. Driving a pickup truck.
    
12. Hourly compensation.

And, of course, the contra of the above list...
Things I Shall Not Miss About My Summer Job

1. 6:30am role call.
   
2. Some of my co-workers.
   
3. Getting lost frequently while driving around.
   
4. Irrational and impatient drivers who scream at you, threaten you, or ignore if you tell them to stop.
   
5. Drivers who manage not to notice three warning signs, a human being clad entirely in orange clothing, or a stop sign, and then slam on the brakes and accuse you of not making yourself visible.
   
6. Roadkill.
   
7. Gutless pickup trucks.
   
8. Having to be dragged back to solid ground by clinging to the back of the truck if one loses one’s balance on a ditch at the side of the road.
9. Reflective and/or orange clothing.
10. In-shop drama.
11. Porta-potties
12. Convinience store lunches.

I salute you, you irreverent little shits

For women working out on the road, I suppose it is unwritten in the job description that we have to put up with mild harassment on the job. Not from our co-workers—that’s grounds for termination—but from the civilians whom we serve.

There are the subtle ones (e.g. ask how your day is going, wonder how a pretty girl like you got a dirty job like this, casually mention your ex-wife, etc), the cocky ones (e.g. wolf whistles, cat-calls, and generally inappropriate comments [“Hey, pretty lady” being the least offensive, but still inappropriate]), and the obvious, silent stares (my face is up a few feet, guys).

But, for all the impropriety and immaturity of their actions, I must salute two young men, anonymous though they may be, out there in Snohomish County. They take the cake for most brazen and ballsy harassment; despite how offensive it was, when I think about it I can only laugh.

I stood at the city limits of Monroe, flagging traffic for the brush cutter. I’d had a few flirty comments thus far in the day (which I can never understand—I’m out there in all my reflective orange glory, wearing a hard hat, sunglasses, and about three layers of clothing. Awake since dawn, no make-up, and so wired on coffee that I'm sure I look high. I’m sure there are prettier things to look at), but none that really stood out above others.

A car rolled to a stop before me, containing two young men who (I hope it’s safe to assume) have just graduated from high school. They began whispering back and forth, gesturing (not very subtly) and glancing furtively, at me and then away. I figured I’d let them have their fun and decided not to stare them down.

I wasn’t looking, but they must have cranked up the stereo pretty loud. I thought there were speakers outside of the car—that’s how loud the music was. Apparently they were using an iPod, because they fast-forwarded the song to the chorus. They turned it on full-blast.

The song was “F*** Her Gently” by Tenacious D. The chorus starts, “I’m gonna f*** you softly,” and it goes on with various synonyms (screw/gently, ball/discreetly, etc). Here are the lyrics, but you get the idea.

Now, I was beyond offended. Moreover, I was embarrassed. And if I had had my wits about me, I would have raised a fist and cried out, “Foul woe upon ye, gentlemen! How dare ye so blithely carry on as though you have a right to my body? Thou knowest not my soul, have not captured my heart! For shame! Shame, ye beasts! May your faces burn crimson with shame!”

Alas, I did not have my wits about me. Instead, I just burst out laughing.

For one thing, I laugh when I’m feeling flustered (and boy, did I feel flustered) or embarrassed. But on the other hand, despite how obnoxious, immature, and inappropriate it was, I thought it was hysterical. I know very few people who would think of that so quickly, and even fewer who would have the huevos to actually go through with it. When I finally sent them through the work zone, they flashed these shit-eating grins and waved.

At the end of the day, it was a couple of little boys just having fun, even if it did lead to my being the object (literally) of a joke. I felt kind of lame, like thinking that it’s funny is an insult to my professed feminism, but come on. For sheer absurdity, it was a pretty funny minute-and-a-half for all involved.