March 8: This morning, L. and I went to Comcast to pick up the box for on-demand and recording t.v. shows. We've been wanting it anyway, and the Elton John conflict next week gave us a reason to get it. Now P. can see Elton John live in concert at the Civic Center without missing his beloved American Idol. We stopped at Publix and picked up a few items we couldn't live without for the next few hours, stopped at Walgreen's to pick up a prescription, and got home about 1:00. P. went to weight training, while L. worked on setting up the new box. I did laundry and worked on the ever-present clutter, and finally, at 2:30 I thought about grading papers. But I began to get tired, and took a nap, which I rarely do, but I'm still tired from the stress of the work week. I dreamed I was walking along a mountainy or hilly trail, and my mother was there. It was winter. The ground was covered with soft slush that squished under my feet. The air smelled of snow, but it wasn't cold,just fresh and brisk. Because it was late afternoon, the sky was deep lavendar, with barely enough light to see. And I couldn't see very well because for some reason, I didn't have my glasses on. Mother was young, attractive, with long, wavy auburn hair, wearing a thick fur coat that I have seen on her in many photos. As I climbed over a steep embankment, I remember calling, "Mother?" knowing she was somewhere nearby, but I couldn't see her. Then I woke up.
At 5:00, L. and I went to Wal-Mart to pick up the remainder of the groceries. Of course, as we drove, I was talking with him about the work situation. As anyone who reads this blog knows, my mind has been weighed down with the problems at work. I know I'm not alone. On Friday, one of the former teachers at my school, let's call her "S," visited. I hadn't seen her for almost a year. Last summer, she was "promoted" to a position at the Board of Education, "downtown" as we always refer to it. Many teachers believe that being "sent downtown" is an enviable upgrade for the lucky few who are "chosen." They now get to work with other adults, they usually get paid more, have more prestigious positions, and are looked up to. After all, they're now part of the management. No more dealing with smart-acre students or discipline referral forms by the ton! After S. and I exchanged a few pleasantries, she asked how things were going at the school, and I told her frankly that many teachers were struggling and felt disrespected, unsupported, and overwhelmed. She said she had heard as much from many teachers throughout the district; it wasn't just happening in my school, and it wasn't just happening to me. Principals all over were racking up the NI's for teachers so they can "prove" to the Supt. that they're doing "something" to improve the schools. Then she began to open up about HER job. She despises it, she confided. The Supt. is a slavedriver. She is expected to do the work that four people did last year and she can never keep up. Therefore, the Supt. is always unhappy with her. He demands a weekly report justifying what she has accomplished that week, and never seems to believe that she works like a dog, constantly. "I hate it so much. And I could get fired anytime!" she added despondently. "There's absolutely no job security. He could walk in today and tell me not to come back tomorrow. And now there's no summer vacation to look forward to." At this point, she looked like she was going to cry. It was so bad, she continued, that sometimes she slips out to her car, sits for five or ten minutes to cry and pray before she can bring herself to walk back into that building. She goes to bed at 11:00 p.m., and lies awake till 4:00 tossing and stressing about how much she hates the job. She had never wanted it in the first place, but she was told that she would take it, or else they would transfer her to Beach H.S! Trust me, no one wants to go to Beach. So considering the alternative, going downtown became an offer she couldn't refuse. "I am so miserable," she told me. "I've applied for five or six other jobs outside of the school system, but nothing has happened yet. I'm even thinking of asking your principal if I can come back here." Hah, I chuckled to myself! Talk about the grass always being greener. Actually, she was here before and knew what it was like, but apparently, whatever she has now is bad enough to make a job at our school seem very good. That gave me pause.
Continuing on Sunday, March 9: And after talking to "S" in the school hallways Friday afternoon, I listened to NPR on the way home from work. Every Friday, they feature a work guru, whose name I've forgotten, who gives workplace advice on all sorts of problems. People call in and vent about their jobs. Listening to this show, I began to feel the comfort of not being alone. Whatever injustices I feel that I'm enduring at work, at least I know countless others all over the place are suffering too and often from worse situations. Then, who should I meet at Publix on Saturday but another colleague, "M," who also used to work at my school but, like S., was also "elevated" to a downtown position. I asked her how it was going, and she said "Okay" in that struggling way in which someone is tempted to say, "It sucks!" but would rather not open up the floodgates. She told me she no longer works downtown as the Title I coordinator, but was transferred to Savannah High as a Literacy Coach. At Savannah High, they are currently "in turmoil," she reported, because the principal had been abruptly "transferred" (dismissed) a month ago after several violent fights broke out one afternoon, causing the school to go into lockdown for three hours. Now they had an interim principal who was trying to bring about order. No, I inferred, she was NOT a happy camper.
On the way to and from Wal-Mart, these thoughts about unhappy employees were on my mind, and I was talking about with L. He told me he had received a resume for a position in his department from someone at the School Board who was in no way qualified for the position, but didn't this reveal the person's desperation?
Then I told L my budding idea: "Wouldn't it be interesting to write a self-help book about unhappiness in the workplace? I think it's very widespread. This would NOT be a Pollyanna-ish "find your true self by quitting your job" approach that you'd hear about on Oprah or read about in women's magazines (female CEO's making $700,000 a year decide to quit and buy a cattle ranch in Wyoming!), no, it would be more of an empathy book, full of stories, aimed at middle-class people who, with the impending recession, can't find other job options and/or don't have the financial option of just up and leaving their jobs---for example, they have children in college, debt, are too close to retirement, etc., so they need to find a way to get the best out of the jobs they have now and push the displeasing elements to the back of their minds. I felt oddly comforted on Friday when I heard people on NPR sharing the problems they were struggling with at work. I picture a book which contains the honest, raw workplace stories of people in a range of occupations in a lot of geographical locations, based on anonymous interviews. Sort of like a Studs Terkel book, but with the specific angle I've mentioned. The primary purpose of these stories, woven into a framework, such as MMW, would be to make readers feel comforted in knowing that they aren't alone. It would also contain advice on handling various situations at work and how to keep a generally positive attitude about a job. The advice would be research-based, but I'd also like to test out some premises on my own."
This is the embryonic idea that is slowly growing in my mind at the moment. I'd like to do it for therapeutic reasons as much as anything. By the time it hits the market, I'll have to retire because they'll fire me anyway when they read about my experiences in their workplace!
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