Books donations are finally on the rise--people finishing their
Christmas gift books (though many remain unread)--then donating 'em--so
I'm happily busy again at the battered women's shelter resale shop
where I volunteer for a couple hours a few times a week.
But
I've been experiencing a deja vu of sorts lately after I slip in the
door, sign in, and head into the warehouse to see what books have come
in, what shape they are in, and based on that, price them before
putting them out in the book section of the store.
It's like I'm back in my office of yesteryear doing family therapy.
Though the books can be interesting what's really fun* is the little dramas going on constantly.
It's
kind of a unique working situation with the permanent staff at minimum
levels due to tight funding and a big chunk of staffing filled in by
permanent volunteers and court-ordered community service people, also
called "volunteers."
Like in most places of business, there's
a hierarchy of status & power but one thing that seemed to be a
hallmark of working at this store was that everyone got along.
Until "Kathleen" came along with a court order saying she owed the community--via the store--200 hours of her time.
Kathleen came in as a very well-coiffed, dressed, and painted lady. Very presentable. And one by one most every (female) staffer or volunteer came to a place where they wanted her gone.
Gossip
oozes throughout the place and it's not helping that as of the past
year, the manager has two stores to run so at most she's there half the
time. Plenty gets by her.
The problem that all the women
(save for a lone, newly-minted volunteer) have with Kathleen is that
she doesn't shy away from expressing her opinion and worse, she's gone
head-to-head with the reigning Diva--a woman old enough to be her
mother.
She then went on to claim to smell booze on Kathleen's breath several times.
Clearly, the Diva wanted Kathleen gone the minute her 200 court-ordered hours were complete.
But it hasn't gone that way.
Kathleen took a staff sales job about two months ago and this week has jumped up to the the equivalent of an assistant manager.
I
found this out today, first as Kathleen sought me out in the
warehouse--my little haven with it's nook for the books-- and whispered
about the animosity in the air as well as informing me of her promotion
and BTW, did I like the new signs she'd made for the book nook?
I'm analyzing and translating her bullshit (in my head) as
she ticks off all the great things in store now that she's moved up a
notch though she worries about "the others" making life very difficult
for her (realistically, they are out to get her).
I
listen to maybe a minute of the whispery-gossip and realize that I'm
getting sucked into the maelstrom. I pull back by switching the subject
back to her "cool-looking," helpful signage which to my great relief
did not include a sign declaring it "Cyn's Books." For the meager
5-6 hours I'm in there each week they count on me far too much already
and having my name plastered on the wall would seal the deal I'm always
trying to unseal by reminding people when they do refer the book
section as "mine" how little I'm really there to help and how much
others do (the others are mostly paid and I do work my ass off the entire time I'm there--but still).
Kathleen left for the day soon after after telling me of her good news.
That
was the cue for the Diva and another paid worker to bare and sharpen
their claws. And they were scathing. To watch the transformation from a
sort of nice kind of tolerance and politeness to full-out cattiness
time-warped me right back to high school.
It amazing how many different sides people have and how many different ways there are to talk out of the side of your mouth.
I'm really. not. going. there (except for maybe here).
When
the staffer's bitching began I pretended not to hear and when I couldn't
avoid it I made no comment until there was a break in the
rip-the-bitch-apart fest and I switched into ever-the-optimist mode by
declaring that I love working there, that Change is part of life (adapt
or get left behind). Further, I felt pretty sure that everyone had a
talent and if they'd concentrate on that we could all shine with the light that we carry from within.
Yes, I really did talk like Mr. Rogers.
One of the many handy-dandy tricks of the trade is to adopt some of your client's "language" when doing therapy.
Both these woman (surprise, surprise) are good Christian ladies.
Even so, I guess I had it coming when almost simultaneously the two back-stabbing babes asked, "But what if it's a black light?"
Heh.
*many types of human behaviour especially in a contained environment.
