paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- stories like badges or badgers I had one of those over-the-top days at work. Then I went and visited friends who have a darling young baby. He is so personable and even-tempered, it makes me like babies. I went with M. to Madison Wisconsin last April to deliver papers at the British Women Writer�s conference. It was my first �academic� conference� I had been to work conferences and given papers. But not on original research to a bunch of people who know way more than me. But it was a great experience. Never mind that I was a wreck for four months � the paper always whirling in the back of my mind; insecurities whirling in the front. So many things are great experiences, after you survive them. One day, my job will turn in to a great experience. And the Esquire already is becoming a story. But it is still too close, far too close. But from my former job I have two stories that I absolutely cherish. They are great compensation, in a way, to the stress and the grief of the job. Story one. I staffed a scholarship initiative which helped underpaid, undervalued, inner city women (mostly) get a degree in this one particular field. It was my job to find them, get applications, present the applications to the committee, award the scholarships selected by the committee and work with the scholars and the institution of their choice. I went everywhere, spreading the word. Trying to coach people to move beyond the very real barriers to higher education. Each application had a gold standard in sweat and nerves for many people. I had a stack of them in a copy paper box on my desk. I was ready to take them home to read one more time and make my recommendations. At the umbrella agency, we had recycle boxes under the desk. And we took turns collecting everyone�s recycling. In the space of 15 minutes when I got called into the manager�s office� someone recycled the box that was on my desk. I�ve never seen a recycle bin so orderly� and sitting so prominently on top of a desk. 479 applications. So my coworker friend, KM, and I climbed into the recycling bin � and this was a big building. Because it took me a while to figure out what actually happened, lots of recycling went in on top. Did I mention an outside, wet, recycling dumpster? Coworker guy and I climbed in and waded around. We recovered 478 applications. Story two. I worked with groups of professionals from this particular field for two years developing a document that outlined all of the skills and abilities from entry-level to a master�s degree. It was a big, big deal. The-first-in-the-nation kind of thing. All eyes were on us, for a brief moment. The first state from the two-state group to publish theirs stuck in all of this clip art of women on the phone. This is not a field where women are on the phone,.. or they shouldn�t be. There was one agency with a toll-free number who volunteered to distribute the document. They gave their contact info to the graphic designer. I checked it against what they typed and verified by phone. (Note the recurrence of phone here, very subtle�) Cheers and such all around when the booklet was published. Until someone calls the number and it goes to a phone sex line. I always, personally, dial every number in any sort of big publication. I never thought that an entire agency would not know their number. Would not see the wrong number on the draft they were approving. These are the sorts of stories behind that special kind of experience. There are no badges to affix to sashes. Not always external scares. But it is the stories that somehow make it all right. After enough telling. After enough giggles and oh-my-god�s. The power of stories is incredible to me. Why do we tell them? I have never met anyone who did not tell a story (ability aside). This all reminds me that my day today was no where near as over-the-top as my days on those occaisions. 10:07 p.m. - 2002-07-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||