Sunday, June 05, 2005
The morning check-in process for three conferences hurt my head- by the end of my two shifts (6:00 a.m.-12:00 p.m.), I had developed an intense stress headache. The following several paragraphs consist of a detailed account of what I did all morning...
In order to get into the building, people need access cards, and then they also require a key, naturally, for their rooms. Normally, these items are neatly packaged in little envelopes; I check off Johnny or Sally's name; Johnny or Sally promptly leave my window and check themselves effortlessly into their rooms.
For one of the conferences, I had neither a roster nor the key packets. First alerted to this slight problem at nine, when a young man desired to check-in, I called my supervisor's cell phone, which he did not answer, then called his other cell phone, which he also decided not to answer. He later told me he had been sleeping and did not receive my messages until one, long after he had already come to the office. Fantastisch.
Thankfully, they were all very meek scholar students, who accepted my movement from initial bafflement to an authoritave, take charge attitude suitable to my post as an almighty Conference Assistant with equanimity. They were all very nice, very Asian, and had very warm, Asian parents. I half-hoped they would find me cute enough to adopt.
Anyhow, I had temporary access cards for the building the girls were in, but the guys will have to wait outside the doors for people coming out, in order to walk into their building (but hopefully only through this evening). The cards they need have their meal plans, as well, which meant I had to inform the dining hall upstairs that these people were coming; they would be hungry; they had paid; please feed them. I had no names, no room assignments, but I at least determined what rooms were to be occupied from peeking into my supervisor's box and scanning through various sheets of correspondence therein. The students apparently come from different organizations and have never met their roommates, but they fortunately all recognized names as I filled out the list, and I managed not to misassign anyone.
Only about eight or nine people participted in Conference The Second, most of those arriving after my shift. Their counselor was a sweet blond girl who had graduated from Tech- all she required was that I call her cell phone as each student arrived, for she had not met any of them and probably needed to give them event schedules and such. However, she owns a Houston area cell, to which the office phone does not dial, and I asked each of her students to call her themselves, a minor snag in the grand scheme of things.
The coordinators of Conference The Third (at least a hundred people) had switched rooms for at least a third of those, and claimed they had sent the revised roster, which, of course, was not to be found. Again, Christopher (my supervisor) remained unavailable for executive comment, so I gave the coordinators their keys, then sat with their revised list and for nearly an hour hand-entered each room change and switched keys from packets, fervently hoping the rooms were not cross-booked.
The coordinator is an oldish woman, her assistant much younger, and her counselors all college students. One of the little counselors came down and requested rather snobbily, but as offhand as possible, that I explain why the office hadn't received the room changes, as though at that point it actually mattered to anyone. I suggested, 'I have no idea, bee-otch' (as there was no confrontational reply, I might only have thought that last, but it was strongly felt).
I later learned from my co-workers that during their shifts, the third group made additional, arbitrary room changes, and placed someone in a room containing bugs (which has been documented, with the bug man due to carry out exterminations at some nebulous time in the future, hence, no one had been assigned that room). Someone actually came to the office and complained, 'You need to tell us about these things beforehand so that we can make room changes'. Steven answered something to the extent that we needed to be notified first of any desire for room changes, to ascertain whether those would be possible, to ensure rooms were prepared, to document key liabilities, et cetera.
Common sense is scarcer than hen's teeth, this coming from someone who jiggled the door handle.
When about nine, I one day encountered toilet overflow (my bowel movements always have been strong), and, unsure how to instigate cessation, proceeded to The Father for a solution. He told me, 'Jiggle the handle.' Looking at him, utterly confused, I nevertheless turned, walked timidly to the bathroom door, and lightly jiggled the handle. I probably did this twice before calling, 'Um, Dad... it's not working.'
Thus, as I carried out these decisions I should not have had to make, I anguished over whether I was doing everything wholly wrong, over whether someone would have to correct a thousand mistaken details behind me, and over whether the nightmare would ever cease. Christopher, because he had been elsewhere the entire time checking in two conferences at the campus apartments, appeared entirely nonchalant and assured me I had executed my position, in light of the situation, superbly. He expressed gratitude that I had not been calling him the entire morning with inane questions.
As he would not have alleviated my concerns immediately, I never called him after nine a.m., for I will not allow myself to be spurned twice. I left messages on his work and personal cell phones, at least one of which he ought to have checked before arriving at the office shortly before noon. I like Chris well enough, as people go, but I cannot help believing perhaps I ought to have his job, and he may have mine, for I would then make more, and he would make less. Call me modest.
I went upstairs to consume a light dinner and encountered Leigh, who operates as a coordinator at Chris' level at the other conference hall. She invited me to sit with them (Leigh, Chris, and a few other summer coordinators), and as she asked about my morning, and I gave her the frank details, she assured me they all appreciate my self-motivated initiative. Coming from Leigh, the compliment felt more genuine, but I suspect Chris will henceforth consider me someone who knows how to problem-solve independently, which is ridiculously far from an accurate assumption of my character (see toilet anecdote above). When I do require assistance or clarification regarding some matter, he hopefully will not find it facetious of me.
Leigh told me she loves me. A good many people, most of them in supervisory positions, tell me that, and yet I feel, somehow... unloved.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:38 PM]