Hello, World of Work.

I went red during the school board meeting tonight.

One porky, asthmatic member thanked President Kevin Patrick for the article about how well HCCSC treats their soldier employees. It was, of course, an article I had written, and dear Kevin, of course, turned the attention to me. I can do attention, but not of that flavor. And knowing that the red is growing upward from my neck to my temples only makes it come quicker and hotter.

So that was nice.

In other news, I would very much so enjoy a new job, not for the injustices of hours versus pay or because my boss annoys me to the point of school shooting (though these things are, unfortunately, too true), but because of the unethical and inconsistent values portrayed by the company...perhaps, in particular, this office, or maybe more particularly...just my editor. What do I mean?

1. She wants too much local coverage for how much she is willing to personally cover. Specifically, if an event is not something she will already be at (for a club or organization she is involved in) or won't get her supreme recognition or is beyond her 20-step walking capacity, I must go.
2. She pitched and has successfully implemented a "Your Neighbor" column that runs each and every day and features someone new from the community. Under her advisement, we were to seek out "anyone, because everyone has a story." So we interviewed, literally, anyone. One time, I even interviewed a child so young he couldn't yet talk beyond a few suggestive grunts, allowing his mom to interpret his answers. Another time, I interview three heathen young cousins and received several emails for days after to suggest I had either a) Manipulated the boys so as to make fun of the answers I forced them to give or b) Honored the boys' bad behavior and as such placed our community in danger, because these boys would surely live lives in and out of the county jail. Most recently, I interviewed an old homeless war veteran, someone suggested to me as a "great" and "interesting" man. My editor lectured me this morning for taking a photo of the man in a bar, though the only clue to our whereabouts was a blue light in the corner of the picture and Nik's slightly squinting eyes. "Was he drunk?" she asked me while showing me the picture. "I don't know. Did you read the article?" "Well...no, not yet." Of course not. She never actually reads articles and when she does, it's a skim only if you can even count it as that. I go on to explain to her that, sure, appearances "matter" but I printed nothing to suggest the man was drunk nor an alcoholic and I failed even to mention that he was homeless for fear I might disrupt the fragile mind of the "important" in our community and that his printed answers reflect a deeply compassionate, reflective man who has simply endured a rough life. Her retort: "Well, you're right: appearances do matter." Ask me again why I smoke. It's for moments like this, when I need to do something with my hand and my mouth and my lung in a switch and consistent motion to calms my nerves so I don't get myself fired and/or arrested. Wendy and Doug joined me out back so I could vent, which primarily consisted of screaming the words "Fuck that!" That's the main thing about this job that I cannot stand. I can't stand the idea of working for people who are that a) inconsistent b) shallow c) ignorant.......etc. No, YOU are right, Rebecca. Everyone does have a story, just as long as they are white, above the age of 30 and make at least $100,000 a year.
   
3. I don't remember the rest. There's a lot of it. I don't know, what else can I add...low office moral? Check. Poor treatment of employees? Yeah. Overcritical and self-important employers? Oh, yes. We got in another tiff tonight about a photo. She criticized, I said it was a matter of opinion and told her why my choice for the photo was completely acceptable despite her bitching, and then I walked out.
   

Like I said, I would really love a new job, one where you're appreciated for the 10 hour days you put in almost every day and admired for your creative choices and unexpected initiative and where everyone in the community you write for is considered to have equally high worth.

Question #4

What would your parents or other family members say if you brought home a person from a different race than yours and said you were in love with that person and thinking about marrying him or her?

First of all, I'm already married and pretty disconnected from my family, so this is a really weird idea to think about. I have, however, dated black guys in the past, and when I "brought them home" it wasn't because I was in love with them or was thinking about marrying them; it was a lust kind of thing.

I dated one my sophomore year and he only came over a couple times so that we could make out. My dad didn't like it and was a nutcase the entire time, but I'd never really brought a guy over before, so it probably wasn't about race, but more about gender. And he didn't really care/wasn't really involved otherwise--he served only as the P.D.A. Police when necessary.

The other guy was a kid from Texas that had been adopted into a white family and only came to visit his Christian dad every summer and some holidays, like Christmas. I met him my seventh grade summer while I was swimming at my grandma's pool and he was working outside at his dad's used car shop, which was right behind my grandma's house. Whenever he came back to Indiana, we acted as if we were boyfriend/girlfriend again, and when he left, it was like neither of us existed for the other. It was weird.

So maybe that's why my dad didn't like the black guys. It's hard to tell..especially since the black guys happened to be horny players and the only other guys I brought over were white, square, Christian virgins I dated in order to get over the black guys. Who knows.

But I do remember growing up arguing about race with my dad. He would never admit to being a racist, but he carried the attitude of one. He would never have dressed as a KKK or anything, but I don't think he would have loved Derrick or Cole if I'd have. And I can sort of understand why; the only other black men my dad had experienced were either arrogant pricks or wife-beater-cheaters (my cousin's old husband & my sister's new one) and both Derrick & Cole acted similarly (unnecessarily disrespectful, overly physical). I think it was those things that had my mom a little on edge too.

But in the end, it didn't matter anyway, because I found myself marrying the All-American blonde-haired, blue-eyed white boy, and in that way, I think I avoided the disaster my father was afraid of, even if it had nothing to do with color & more to do with consequence.