We are rather busy and terribly grumpy. We are hiring nearly 30 people, firing about 20, and processing paperwork for all of them, along with giving all our 200 employees an individual raise. Your complaints about not being able to buy more targets to vaporize in shooting practice, bafflement on how to use the fax machine, repeats of questions we’ve answered dozens of times, or excuses of why your work is late will not be acknowledged, much less tolerated.
Go away.
“Regrets are as personal as fingerprints.”
– Margaret Culkin Banning
Occasionally one of my jobs at the front desk is to help with fingerprinting customers. Usually Officer Lampost does this but if he’s running security somewhere on campus, sick, or on vacation, I’m your girl. Fingerprinting is one of those standard services a police department offers, we do them digitally, but I’m convinced that the customers we get are no where close to standard issue.
You get the averages weirdos, the people with really sweaty hands, the older men who lean against you and sniff your hair, and such. But then, you get the even more bizarre types.
Like the girl who came in, said she needed her fingerprints taken, paid, and then sat down and opened up a book.
“Ma’am, you’ll need to come with me so I can fingerprint you.”
“Oh, can’t you just go get them?” she asked in surprise.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Can’t you just go print them off for me?”
“Have you had your fingerprints taken here before?”
“No. Why, don’t you have them ready?”
“Um…we have to prepare them – ”
“Well, do you need me for that?” she asked, with perfect sincerity.
Then there was the gentleman, about my own age, who needed fingerprints done for a job application. I’d typed all his information into the program and then said that I needed his right hand to start the process. His lips compressed but he allowed me to direct his hands and then fingers one at a time to the scanner. When I was done he shook himself like I was a rodent and turned a religious, baleful eye on me.
“Do you think what happened just now was appropriate?”
Pen poised above the line for my signature on the form, I froze. “I’m sorry?”
“You hitting on me like that? In a place of business?”
“Sir, I’m afraid – ”
“Really, it’s disgusting. I’m married.”
“So am I, sir. And I promise that under no circumstances would I ever hit on you,” I said, meaning it with all my heart.
“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath before snatching his prints and stalking out.
Like I said…weird.
“No supervisor becomes the quarterback in this situation.”
– Richard Hirsch
About this time last year, we organized a meeting in which to hold student supervisor’s feet to the fire about their negligent hiring practices. The Great Uprising of the Secretaries had some effect since the University complimented our department on having no hiring errors since then. HA!
However, seeing as it’s been a whole year, and what with some people being raised to the position of student without being trained how to do the job, the fact that some supervisors don’t like to read forms, and that the same supervisors have developed the habit of letting the University auto-terminate their students instead of doing the work themselves (actually, telling us to do the work) and not telling us students have quit…we must again go over the same information we did last year. And none of the information has changed.
I long to be able to shake a stack of paperwork, uniforms, and gear in their faces and say, “We do all of this. We get them hired, outfitted, in compliance with state and federal laws, and keep them that way. We keep track of the last time you, their supervisor, with whom they have contact every day, gave them a raise. We get them access to all secured areas, programs, and even sometimes personally hand them pepper spray (at great personal risk). We do this, for 150 of them a year. Literally all we ask of you is to have this form filled out so we know what timetable to do all this on…please explain to me, WHY IS THAT SO HARD?”
“If idiots could fly, this place would be an airport.”
– Sign on Lauper’s desk
I am constantly amazed at some of the conversations that we, as a police department, get to be a part of. Read on for a sampling of THIS week’s pearls of wisdom:
“My child’s backpack went missing at your university over the weekend. I’ve checked the Lost and Found, all the custodial departments, and with his camp counselors. What do you think happened to it?”
“Honestly, ma’am, I think it very likely it was stolen.”
“(Gasp!) Would someone do that?!” *
“I just thought that if I didn’t pay these tickets they would just go away.”
“Sorry, sir, that’s not correct. If you don’t pay tickets they go to collections after a certain number of months. That information is found both on our website and printed on the ticket you recieved.”
“Well, I still wasn’t going to pay them. It was the principle of the thing.” **
“I’ve been driving around for an hour looking for your pink parking lots.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“The pink parking lots! They’re pink on your map, but I haven’t found any parking lots painted pink.”
“Ma’am, we only depict them in pink on the maps to distinguish visitor parking lots from all the other lots on campus, they are really just normal parking lots.”
“What do you mean? This is false information!” ***
“So, on Craigslist we found a listing for a scooter that we’re interested in, but I wanted a police opinion first.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, it’s listed for $50, the guy says he doesn’t have paperwork for it, and doesn’t even have a key for it. Does that sound normal to you?”
“…?” ****
* Yes, ma’am, they would. Which is why we have police departments.
** Congratulations. Your principles, which apparently do not include being a law abiding citizen, have just ruined your credit score.
*** I don’t think we’re going to be able to help you.
**** Let me guess, the owner is Mr. Jean Boogaloo from Nigeria.
“…where there are bosses there are crazy bosses. It’s nothing new.”
Judd Rose
I’ve already mentioned Lt. Figaro’s ability to talk the brains out of new employees. I failed to explain a couple of his other quirks that makes him beyond compare the most odd person we work with.
First of all, he is never around. Seriously. We go whole days without seeing him. Weeks sometimes.
Second, he has the amazing ability to bend the space-time continuum. If, on the off chance he is located in his office, you must never take your eyes off of him. Because the moment he wanders out, he’s lost. If he but turns a corner, goes into someone’s office, or shuts a door behind him…he is GONE. You can run after him, you can search everyone’s cubicle, you can call after him, but it will all be in vain. He has stepped into another dimension and will not reappear for several hours.
Third, he will (either on accident or on purpose, we aren’t sure which) invariably forget his schedule. Even if he’s the one who arranged it. It doesn’t matter if he called a meeting himself, there is a very good chance he will manage to forget it or fail to show up to it for at least a half hour.
All of this occasionally congeals into a wonderfully absurd/frightening cocktail, as it did this morning.
At nine o’clock on the dot, a smart young man showed up at my front desk and said politely that he needed to speak with Lt. Figaro and had an appointment with him. I trotted off to his office only to discover that he was, predictably, absent. So I tried Susie who said she’d seen him heading towards the back office mere second earlier, but a brisk walk around the whole department proved he wasn’t to be found.
At this point I head back to the front desk to apologize and ask if there is anything I can help this dapper young man with. He explained that he’s been hired by one of the Sergeants but was instructed to pick up something from Figaro (which makes no sense, as this new hire will be working in a facility a couple miles off campus and will never come into our office again, but Figaro insists on giving out their identity cards). I try but can’t locate this card. Hennessy and Wise asked what I was doing and when I explained they rolled their eyes.
“I told him about this twice yesterday and sent him an email,” she sighed. “Better just wait and see if he shows up.”
At 9:15, I go back to Hennessy’s desk and ask her to just get Figaro on the phone and she obliges while Wise hovers to catch the denouement. After a couple of rings he picks up and though we can’t hear the other half of the conversation, we watch Hennessy’s face go through a series of convulsions.
“Your nine o’clock has been waiting for you.”
[Eyes widen]
“Oh.”
[Grimace]
“Alright, we’ll let him know.”
[Hurriedly hangs up phone and snatches hand away from the receiver]
“Oh my gosh…he’s in the bathroom!”
What he was doing in there for nearly 20 minutes is a mystery we’d rather not ponder, but that he answered his phone there…gah! We all had to dance around making faces and saying “Yuck!” for a while to clear the image.
“I do not believe they’ve run out of surprises.”
– Larry Niven
Whilst this has been going on, Red has been dealing with a bad employee who has been showing up late, being rude to co-workers and patrons, and refused to learn her responsibilities. Last Thursday, Red took her aside and cautioned her that her behavior would have to change and she stormed out. Today she simply didn’t come in and fired off an email to Red two hours after she was due to start work saying that she couldn’t work in the “volatile situation” that we had put her in.
“Volatile!” exclaimed Luthor incredulously. “We get ice cream here!”
Well said, Luthor. Well said.
“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop the story.”
– Orson Welles
Nothing.
Two weeks of nail biting, confusion, misdirection, and finally to be sat down, asked my side of the story (which apparently filled some gaping holes left by other people’s), and told, “Well, we’d never stand in the way of your trying to better yourself. Sorry it didn’t happen, but we’re glad to still have you.”
And then, back to my desk to hire two new students, sort mail, and ponder.
Apparently, from what I can deduce, the Dean is Not Happy with Dr. F about this whole thing. And, frankly neither am I. Looking back, I think that putting me in the position of informing people or asking for permission seems ***backwards. He should have had HR make the request and process the whole event, not the girl he was trying to get to transfer out of her department. With 20/20 hindsight I can see that he put me in a professionally sticky spot which I don’t appreciate and wonder why he did it.
All I can think is that this transfer was a way to get around the Dean, who had previously refused to fill his gap. The Dean confirmed Kiki’s theory that if he could get a new secretary he’d have about three or four other offices he’d put her first before IS. I’m sorry if Dr. F is going to be inconvenienced or disgraced…but I don’t think he worked to hard to keep me from being inconvenienced or disgraced, indeed I rather wonder if he was willing to throw me under the bus rather than have any backlash come to him.
Which is too bad. I really enjoyed working for him as a student, I love the office and the people who work there, I adore Dr. S and Kiki and would have loved to be their co-workers. But on the other hand, I am absolutely positive that Susie would stand up for me and back me up, and I’m equally positive that the Dean would not if it meant he’d look bad in any way. So I think I must conclude that I’m in the office that’s best for me in the long run.
So. Something has happened: Not a lot. But I think it’s given me a greater appreciation for where I work now, and more importantly the people I work with. All’s well that ends well.
Responsibility without power, the fate of the secretary through the ages.
– Ariel Dorfman
Tomorrow I’ll finally (hopefully) have that long-awaited talk with Chief about this big to-do that went nowhere. The whole experience has been more than a little ridiculous, a lot of drama and politicking for next to nothing to show for it, and I feel that I may be on the chopping block for it. Now, Common Sense is arguing pretty solidly that Chief isn’t going to fire me for trying to accept an offer that would have bettered my long-term work circumstances…but Paranoia is hinting darkly that he may for no other reason than he feels I tried to betray him and the department. Which isn’t true in the slightest, but I know by now that if someone wants to think the worst nothing will dissuade them.
The truth is, Dr. F’s offer meant the one thing that the Police Department cannot give me: a promotion. By moving to the IS office I would have become the office manager and supervisor (what Susie is to me now). Promotions in the PD are hard to come by. Something truly biblical would have to happen, at least three other people would have to die suddenly in order for me to receive a new position, and as those people are my close friends the whole situation would probably prove traumatic. Even Wise, when she left my position for her current one, didn’t move UP the proverbial ladder at all, her new responsibilities didn’t come with a higher grade or more money or more recognition, if anything it was a big step sideways. Now although Dr. F implied more money for me (certainly with the upcoming University annual raise), the reason I wanted to accept this position is not so mercenary as that.
J. and I have no idea where we will be next year for his graduate program. California, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Indiana, Texas, Massachusetts, Utah, or Gibraltar, for all I know. And we won’t know for several months yet. But there is a good chance that we will be moving and now is the time to start brushing up my resume. I’ve been encouraged to take IT training classes to fill my free hours during the Spring/Summer, but I’m also taking them to add to my list of hireable skills. I’ve been reviewing past projects I’ve worked on to see what else I could do to make me appealing to potential future employers. And when Dr. F offered me the chance to move up to a manager’s position, I wanted to accept it because the additional experience and responsibilities would have made me more desireable in the workplace (because, if you haven’t noticed, it’s a cold, cold, dark hiring situation out there and a girl needs all the help she can get).
I hope I’m not going to be punished for trying to improve my situation, but I’m forced to entertain the possibility that I might. My dark humor cannot help but picture me at job interviews, “So, why did you leave your job at the PD?” “Well, I wasn’t trying to…” but I don’t totally expect it. Que sera sera. However, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this whole event from a new perspective and I’ve come to some conclusions.
First, there is no way that being a secretary is going to make me perfectly happy, fulfilled, or satisfy the immortal longings of my soul. It is, in many ways, an utterly thankless job and acts of recognition are few and far between. This irks me because I am a pretty ambitious woman, I like to move forward (and hopefully up) and dislike doing good work and receiving no credit for trying to be a good employee. However, that is the nature of the beast. I’m extremely well-educated but not at all qualified to do anything. Margot and Venice are trained teachers, Janssen is a trained librarian, Brando is a trained stockbroker, Dad is a trained lawyer, Mum is a trained scholar…most of the people I know are a trained something. What I’ve got (besides an encyclopedic knowledge of useless facts) is a good brain, common sense, and organizational skills, and these are apparently in pretty high demand because not everyone in my office has those.
Second, I get frustrated, annoyed, and downright furious sometimes at how ridiculous my office can be and what I really need to learn is to let that go. I can’t fix it, I can’t make the powers that be see sense, and things are not going to change. I often feel that I’m smarter than my job, and I don’t think I’m entirely wrong. In fact I think I’m positively right, but dwelling on that fact doesn’t change my circumstances and usually only serves to make me angry at my situation. And hey! I’ve got a job! That’s a lot to be thankful for.
Third, my job does not challenge me. And I need to be challenged, as anyone who knows me at all will attest. But it doesn’t and won’t and I need to stop fighting that fact. What I need to do is adopt an Edwardian attitude towards it and make my life, as a secretary, my art. Being an office monkey isn’t difficult, but being a class act and making it appear easy…now that’s a challenge!
In fact, while working out with Margot, it came to me in a flash of brilliance. What I need to be, is Joan Halloway. Er, minus the having salacious affairs with the men of my office (shudder). Joan doesn’t necessarily want to be a secretary, but she enjoys being good at what she does and likes working. She’s impeccably put together. You don’t mess with her because she will take you apart (classily, but viciously). And if you’re making an office coup, or some guy’s foot gets chopped off by a lawn mower, or someone is out because they’re having a baby and didn’t know they’re pregnant to begin with – Joan will locate your files, make a tourniquet out of a scarf, and step in to take over your correspondence.
I don’t have to adore being a secretary…but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a damn good one anyway.
“That’s just the title!”
– The Scarlet Pimpernel (film)
Although there are only four of us secretaries to keep track of, the officers (bless them) are not at all comfortable with change. And, in their defense, the last two years has seen a lot of it.
To explain, Susie took over from E.T. Then Theeson gave her two weeks notice right before the busiest time of year and Wise was moved from my current position to replace Theeson, and the department hired me. Then Tink left and we yanked Hennessy over from the Appeals office to replace her. And since none of us were properly trained, we’ve all muddled through with varying degrees of success learning how to keep the department running.
The end result of which is that, after nearly two years at this desk, I will occasionally get emails addressed to Wise (although sent to my account, which makes no sense). And poor Hennessy is often called by my name – although not exactly, rather a poor derivative of my name – in spite of the fact that I have never worked her/Tink’s position. I’ve also been referred to as Hennessy (they never mess up her name). I still get faxes in Wise’s name, and no matter how many times she tells them to update their records the University key office still has Hennessy listed as Seaton (who worked there PRE-Tink).
Our positions aren’t even our titles (receptionist, office manager, etc.) but our names. So Hennessy is still referred to as “The New Tink,” I’m explained to new hires or returning university visitors, “This is C., our Wise.” If ever I leave, I’ll bequeath to my successor a long list of titles rivaling the caliphates!
The New C., Defender of the Supply Closet, Herder of Officers, Monarch of the Copy Machine, The Secretaries’ (Peace be upon them – please!) Voice in the Office, Giver of Wage Increases, Keeper of Fingerprints, Tidier of the Front Desk Area, Training Manager, The Hire-er of Students, and good luck to you, dear!
“By Thursday morning we’d gotten over the worst of it.”
– William Scranton
So, Wise is pregnant (congratulations!) and a bit under the weather, Susie and I have both injured our knees (with absolutely no clue as to how), and Hennessy managed to stab herself in the nose with her fingernail in her sleep last night.
We’re the walking wounded.
Small Dog Syndrome 