Do It Nervous

What a week.

It was not like this, no. >

I knew reentering a workplace would involve facing conflict. 
I was ready, I thought, (or willing, anyway) to "feel very uncomfortable," as my Russian job coach warned me I would be.

And now I am. 
But in the way of these things, the conflict came in an entirely unexpected form.

Fundraising.

Fundraising, what do I know or care about fundraising?
Nothing. 
Furthest thing from my mind. 
Except that it gradually dawned on me that my thrift store is desperately in need of funds . . . and no one is raising them.

❧

I had a come-to-Jesus moment last week when I went into the janitor's closet to get supplies to mop the bathroom floor (after cleaning up a toilet overflow for the second time in three months), and there was no floor cleaning product.

"Use this," said a coworker, handing me a bottle of donated carpet cleaner.
CARPET CLEANER.

Later that same day, I kid you not, the Church Ladies who were washing dishes asked me if there was any dish soap, they'd run out.
I went back into the closet and came out with a bottle of donated liquid laundry detergent.
"Use this," I said.

Soap is soap, to some extent, but this is ridiculous.

Meanwhile, the women's toilet-paper dispenser is held together with Velcro (which comes apart); 
my coworker in the furniture room told me he buys fabric spray out of his own pocket;
 the food bank is renting a refrigerator truck to haul donated food because ours broke down and there's no money for a new one; 
the floor linoleum is peeling; 
the donation receiving & sorting area is not insulated . . . 

And, worst of all in my eyes, most everyone who works there is working-part-time,  minimum-wage, no-benefits, and is a middle-aged and older person living below the poverty line.
A coworker told me he doesn't eat at Subway because they're too expensive. Here's their menu of footlong sandwiches:

❧

So on Friday morning, I went into the office of the manager--who I like--shut the door behind me, and said (basically), like I was a prophet of old or something,
God wants you to feed his sheep.

I said (more or less), You need to start thinking like a rich white person (he is neither), and assume there is bounty out there, which there is, and you are entitled to it (on behalf of the sheep), which you are. 
Be a good shepherd and go ask for it!

And he said, "I am receiving you."

"I'll help you," I said, "but I'm not going to do it. I'm just the Book Lady, and I'm going to stay that way."

He said, "You know what God thinks when you say things like that." 
I laughed. I do.

But, no. 
I am not going to BE the fundraiser. 

❧

It seems I have, however, set some balls in motion...

Today at our usual Sunday morning coffee, bink told me she'd had dinner last night with a couple longtime church friends of ours.
A rich, white married couple, as it happens ["rich" being a relative term here--they were not silver-spoon babies]: 
good people who have always used their power for good, so far as I've seen over twenty years.

When you have a sense of entitlement, that's a GOOD THING. Everyone should have it!
It means you can do things like our friends have done: 
they started a P-FLAG group at the Catholic Church, for instance, when their daughter told them she was gay, some twenty+ years ago, which is almost like setting up your tent in bear country. 
This is a liberal parish, but still, it's brave. (P-FLAG = Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays)

I'm always saying, "I don't believe in God, but I do believe in fill in the blank [serendipity, coincidence, flow, mystery, cognitive biases which lead us to separate out and focus on what we want to see]"---all of which could be called God.

And what bink told me was a nice pile up of God stuff.
The friends had taken her and Maura out to a good-doers' social club they belong to, and the theme of the evening was the introduction of the new club president, who got up and sang the praises of the old club president––who had fundraised a million dollars last year.

When this speech was over, bink turned to our couple friends and said,
"That reminds me of Fresca and her new job."
And she told them all about the overflowing toilets and the coworker who buys his own fabric spray,
 and the executive director who doesn't like to ask for help [this was revealed to me, though not by an angel of the lord, . . . bink did not add that this executive didn't seem all that interested in accepting my help]
and our friends were aghast, until finally Mr Friend said,
"I am going to contact An Important Person on Monday to talk about this."

!!!
Well.
OK, then!

❧

I was all excited to hear this, and then I just felt overwhelmed and kind of stunned. What have I set in motion?

I think this is just what I want--and could also be heading toward the "very uncomfortable" realm the job coach was talking about, in which I could be expected to pull heavy things across rocky plains IN PUBLIC-- 
which could lead to being "really, really very uncomfortable"!

I had told my boss that I don't want to do fundraising or anything like it. 
"It makes me nervous," I said.

He said, "I always tell myself,  do it nervous."

❧

P.S. I found how to insert these little typographic radishes/ spitting whales over at Orange Crate Art. Thank you, Michael!  ❧