BELOW: Me, in an alley by work, photo by Julia.
Mz says I am often looking confused like this about something.
(I'm wearing my hamster eating a carrot T-shirt. It says, "I HAS A CARROT.")
I. As It Is on Earth
Holding the key to the book-display case at work, I was fuming:
it'd taken five minutes jiggling & joggling the worn-out key to open the worn-out lock.
How can I stop my coworkers locking it again, I wondered.
Taping a sign across the lock hadn't worked––someone'd taken the key from its hiding place and pulled off the tape to lock the case.
And, why?
You can't open the display-case doors unless you're in staff work area. (Nor are the books that valuable.)
A light switched on:
No key, no problem.
I threw the key away.
I'm so used to thinking in terms of organization and systems, it's taken my brain a long time to adapt to a workplace that doesn't have them––or, that has ones I'm not used to.
I'm used to workplaces with established policies and procedures––(best case scenario: procedures that have been understood and mutually agreed upon)––and channels of communication that reinforce them.
Trainings, meetings, signs, etc.
The thrift store has almost none of that.
At a rare staff meeting this spring, Big Boss addressed the problem of over-spill––because of too much stuff and too little space, one department's stuff often encroaches on another's.
"Mark your space, defend it, and keep defending it", Big Boss told us. (Have I mentioned his former sales experience was on the street?)
Well, OK. It's not what I'm used to, but at least it's a stated policy.
I taped off my books-donation area and hung a sign, "Books Only". It has cut down on every other thing getting dumped there.
And really, throwing away the key to a malfunctioning lock only makes sense.
II. Entertaining Angels
If there are no organized procedures at work, other ways of working will fill in.
I was fuming again last week because on the front sidewalk a pair of shitty jeans (literally, jeans someone had shat in) had remained there for three hours after the store opened.
The guys who were supposed to pick them up didn't.
So I did.
I don't mind doing dirty work, sometimes. I've plunged the work toilets more than once. But I was disturbed that none of my coworkers thought removing human excrement from the front of the store was high-priority.
A couple days later, I was photographing in the alley (for social media), and a regular customer, a woman my age, came down the alley, picking up trash.
Wearing a pretty summer dress over leggings, a floppy sunhat, and the broadly applied deep-red lipstick of someone with an independent fashion sense, she said to me,
"This is unacceptable! In the New Jerusalem, there will be no trash!"
"Won't that be nice!" I said.
I assumed she meant the New Jerusalem from Revelations.
She did. She proceeded to tell me how that heavenly city would be laid out.
"The food court will be at the center," she said, "so all the trash will be contained. Fresh food will be delivered through underground passages. If even a light bulb is broken, it will be Pomp and Circumstance. . . "
Here, she held up her hands as if carrying a sacred replacement light bulb.
". . . AND THERE WILL BE NO CARS!"
Well, I'm all for that, you know.
"You should be wearing gloves," I said, "if you're going to pick up trash."
"I usually do," she said.
Turns out, she picks up trash around the building every time she comes to the store, which is frequently.
There ya go! If you don't establish procedures, God might just send angels to entertain you.
Mz says I am often looking confused like this about something.
(I'm wearing my hamster eating a carrot T-shirt. It says, "I HAS A CARROT.")
I. As It Is on Earth
Holding the key to the book-display case at work, I was fuming:
it'd taken five minutes jiggling & joggling the worn-out key to open the worn-out lock.
How can I stop my coworkers locking it again, I wondered.
Taping a sign across the lock hadn't worked––someone'd taken the key from its hiding place and pulled off the tape to lock the case.
And, why?
You can't open the display-case doors unless you're in staff work area. (Nor are the books that valuable.)
A light switched on:
No key, no problem.
I threw the key away.
I'm so used to thinking in terms of organization and systems, it's taken my brain a long time to adapt to a workplace that doesn't have them––or, that has ones I'm not used to.
I'm used to workplaces with established policies and procedures––(best case scenario: procedures that have been understood and mutually agreed upon)––and channels of communication that reinforce them.
Trainings, meetings, signs, etc.
The thrift store has almost none of that.
At a rare staff meeting this spring, Big Boss addressed the problem of over-spill––because of too much stuff and too little space, one department's stuff often encroaches on another's.
"Mark your space, defend it, and keep defending it", Big Boss told us. (Have I mentioned his former sales experience was on the street?)
Well, OK. It's not what I'm used to, but at least it's a stated policy.
I taped off my books-donation area and hung a sign, "Books Only". It has cut down on every other thing getting dumped there.
And really, throwing away the key to a malfunctioning lock only makes sense.
II. Entertaining Angels
If there are no organized procedures at work, other ways of working will fill in.
I was fuming again last week because on the front sidewalk a pair of shitty jeans (literally, jeans someone had shat in) had remained there for three hours after the store opened.
The guys who were supposed to pick them up didn't.
So I did.
I don't mind doing dirty work, sometimes. I've plunged the work toilets more than once. But I was disturbed that none of my coworkers thought removing human excrement from the front of the store was high-priority.
A couple days later, I was photographing in the alley (for social media), and a regular customer, a woman my age, came down the alley, picking up trash.
Wearing a pretty summer dress over leggings, a floppy sunhat, and the broadly applied deep-red lipstick of someone with an independent fashion sense, she said to me,
"This is unacceptable! In the New Jerusalem, there will be no trash!"
"Won't that be nice!" I said.
I assumed she meant the New Jerusalem from Revelations.
She did. She proceeded to tell me how that heavenly city would be laid out.
"The food court will be at the center," she said, "so all the trash will be contained. Fresh food will be delivered through underground passages. If even a light bulb is broken, it will be Pomp and Circumstance. . . "
Here, she held up her hands as if carrying a sacred replacement light bulb.
". . . AND THERE WILL BE NO CARS!"
Well, I'm all for that, you know.
"You should be wearing gloves," I said, "if you're going to pick up trash."
"I usually do," she said.
Turns out, she picks up trash around the building every time she comes to the store, which is frequently.
There ya go! If you don't establish procedures, God might just send angels to entertain you.
Good job throwing away that key. And bravo to you for clearing away the jeans and for the woman picking up the trash! I wish more people took steps to care for their surroundings.
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