So I woke up this morning and thought I'd gone blind. It's true. I couldn't see a freaking thing. Nothing. I waved my hand in front of my face. I couldn't see it. I peered through what I judged to be the bedroom doorway, into the kitchen and the bathroom, both equipped with nightlights. Pitch black. I looked in the direction of my bedroom window, which is usually illuminated by streetlamps or the morning sun, however dim and grey. No light. Inky blackness everywhere I turned.
"Have I gone blind?" I wondered. I felt a little afraid. Could you go blind overnight? Maybe. How had it happened? Was it because I've been spending so much time under the hot sun, photographing houses? But I've been wearing a hat! No sunglasses though. Oh my god. What if I am blind? There goes my career, not to mention this fabulous summer job. Whoever heard of a blind photographer? I'm blind. Christ! I knew I had poor eyesight but I didn't think I would go blind. Especially not overnight. Shit. But my hearing is still really good - listen to that freight train go over the CPR tracks just down the street. That rumble, and the grinding of steel on steel. Sounds like it's going West. It's going to The Junction, where the trains don't stop anymore. Wow, I don't think I've ever heard the train that clearly before. Why is it so freaking quiet in here?
And then the power came back on. The lights on my printer and my modem winked at me in the dim-darkness. The refrigerator resumed its persistent dialtone hum in the night-lit kitchen, and in the laundry room, the dehumidifer started to suck the water out of the air with its customary noisy gusto.
Such is a power failure in a basement apartment.
08/19/2012
Jolt
08/14/2012
Bullying
The other day, I was conducting a reference interview over the phone with a client who wanted to know if the bank's library had a couple of reports put out by an organization called Catalyst, and mentioned in passing that Catalyst was interested in a paper she had written on women bullying women in the workplace. "Really, " I said, "that's very interesting. I'm very interested in the phenomenon of bullying in the workplace, because I was bullied at work several years ago and I didn't know what my rights were. If I'd known what I know now, I'd have done something about it, but it wasn't talked about very much in 1999."
The next day, my client e-mailed me to thank me for my efforts in locating the reports, and she attached a copy of her paper. Just one of the reasons I love my job - I'm constantly learning and exchanging information with diverse and interesting people.
This morning, I read an entry on my dear friend Jill's blog, in which she describes her experience with "Walter", a ceramics instructor at her prestigious art college, who bullied her mercilessly for about four years. It made my blood boil. If he had physically attacked her with the intensity of his verbal and emotional assaults, he would have been arrested. He would have been run out of town on a rail.
So I thought I'd share my experiences of bullying, in an effort to put information out there, for Googlers and other online seekers to find. It's anecdotal, it's not peer-reviewed, but I think it's valuable. I'd like others in the same situation to know they are not alone and that they have rights - even if the people bullying them are their professors or their bosses.
My experience with workplace bullying was more subtle than Jill's, although I had a situation at library school in which I was verbally abused in an e-mail from a professor. The professor initimated that I was immature and incompetent because I was a day late with an assignment. "Are you late with your rent? Do you keep your doctor waiting for you when you have an appointment?" the professor fumed in the e-mail. It was a stupid thing to e-mail, let alone even express, because Rule Number One of e-mailing is never put anything in an e-mail that you would be embarassed about if it were made public. That particular e-mail could have easily been forwarded to everybody in the faculty, forwarded to that professor's tenure committee, forwarded to the dean, posted on my weblog. But I am not a vengeful person. Well. Not very.
At work, I wasn't yelled at or threatened or publically belittled. No - people were just ignoring me, freezing me out of conversations, avoiding me, talking about me and making decisions that affected my future, behind my back.
In 1999, after I graduated from Montreal' s Concordia University with an honours degree in English Literature, I moved to the Greater Toronto Area, armed with a short resume detailing my summer and part-time job experience as a secretary, tutor, and sales clerk in a photo studio, and a lovely reference letter from my academic advisor. I wanted a job in publishing or communications, and Toronto is the heart of Canada's publishing and communications world, so I figured I was heading to the right city. Also I could live with my parents rent-free until I got on my feet.
I applied to the television stations, the Toronto Public Library, and several publishers. For the most part, I got no response, although Groundwood Books wrote me a charming rejection letter on their mouse-decorated letterhead, saying that it was nothing personal, it's just that they were downsizing. Ditto for the Toronto Public Library, who was shrinking its staff because of the recent amalgamation.
Anyway, I eventually got tired of being unemployed and signed on with two temp agencies, and they got me clerical jobs at places like the Toronto Symphony Orchestra and Goodwill Industries. I was living in Georgetown, depending on GO transit to get me to and from the city, so I was looking for a job near Union Station with regular office hours, i.e. 9 to 5.
A temp-to-perm position opened up at what my recruiter described as an exciting, dynamic marketing consultancy on University Avenue. The position was clerical - receptionist - but the hours and the location were right, and she emphasized that it was a fun place to work - everybody was really young and enthusiatic and it was a new office, very modern and stylish, and that I was perfect for the job.
An interview was arranged. I was to meet with "Sabrina", the former receptionist who had been promoted to I don't even remember what, and "John", the business processes manager. John explained to me that the company was so small, they didn't have an HR department, but that would change as they grew. Until that time, he and Sabrina would divide the HR duties between them. Because, hey, HR's a breeze, right? You could do it in your sleep.
During the interview, which was more like a testimonial about how great and fabulous the company was, because everybody was a friend of everybody else - the managing director had hired his best friends from university for the executive and management positions, who in turn had hired their friends and friends of friends and cousin's boyfriends to fill many of the other positions and we're all one big happy family!!! - I learned that I would be expected to work from 8.30 to 5, answering the phone and screening calls, going through the mail, typing memos, and restocking the free drinks fridge in the kitchen. She introduced me to the "Bible", a white ring- binder that contained instructions on the filing system, how to greet guests, which caterers to call for lunch meetings, how to operate the phone. She added that during crunch time, I would be expected to stay late to help out.
I said, I didn't have a problem with working late, it was just that at the moment, I was living in the suburbs and commuting using the GO train and the last train left at 5.45PM, which would get me home for 7. There were buses that ran after that, but they took almost two hours to get to my destination. I said, If I'm hired permanently, I will move downtown and then I'll be able to work as late as you need me to work. No problem.
My interview with John was much the same. Great company, great people, temp to perm, trial basis of one or two weeks, then we'll decide to hire you, "we'll have an offer on the table", working late bla bla bla. Again, I said, I can't really stay late until I move to the city, but if I'm made permanent, I'll move. Rents at the time were very expensive and I didn't want to commit to a lease on an apartment if I didn't have steady employment.
No problem. Except he did ask me, "How would you fill your time at work if things got slow in Reception?" "Well," I said, "I guess I'd ask if there was anything for me to do, or to help out with. I'm really good at writing and research."
He tapped his pen against his teeth. "What if nobody needed any help?"
"Well, I guess I'd reorganize my desk," I said. I mean, what did he want me to say? That I'd take a look at the Fiscal 2000 budget and restructure it for more cost savings, in between screening phone calls and restocking the fridge?
Despite this, I was hired. Temp to perm, we'll have an offer on the table in a couple of weeks.
My first week, I was introduced to everybody and the various relationships were explained. Nearly everybody, with the exception of the IT staff, who were mostly on contract, was there because they had some kind of relationship with somebody else: they'd gone to school together, they were friends outside of work, whatever. John raved about how great this was for team spirit and lamented openly about the future of the company, because it woud surely get bigger and the current model would be unsustainable. They would have to hire an HR generalist and recruiting would become a lot more formal and structured.
The average age was about 32. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, either directly or through friend or family connections. But from the get-go, I didn't fit in. I just couldn't connect with any of them. It seemed like everything I said or did was the wrong thing. And nobody seemed to want to get to know me: nobody asked me about my studies, or my interests, or what I did in my spare time. I chalked it up to the fact I was a temp, and not officially one of The Chosen. But it was hard.
I remember two women in particular - "Jodie" and "Robyn". They were my age, recent graduates, had gone to school together. They were marketing analysts and shared an office, and had that o-so-female habit of going to the washroom together and talking. One day I happened to be in the washroom with them - Jodie had just gotten engaged, and was showing off her ring to Robyn. I must have oohed and ahhed along with Robyn, said something about styles of engagement rings and interlocking wedding bands - I can't remember exactly. But the look Robyn gave me - absolutely withering. Contemptuous. They flounced off together, back to their office, leaving me feeling confused and not a little hurt. I was just being friendly, just making conversation. But evidently I had overstepped my bounds. I didn't know my place in this little fiefdom. Clearly, it was at the bottom, and I was to be seen and not heard.
I got that a lot from people at that office. The first couple of weeks, they made a show of inviting me to eat lunch with them in one of the boardrooms. The director of something or other was eating with us - she was like, all of 30 years old - not at all formidable. I can't remember the exact topic of conversation - it was very definitely hot men, and also spas. The executive director groaned something like, "That's what I need - a male masseuse." And the other women nodded and giggled in agreement - hot male masseuses were It.
"Actually," I said, smiling, "it's not a masseuse you want - it's a masseur. A masseuse is a woman." Just a helpful correction. Nothing major. But from their reaction, you would have thought I'd just said that the director of something or other was dumpy, frumpy and had a face like a can of worms (which she did, but that's beside the point).
I was frozen out of the rest of the conversation, and shortly after that I took to eating my lunch later, alone in the kitchen, because it was too uncomfortable sitting with them all at that table and being ignored. I remember one afternoon, I was sitting in the kitchen, eating my lunch and re-reading The Stone Angel , and one of the young professionals came in to use the microwave. He saw the title of my book, and asked, very rudely, "Are you reading that for fun?"
"Yes," I said, "it's one of my favourite novels."
"Why? I hated it. I had to read it for school. I can't believe anybody would ever read it if they didn't have to." He made a face and left the room.
Meanwhile, John kept stalling on the official decision to hire me. The managing director was busy. They'd do it next week. Maybe the week after. Don't worry about it.
By this time, I was having doubts as to whether I wanted to even continue working there. I just didn't fit in. But I kept hoping it was just because I was a temp. That people would warm up to me when I became permanent.
And then, something weird started happening. John would call Sabrina into his office and they would shut the door - very unusual in the open-door, open-concept culture of the office. On one such occasion, Sabrina smiled apologetically, almost guiltily at me, as she went in, which tipped me off that something was going down. Or I'd walk by them in the hallway - they would be whispering, but they'd see me and stop, and then start whispering again as soon as I passed. And it seemed like nobody, except for the contract IT guys, wanted to talk to me anymore. I really got the sense that people were avoiding me. I wrote in my journal, "Maybe I'm just paranoid", but in my gut I knew it was for real.
Then, one week, women started arriving at the office with appointments to see John. He would take the "Bible" from my desk and meet with them in one of the conference rooms. So it was obvious they were interviewing other candidates for my job. I called my temp agency. The agency confirmed that it was true, other candidates were being interviewed, but that this was standard, they just wanted to see who else was out there before they made a decision, and not to worry, I was doing a great job and everything would work out.
By this time, I wasn't sure if I wanted to work out because I was so miserable. I just wanted somebody to tell me what was going on, rather than sneaking around behind my back.
Finally, one afternoon, I passed John in the hallway and he beckoned me into the empty board room. He didn't invite me to sit down - I don't even think he even closed the door.
"Listen," he said, "don't go buying a house or a car or anything, because you didn't get the job."
I wish I was making this up, but no, gentle reader, this is the way he chose to deliver the news.
"I'm sorry?" I said. The part about the house and the car had completely thrown me off. "I don't understand you."
"You didn't get the job," he said. "We've changed the parameters of the position. It's now Receptionist slash Public Relations. You don't have a public relations background, and we don't think you're a good fit. Also you're unable to stay late and we really need somebody who can. We've hired a candidate who just graduated from the PR program at Humber. We'd like you to stay to train her, and help us out with some expense reconciliation for a couple of weeks. Listen, I have a meeting, but call my cellphone at 4 PM and we'll chat."
Well, I was pretty upset, as you can imagine, but I smiled bravely and thanked him for letting me know, and went back to my desk and called my agency to find out what the fuck was going on. They said something to the effect of, "Well, that's business". Oh, and when I called John' cellphone at 4PM that day, it was turned off. What a wuss.
To this day, I wonder why they wasted so much of my time, and why they were such fuckwits about it. What would it have cost them to be honest with me from the beginning? Obviously the work they were getting out of me was decent, otherwise they would not have kept me on for two more weeks - and I stayed for those two weeks, ever the professional. I was going to walk out of there with my head held high, I wasn't going to let them get the better of me. I trained the new hire, I reconciled their expenses, I was pleasant and polite. But I will confess, I saw red when they gave the new receptionist a marketing project to work on - researching a company or a product, something like that. Something one doesn't need a Public Relations certificate to do. Something I could have done, if they had given me the chance, rather than wasting my talents on restocking the pop in the fridge and lying to clients about the whereabouts of various executives ("I'm sorry, Mark's just stepped out of the office, would you like to leave a voicemail?").
Anyway. That was my experience. I don't know what I'd exactly do if it happened again, because every situation is different. But I think I'd stand up for myself. The good news is that more and more workplaces are including bullying in their policies on dealing with violence and harassment at work, because as awareness has increased, it has become a liability issue. As it should be. It can be every bit as devastating and damaging to the victim as a physical attack, and nobody should have to put up with it.
07/11/2012
The secret lives of Harry and Marmalade, Part 1
I'm not 100% sure, but I think that's a paw-print in this bar of soap.
12/15/2011
Review: Tribe.net
Diegos thank you note
Our blog supports FoxyStilezArticles, which is a club of modest and proficient writers who have contributed some of their work and techniques in anticipations of getting a job. Here is a cv of the latest writer to join their crew, for even more copy writers simply browse the entries further down. Como Estas! I am one of the writing team organizers of FoxyStilezArticles, a worldwide Internet content writing company. We are able to write content in Spanish and English for international net audiences, and are at hand for content creation for your web site. Down the page you will find my CV, and you will be able to check out other writing team organizers and writers' resumes on this site. At the end of my CV, you're going to see some good examples of our exhibited works. For work requests, you should reach us using the contactform on this web page and we shall follow up as soon as we can.
Resume
Dulcie Martin
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[email protected]
Summary of Qualifications
Graduated Magna Cum Laude from Princeton University
12 years of creating experience (expressly for Web audiences)
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FoxyStilezArticles, Paris France
2001 - Present
Publishing Team Manager
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CV
Shelly Davies
933 Miltherrie Court
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[email protected]
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FoxyStilezArticles, Dallas USA
1998 - Present
Writing Team Organizer
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Curriculum Vitae
Marg Davis
11216 Doctor Martin Luther King Junior Avenue
Hawaii Honolulu
[email protected]
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10 years of creating experience (especially for Electronic audiences)
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FoxyStilezArticles, Boston USA
1999 - Present
Group Leader
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Resume
Larita Jones
10558 Eagle Vista Drive
Oklahoma Oklahoma City
[email protected]
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10 years of authoring experience (exclusively for Internet audiences)
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Focused, team-oriented staff member with a talent for particulars
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FoxyStilezArticles, Dallas USA
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CV
Tracey Jackson
8722 James Drive
Minnesota Saint Paul
[email protected]
Qualifications
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10 years of writing experience (directly for Internet readers)
Exquisite fluency in Latin
Professional, company-oriented member of staff with a knack for particulars
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FoxyStilezArticles, Ottawa Canada
1998 - Present
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In charge of organizing a international group of writers to fit a complex set of growth targets.
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