Stand Up

Yesterday I took my friend's daughter ice skating in Union Square. There was a long wait, about half an hour, and the kid asked if she could sit up on the wall nearby. I said yes and gave her a boost up. The two boys in front of us then begged to be allowed to sit up on the wall too, and before long, about a dozen kids, from ages two to about 22 were sitting on the wall. In fact, the only nearby kid who wasn't sitting up on that wall was one little girl who looked about eight or nine years old. She was in a wheelchair, and her dad stood next to her while her mom and sister were in line.

All the kids on the wall seemed so happy to be up there - about five feet up - and I felt bad for the girl in the wheelchair. So bad in fact, that I wanted to go over to the dad and ask if we could just toss her up there so she could be part of the other kids. I didn't do it though, because I got all choked up and would be embarrassed to cry in front of a stranger.

Later, when my friend's kid was skating, I found myself sitting on a bench next to the mother of the girl in the wheelchair. She motioned over one of the skate guard people (I don't know what they're called) and asked him if they could bend the rules, and let her get on the ice in shoes so she could hold her handicapped daughter, who would be on skates, upright. There's a rule that you MUST be on skates to step onto the ice. The skate guard said he would check with his boss.

There was a flurry of excitement and action as the parents raced to get the handicapped girl ice skated. The skate guard came back with the verdict. No. Shoes will slide unsafely on the ice, and the person wearing them would fall. Two more skate guards came over. The girl sat calmly in her wheelchair, watching her sister do rotations around the rink. Guess she's used to not being able to join in any reindeer games. All of a sudden there was a second flurry, and two of the skate guards were lifting the handicapped girl out of her wheelchair.

One stood behind her, holding under her arms, his hands clasped in the middle of her chest as he leaned forward to ask what her name was. "Ava," she told him. "Okay Ava, let's go ice skating." And they did. Her skates glided along the ice, her knees a little bent, and legs looking somewhat useless, but she was upright and she and the ice guard whirled around the rink, weaving around the hoards of people.

All of a sudden, over the music, the traffic, the people, we heard a high-pitched screech. "AVA, you're SKATING!" It was the sister, beaming, face to face with her sister. I guess holding a kid upright when leaning over them and balancing on skates is hard, because after every two rotations around the rink the ice guards switched off holding Ava upright. I have no idea what her handicap is, other than being able to see that her legs could not support her body at all. But for a half an hour, all the ice guards made it their mission to get a girl in a wheelchair on an ice rink in San Francisco. One held her up, while one cleared a path and another made sure no other skaters crashed into them.

Every time the ice guards switched off, the mother yanked Ava's sweatshirt down, since it rode up to her chest as she skated. As she yanked, she kept asking Ava if she was tired and wanted to stop. One look at her face and anyone could see Ava would keep saying no, even if she'd been naked, if it meant she could keep skating. It kind of made my day.

Christmas Time Randoms

1. The place I'm temping at keeps getting all these holiday cards. One has a picture of a red bird on the front, and underneath it says "Red bird" and another has a winter motif and underneath it says "Winter." So when one came in with a green dragon on the front I couldn't resist and took a little post-it, wrote "Green dragon" and put that on the card. Everyone who's noticed has laughed.

2. I had a lovely chat with my friend Nina the other night, and it turned out to be fascinating. She had a different perspective on something that happened in both our childhoods that blew my mind.

3. I've been reading the books The Highly Sensitive Person and The Highly Sensitive Child, by Elaine Aron. More blowing of the mind.

4. In trying to mail a package today, I found a post office near work, in Chinatown. When I got there, a sign was on the door saying they would reopen at 1:45pm. I waited until 1:55 before deciding the guy was not coming back in a timely fashion and practically speed-walked back to work. Decided I would go to the post office near my house on the way home. Walked there in the rain only to find they'd closed. Foiled again! So I'm pretty sure unless I priority overnight via FedEx, my package will not arrive on the East Coast until several days after Christmas, when I mail it tomorrow. Whoops. Hopefully the thought really does count.

5. During the course of each day I distribute files to paralegals and attorneys, and re-file files they're finished with, all via a file cart. The cart has one wonky wheel though, so the cart is always pulling to one side. That wouldn't be so hard to manage if I weren't also trying to keep piles of files from sliding off the cart. The office manager heard me mumble, "Slippery little fuckers" last week and giggled at me.

Today, when I was hauling a cartful of files towards the filing cabinets, as I walked past the Christmas tree the cart pulled to one side as usual, but with the momentum it pulled a bit harder than usual, and knocked into the tree. The tree started to tip. My first thought was how this was going to look to the employees, that they would think "That jew ruined Christmas!" So I lunged to catch the tree before it hit the ground. I caught it in a bear hug and leaned it back towards the center. As I was doing this a partner walked by, stopped, and asked what I was doing. I didn't want to admit to having not been as careful of the tree as I should have, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "I just love Christmas SO MUCH!" The partner smiled and told me it's her favorite holiday as well before walking off. I don't know why my gut instinct was to lie.

6. A woman who works at the temp agency that placed me at this law firm showed up at the firm today. There is no nice way to say this, but she looks horrible. So horrible that I didn't even recognize her until she spoke. I was really shocked and hope everything is okay in her life. Anyway, I know that sometimes when the agency doesn't have anyone they can send on an assignment she sometimes fills in, and I immediately worried that she was there because the firm had complained about me and was going to step in to cover the position. Turned out she was just dropping off a present for the firm. Then this afternoon the office manager asked me to pop into her office and again, I assumed the worst - that I was being fired and the temp agency worker convinced the firm to let me finish out the day.

Turned out I was wrong, mostly. The office manager told me that Wednesday will be the last day that they need me to work. The office is closed Thursday and Friday, and they anticipate business being very slow next week. So despite all the bitching I've done about how difficult the job has been, of course I am sad. Both about the loss of income and the loss of structure to my days.

7. In case you are not aware, it's been raining a lot in California. Like, many days and many inches of rain. People are all in a tizzy about this. Aside from the frizzball my hair becomes in the rain, I don't really mind it. A few years ago, I wandered through the Lands End section of Sears, and bought a lightweight rain jacket. Turns out it keeps me perfectly warm (enough for San Francisco, probably wouldn't keep me warm in the Northeast), and totally dry.

Swallowing

Sometimes it's hard to describe something that's not tangible and that you also don't have concrete proof of.

Sometimes I'm bad at letting things go. Like after my grandpa died and we cleaned out his apartment like less than a week after the funeral, in a few hours. We just took laundry basket after laundry basket of his things out to the dumpster. Really all that was kept was pictures and I think that's it. It was too sudden for me, and there were too many people and everything was moving too fast, and even though my parents had said I should just speak up if there was something I wanted, I couldn't.

Golden Boy was able to say he wanted one specific picture that my grandparents had had on their wall in Queens, and then took with them to put on their wall in Florida. So he got it, and rolled it up and he and my dad went to buy some tubular thing to transport it across the country, and my brother was all set.

Some of the things I wanted, I couldn't figure out how I'd get across the country and couldn't afford to ship. Some of them weren't practical. Mostly though, I just was really upset at throwing out all these useful things. My grandpa had glass jar after glass jar filled with nails and screws for "just in case." My grandma always had a big stash of plastic bags - she even carried one or two in her purse (or maybe that was just when I was around because we'd go to the library and she'd let me check out more books than I could carry). So I couldn't see them having wanted their things to be thrown in the garbage.

But my father just wanted it done. He and my mom seemed to be in this outrageously huge rush to list the condo for sale. I understood that, but not why they couldn't just arrange for Goodwill or the Salvation Army to come by in a day or two to pick up all the kitchen stuff that was in perfectly good condition.

Over the last year or two I brought this up to my father several times. That we did it. That these things could have gone to a family rebuilding their lives for whatever reason. Abuse or homelessness or something. It just seemed like such a waste, and it really bothered me. I kept raising the issue with my father and he'd never quite give me a straight answer, a reason for why it was done the way it was.

In October when my parents were visiting, I raised the subject again. My father started to get angry and I interrupted him before he got going to point out that I keep bringing it up because every time I do, I don't get a straight answer. Words are said in response to my question, but they're not an actual answer. So my father answered.

I still wish those things weren't thrown out. But my father had a reason, and I can accept that, and drop the issue. I like to be able to tell people when they've done something that bothers me.

This temp job is bothering me. Today I hurt myself futzing with the fucking files, so badly that I had to stand there for a few seconds making sure I wasn't going to cry. The girl I work most closely with saw my face, and asked if I was okay. I could feel it all about to come out - how angry I am that the temp agency didn't warn me about the position involving being able to carry heavy files (in big law firms if you have to move heavy files, you can call someone in Office Services to do it for you). How frustrated I am by how bitchy the paralegals are, and unfriendly the attorneys are. How annoying it is that the possibly pregnant office manager wears patchouli daily, the most offensive smell on the planet.

I swallowed it all down, and just let the other girl know I'd hurt my elbow. She enthusiastically told me all about the time a file clip pierced her finger open and she had to get a tetanus shot, as if we were bonding over our work injuries. I swallowed down the big difference - that she has the luxury of health-insurance and worker's comp and short-term disability, whereas if I break my elbow, I'm fucked.

If I had the opportunity to tell the guy at the temp agency I was upset he didn't warn me, I'd feel better. Even though nothing about the situation now would change - I'd still have taken the position. I just like people knowing how I feel, and it really burns me up when they don't care.

Unwelcome Reception for the Receptionist

This is my second week of temping as a receptionist. The weird thing is though, their phone doesn't really ring that much that they need a full-time receptionist. An entire hour has sometimes passed without the phone ringing at all. So I keep encouraging the administrative assistant to give me projects. Time passes faster when you're busy.

It's a small law firm - only five lawyers, and about half a dozen or so paralegals. They're all very close, which is sweet. They go to the movies together, help each other move, go fetch coffee at the Starbucks around the corner together.

However, what is not sweet is the way they treat me. The paralegals have big offices, and sit two to an office. They have sliding glass doors - like balcony doors. There is a portable phone which I am supposed to take with me when leaving the front desk to do other tasks, like pulling files for the paralegals to work on, and re-filing files they've already worked on.

A lot of these files are REALLY heavy. Often one "file" is actually three fully packed redwelds that are in a bankers box. Now, I know that the fact that the temp agency didn't tell me there'd be tons of heavy lifting is my problem, and that I am always welcome to call the temp agency and tell them I can't do the job anymore because I am feeling things in my back actually pull themselves out of place and I now have at least two pinched nerves that make me scream in pain when I accidentally move in my sleep.

I get all that. But the reality is that I need work. I have no ego issues surrounding taking a job I am over-qualified to do. Technically, I'm under-qualified for this particular job since I can't deal with the fucking files without damaging my body, but I mean in general.

Anyway, I am so paranoid that I am having problems at this temp job because deep down a part of me doesn't want to "just" be a receptionist, that I refuse to bitch about how my back has never been the same since I got sick in 1995 and re-learned to walk.

So the paralegals. They never, ever help with the files. The files that I'm bringing to them. Bringing to them because they need them. To do their jobs. I can be standing next to their desk holding five files in one arm while trying to shove other files on their bookcase over to make room for the new ones, and they just fucking sit there, staring at their computers or talking with each other, completely ignoring me.

They also often have packets of paperwork that need to be copied prior to being mailed out. Today one paralegal came over at 1pm as I was putting my jacket on to go to lunch and said she needed a copy job back by 2pm. It was from a file I gave her yesterday afternoon. Really? When I explained that I was on my way out but could do it immediately upon returning, she was annoyed. Normally people give you about three hours to a half a day to complete copy jobs at this firm. How do they know I'm not in the middle of a project for someone else? How do they know there aren't four copy jobs in front of theirs?

They are annoyed when I open their balcony doors to deliver files. Or to ask if they have files because another paralegal told me to check with them. One attorney literally glares at me Every. Single. Time. I go to her about anything, even when I let her know her husband's on the phone. It got to the point this afternoon that I didn't have it in me to face her wrath and just left files outside her door in a pile with a note on them. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll get in before she does and I can toss them in her office.

This office does immigration law, and I get a lot of phone calls from people for whom English is not a first language. When I lived and worked in Florida this happened too. Except then their primary language was Spanish. Here it's Mandarin or Cantonese. All the Indian people speak English and have very thick accents.

Today one of the projects I was working on involved going through years of e-mails between clients and the lawyers at the firm. It was so interesting. All the clients, literally all of them, were so polite in their written communication. Polite, and very well-mannered, and appreciative of all the work being done to help them get whatever visas they needed or wanted. When I went to Mexico I was very determined to not be The Obnoxious American, and I thought I succeeded. Um yeah. After what I read today, I am guessing I came across more like a ... person who's nice for an American. These clients have shown me a new level, and I am in awe. I have a new goal for if I ever leave the country again. (My mother would say, 'Couldn't you be nice while you're IN the country?' To which I say fuck no!)

Oh! Here's something funny: there is an office manager. Once again, I can't tell if she's pregnant or just fat. I'm pretty sure she's wearing maternity shirts. But I'm just not positive. Today she told me she was running out to the doctor, and I immediately tried to think of something I could say to inspire her to share more information, but came up with nothing in the half-second I had. Turned out it was the dentist. Damn.

Help me focus on the positive about this job. It is work! It won't turn into a permanent job, but for these couple of weeks, it is solid work that pays me more than unemployment does. Excuse me please - I have to go repeat that six times in front of the mirror.

It's Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas (At the End of Chanukah)

Several months ago, I was asked to go temp at a law firm I'd been to previously. But they didn't have me working with the same two partners I'd worked with in the past. Instead, they had me working with another legal secretary who was covering half a dozen attorneys (this is a lot). It didn't go well. She had me and two other people helping her with a project - each of us worked on a different aspect of it, and she was the only one who had the full picture of what was going on.

The simple explanation is that some guy was supposed to create a list of contacts, then I was supposed to print out a slew of shit, and send it to each person on the list. This other secretary found that someone who was supposed to get a packet, didn't. She told the office manager, and they wound up essentially firing me. To say I was crushed doesn't even cover it. I was sure the temp agency that sent me there would never send me anywhere else again.

Luckily I was wrong. To me it seemed like a huge, huge deal. But Monday morning I got a frantic call from the same agency saying they'd been trying to reach me since Friday and wanted me to go to an immigration law firm. The guy said he had someone else there, but if I was available, he'd pull that person and send me because he felt I'd be a better fit.

I wish he'd been honest and just flat-out told me it's doing reception work. It's pretty easy to figure out within two seconds of being shown to your (reception) desk, but I'd just appreciate the honesty. It sure explains why it pays $10 an hour less than what I normally get. Ego is not an issue with me - if I were offered a permanent reception position I'd take it in a heartbeat. Sure, I can't make coffee and hate cleaning my own dishes let alone cleaning other people's dishes, but whatever - a job would be divine.

But whatever. The worst thing you can do as a receptionist is to drop phone calls, and make mistakes in transferring people to the wrong attorneys. It's harder than you'd think when five or more lines are ringing at once, someone's standing at your desk talking to you, and two people are having a loud conversation nearby making it hard to hear the person on the phone. So I'm pleased that two days in I haven't dropped any calls, though I do seem to spend a lot of time saying, "I'm sorry, would you mind repeating your name? And you were calling to speak with Carrie? Carly? Oh, you're not sure?"

All the people there are super friendly, which is nice. They thank me every day, as if I'm showing up to help out of the goodness of my heart rather than because they're paying me.

This afternoon they put up a fake Christmas tree right in front of my desk. It was an hour-long procedure, complete with someone tipping over a coffee table when they were standing on it to hang something. One of the attorneys even asked someone to get fake pine spray. Somebody already wears patchouli so I'll be loading up on Advil because holy shit.