Mary
There's a woman who works in the building my office is in. She works the front desk of the building, and I've considered her a friend for years now, almost as long as we've been in that building. We both worked odd shifts, and I'd always stop by the front desk before going home, chatting for a bit. Since I work regular hours now, and mostly from home, I don't see her nearly as often. But I still make it a point to stop by and talk whenever I'm in the building.
Last night was one of those times. We got to talking about her job, about the good and the bad parts of it. The whole time we're talking, we're constantly getting interrupted. Manual laborers needing access to various parts of the building, business men and women in expensive suits, stopping to say hello and ask for a favor. It's her job to know these people, to smile and nod and remember names and be respectful. It's not a very difficult job, but it requires very specific skillsets, which she has in abundance.
In between interruptions, she tells me how hard life is right now. She needs to have surgery done on her knees. But to do so, she needs to take 3 months off work, unpaid. Which she can't afford. So she needs to save money. Which is virtually impossible. Talking to this woman is like talking to a huge, and growing, subset of the population. She makes maybe a couple bucks above minimum wage. She doesn't have a car, so she takes public transit back and forth to work every day, an hour long ride. She lives in the outskirts of Portland, a part of the city with relatively cheap rent and all the social ills that follow reasonable cost of living. The bus rides are stressful for an older lady, constantly subjected to little indignities. But she can't afford a car, she can't afford to live closer in, and she can't afford to save enough money to live for 3 months without a paycheck.
So, I start talking to her about alternate means of making a living. Different jobs she could do. I'm encouraging her to LOOK, to find something that suits her, that makes her happy.
And she sits back and looks at me, and asks me what. What can she do. She's not being pissy. She genuinely wants me to tell her what I think she can do.
I start listing her skills as I see them. People skills, the ability to smile and make people comfortable (a far rarer skill than many think). She's chatty and sweet. She's adaptable and smart, picking up knowledge quickly, and holding onto it. She got this job with very little experience, and she's held onto it tenaciously, even though it normally has a quick turnaround rate. She's ambitious, to a certain extent. She's taken training, and she'd like to branch out into other positions within the same company, but she's physically limited.
And as I'm describing her skills, she's nodding and smiling and contributing. But as soon as I'm done, she starts describing all the negatives. And she's not wrong. Uneducated, inexperienced, physically limited... And I start trying to imagine being her, and what I would do.
I'm trying to imagine a life where my options were severely limited by things completely beyond my control, and how I could create change for myself. Born a generation earlier, African American woman, education discouraged, having fought my way into a barely above minimum wage job that is physically demanding, failing knees, shitty health insurance, and self esteem that has never been lower. Single, though not by choice, grown kids with problems of their own. Alone in a world that doesn't respect me, but with skill sets that would be in demand if I weren't stuck in a box nobody looks inside. Good with people, an amazing actress capable of dealing with wealthy shitheads with a smile and a wink, adaptable and smart, though afraid of change and set in my ways.
How would I change my world? How would I walk away from a steady job that I hate, and create a stable environment for myself?
And I have no clue. I'm stuck. She's seen me change. She's seen me go from second shift goth girl to "successful business woman", and she wants me to tell her how I've done it. I've told her the truth, that it's been almost nothing but luck and privilege. I've had the luxury of being a young, relatively wealthy, healthy white woman in a world that caters to me. Not quite as much as it would if I were a chromosome different, but still pretty freaking easy. I fall into good circumstances, and I take advantage of them. I work hard, yes, and I enjoy the challenge of fitting myself into situations that weren't quite made for me. But the mold that I change doesn't require much tweaking to fit.
The mold is much harder to fit for her. Between her skin and that life is a layer of memories and experiences that take up so much more space.
I want to help her. Not to become successful, but to become happy. Or at least to have the luxury of stability.
There are plenty of platitudes to give to her.
"You just have to believe in yourself"
"You just need to be aware of your environment. Look for change and grab it as soon as you see the opportunity"
"If you believe that you can do something, the rest of the world will follow you in your belief."
"There are opportunities everywhere, for people willing to find them"
And they all seem like truly patronizing bullshit when held up against the reality of her life. She's seen plenty of opportunities in her life, told me about a few of them. But they all zipped right past her. And not for lack of her trying, though the older she got the harder it got to keep trying.
This is not to say that she's played no role in her own discomfort. She's got her personality quirks, weaknesses that make life a little harder, same as all of us. She just doesn't have as big a buffer between her weaknesses and reality as some of us. Her age, her skin color, and her history have taken away that buffer, made every mistake more meaningful, the repercussions more immediate and long lasting.
I told her we'd talk more when I come in on Thursday, that I'd think about it and try to come up with some suggestions. She's looking forward to it. She thanked me as I was leaving, saying that I always make her think, always give her hope.
I went out last night and got drunk as a skunk for the first time in a very, very long time. Thinking about her, trying to think about potential and hope. Unsuccessfully, for the most part, since whiskey isn't renowned for helping create sunshine and rainbows.
Today isn't any better. Unsurprisingly, since hangovers are also not conducive to hope.
But I think I'm done overthinking it. I think that acknowledging that the world isn't fair, that we are not all given equal shift, and that I see that, I see her... that's about as much help as I can give. I may also suggest a move to the hospitality field, looking for a job where she can sit behind a desk and smile and laugh with people to her hearts content, that gives her good enough health insurance to take care of her body. And where she's respected, maybe not all the time, because there will always be assholes in this world. But most of the time. An older black woman sitting behind a desk in one of the wealthiest buildings in Portland is not going to be given the respect she deserves. So fuck them. They don't deserve the opportunity to know her.
Last night was one of those times. We got to talking about her job, about the good and the bad parts of it. The whole time we're talking, we're constantly getting interrupted. Manual laborers needing access to various parts of the building, business men and women in expensive suits, stopping to say hello and ask for a favor. It's her job to know these people, to smile and nod and remember names and be respectful. It's not a very difficult job, but it requires very specific skillsets, which she has in abundance.
In between interruptions, she tells me how hard life is right now. She needs to have surgery done on her knees. But to do so, she needs to take 3 months off work, unpaid. Which she can't afford. So she needs to save money. Which is virtually impossible. Talking to this woman is like talking to a huge, and growing, subset of the population. She makes maybe a couple bucks above minimum wage. She doesn't have a car, so she takes public transit back and forth to work every day, an hour long ride. She lives in the outskirts of Portland, a part of the city with relatively cheap rent and all the social ills that follow reasonable cost of living. The bus rides are stressful for an older lady, constantly subjected to little indignities. But she can't afford a car, she can't afford to live closer in, and she can't afford to save enough money to live for 3 months without a paycheck.
So, I start talking to her about alternate means of making a living. Different jobs she could do. I'm encouraging her to LOOK, to find something that suits her, that makes her happy.
And she sits back and looks at me, and asks me what. What can she do. She's not being pissy. She genuinely wants me to tell her what I think she can do.
I start listing her skills as I see them. People skills, the ability to smile and make people comfortable (a far rarer skill than many think). She's chatty and sweet. She's adaptable and smart, picking up knowledge quickly, and holding onto it. She got this job with very little experience, and she's held onto it tenaciously, even though it normally has a quick turnaround rate. She's ambitious, to a certain extent. She's taken training, and she'd like to branch out into other positions within the same company, but she's physically limited.
And as I'm describing her skills, she's nodding and smiling and contributing. But as soon as I'm done, she starts describing all the negatives. And she's not wrong. Uneducated, inexperienced, physically limited... And I start trying to imagine being her, and what I would do.
I'm trying to imagine a life where my options were severely limited by things completely beyond my control, and how I could create change for myself. Born a generation earlier, African American woman, education discouraged, having fought my way into a barely above minimum wage job that is physically demanding, failing knees, shitty health insurance, and self esteem that has never been lower. Single, though not by choice, grown kids with problems of their own. Alone in a world that doesn't respect me, but with skill sets that would be in demand if I weren't stuck in a box nobody looks inside. Good with people, an amazing actress capable of dealing with wealthy shitheads with a smile and a wink, adaptable and smart, though afraid of change and set in my ways.
How would I change my world? How would I walk away from a steady job that I hate, and create a stable environment for myself?
And I have no clue. I'm stuck. She's seen me change. She's seen me go from second shift goth girl to "successful business woman", and she wants me to tell her how I've done it. I've told her the truth, that it's been almost nothing but luck and privilege. I've had the luxury of being a young, relatively wealthy, healthy white woman in a world that caters to me. Not quite as much as it would if I were a chromosome different, but still pretty freaking easy. I fall into good circumstances, and I take advantage of them. I work hard, yes, and I enjoy the challenge of fitting myself into situations that weren't quite made for me. But the mold that I change doesn't require much tweaking to fit.
The mold is much harder to fit for her. Between her skin and that life is a layer of memories and experiences that take up so much more space.
I want to help her. Not to become successful, but to become happy. Or at least to have the luxury of stability.
There are plenty of platitudes to give to her.
"You just have to believe in yourself"
"You just need to be aware of your environment. Look for change and grab it as soon as you see the opportunity"
"If you believe that you can do something, the rest of the world will follow you in your belief."
"There are opportunities everywhere, for people willing to find them"
And they all seem like truly patronizing bullshit when held up against the reality of her life. She's seen plenty of opportunities in her life, told me about a few of them. But they all zipped right past her. And not for lack of her trying, though the older she got the harder it got to keep trying.
This is not to say that she's played no role in her own discomfort. She's got her personality quirks, weaknesses that make life a little harder, same as all of us. She just doesn't have as big a buffer between her weaknesses and reality as some of us. Her age, her skin color, and her history have taken away that buffer, made every mistake more meaningful, the repercussions more immediate and long lasting.
I told her we'd talk more when I come in on Thursday, that I'd think about it and try to come up with some suggestions. She's looking forward to it. She thanked me as I was leaving, saying that I always make her think, always give her hope.
I went out last night and got drunk as a skunk for the first time in a very, very long time. Thinking about her, trying to think about potential and hope. Unsuccessfully, for the most part, since whiskey isn't renowned for helping create sunshine and rainbows.
Today isn't any better. Unsurprisingly, since hangovers are also not conducive to hope.
But I think I'm done overthinking it. I think that acknowledging that the world isn't fair, that we are not all given equal shift, and that I see that, I see her... that's about as much help as I can give. I may also suggest a move to the hospitality field, looking for a job where she can sit behind a desk and smile and laugh with people to her hearts content, that gives her good enough health insurance to take care of her body. And where she's respected, maybe not all the time, because there will always be assholes in this world. But most of the time. An older black woman sitting behind a desk in one of the wealthiest buildings in Portland is not going to be given the respect she deserves. So fuck them. They don't deserve the opportunity to know her.
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