Tonight I forgot to write. Here it is a little after 11 PM. Notes again from today.

My work memories and the occasional dream almost always involve the warehouse gig, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. My brothers had worked there at some point and my mother worked in the office.

I worked in the College Department, starting part-time when I turned 16. I was bad at it. I should have been fired since I was so inept. I would have to pick orders and if they asked for 22 copies of Art History, I would give them 20. I was always called back to correct my mistakes.

I am sure I would have been fired if it wasn’t for the regard people had for my mother. Some people knew this and really hated me. I was unaccustomed to such disdain and usually laughed it off, in their face. But honestly, I did not know I should have been fired. I didn’t realize that until many years later.

I went full-time when I graduated from high school. Somehow I figured out that college would be a waste of time. I had a teacher in high school, Sister Reginald who remarked that we were in school because we had to be. When we go to college that wouldn’t be the case.

It was then a bell went off in my head. I knew that I was the type of person who didn’t do things that they didn’t want to do. And to pay money for that would be insane. Plus my parents didn’t pay for my brothers or sister’s continuing education so they weren’t going to pay for mine.

‘Why stay in college? Why go to night school? Gonna be different this time…’

Having just mentioned Sister Reginald, I remember something that happened. Sister Reginald taught Algebra. I mentioned to Bill earlier this evening that I am a strict segregationist with regard to letters and numbers, and that is what Algebra is all about.

Somehow I got through 2 years of it and I have no idea how. For my last year of Algebra, on the final there were the usual letters and numbers mixing it up and how do I make sense of it. And I had to show my work.

Somehow I steeled myself and wrote an essay on my Algebra final. I apologized for my being a poor student, but I just did not ‘get it’. Sending me to summer school would be useless and anyway, my parents would kill me. Sister Reginald found it in her heart and passed me.

Occasionally I will see something on the social medias about teachers that inspired or were heroic to people. Bill has a teacher like that, Dr. Sharon they call him. There was even a reunion that Bill attended a few months ago.

I guess if I were pressed to name a heroic or inspirational teacher I would have to say, Sister Reginald. She’s probably gone now so there will be no reunion. There will be cake.

Not many notes after all…

What a day. The supervisor’s supervisor (S/S) was in after not being around for a number of days. I thought something might have been wrong in his life and I still do but I have no idea and my caring is flatlining. One of the things I do at my job is deal with clients who sometimes have appointments, sometimes they don’t.

Sometimes they speak English, sometimes they don’t. Yesterday some didn’t speak English. I used Google Translate and it worked. At 1:55 PM yesterday I had a few clients, including a couple not speaking English. The person they see collected them and brought them somewhere else for their meeting.

Nothing out of the ordinary. I moved on to my tasks as well as managing the remaining clients. Nothing to see here, but apparently I offended someone. I didn’t find that out until this morning when the supervisor’s supervisor summoned me to a meeting ably witnessed by the fleshy doorknob of a supervisor (DKB).

Before I headed to the meeting, I packed my bags. Most of my personal items have been brought home in July and I have a checklist of things that are mine that I do not want to forget. S/S asked me what happened at 1:55 PM.

I answered honestly, saying that I didn’t know. S/S led with some more questions and said that I was rude to someone. I said I had no idea what he was talking about and mentioned that the clockwatchers were certainly doing their job. He seemed proud of the clockwatchers.

I said as far as I knew nothing happened besides helping these clients and it was so inconsequential in the scheme of my work day. I have tasks and I do them, I help clients and make them feel comfortable. I talk to them and sometimes get them to laugh as they’re a little stressed out with their situation as well as the lingering effects of what happened 23 years ago.

I was up against the wall, SS and DKB were pushing me and I pushed back. S/S said I was interrupting him but what the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m on thin ice, three strikes against me. I had no idea what S/S was talking about but I had to defend myself.

I think S/S was hoping for a complacent confession, ‘Yes I did this, yes I did that’ but I still have no idea what he was talking about. DKB did a fantastic job of not saying anything just being the best witness a doorknob can be. I paid him no mind.

The meeting ended in a disgruntled manner. I’m certain my final days are approaching. Then again I’ve been feeling that since July 8. It was a job that I enjoyed going to. I liked the people I worked with and I liked the fact that what I was doing was helping people in an albeit small way.

Perhaps it’s the bookend to the volunteer work I did 23 years ago.