I Pity The Fool

Monday- Irritable, emotionally disturbed (that’s his classification) student refuses to cooperate with me in the midst of his evaluation.  Ironically, I’m later told that because he’s 18 and my supervisor is considering this to be an "initial referral" he can legally do this, and we can close the case.  So he is spared getting a highly critical report, and I am spared any further time in his belligerent, sexually inappropriate company.
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Tuesday- We had a naked guy at work.  I wondered aloud why crazy people always want to be naked.  It’s either that or five winter coats…never a happy medium…
A teacher tells me not to let the officers catch me looking out the window, o r they’ll make me sign an incident report that I was a witness.
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Wednesday- Holiday party at my site.  I drag in about 5 lbs of fruit salad (happily, most of it was actually eaten!  I was afraid it would be bypassed for all the pies, cakes, cookies, etc.) plus a few gifts for coworkers. 

After our brunch, some people are happy with their gifts, while others, myself included, experience Secret Santa Shame.  In my case, it especially sucks because not only do I notice that my recipient appears greatly dissatisfied with my gift (which I put a fair amount of time and effort into), but I in turn cannot disguise my own dissatisfaction.  My Secret Santa has bought me a hair accessory, and if she spent the $10 minimum on it, she was robbed.  It strikes me as sort of ironic, because this lady has admired my hair multiple times, even to the point of crossing unspoken boundaries and putting her fingers in it.  You’d think that if she was paying such close attention, she might have noticed that I never wear anything remotely resembling a purple rhinestone flower/butterfly combo…nevertheless, she is panic-stricken. 

I try to reassure her that the sentiment is what mattered, but she makes the interaction infinitely worse by harping on it, repeatedly apologizing, spouting disclaimers about her own questionable taste and lack of skill in gift selection, and yet vowing to get me another gift. Exhausting.  In the meantime, I must admit that my pride has been a bit wounded by the fact that my own recipient is so unappreciative, so I sort of understand both sides of it…on the other hand, I am later somewhat mollified upon learning that the same girl was rude and rejecting to her own friend about a gift he gave her.  He describes her as "tough…very tough."  To me, this translates as "bitchy…substantially bitchy."  The icing on the da’s cake is that the corrections officers appear to be punishing us (either for extending our lunch hour, i.e. leaving them with the students longer, or for not offering them free food) and leave the students with us for an extra 30-40 minutes.  The officers sulk, the students misguidedly blame the teachers (believing we wanted to keep them longer- if only they knew), and no one leaves on time (or in a good mood).  I fall asleep on the couch, eat only soup for dinner, and hope I’m not coming down with my mom’s cold.
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Thursday- I’m kicking myself for having agreed to attend the schoolwide holiday party that evening, but I’m not about to waste the $55 I shelled out.  I arrive at work to find a small parade of colleagues angling for a crack at my xerox machine, since the one in the office is busted.  At least I learn that a certain coworker of interest (CofI) will be commiserating with me at tonight’s shindig.

The day drags on as we sit through a ridiculous staff development meeting and I await the phonecall from my carpool for the party.  We have about 90 minutes to kill and the drive takes 10, so we wind up milling around in a Walgreen’s, then commandeering an off-the-beaten-track restroom as an ersatz changing area.  We emerge to compliments, holiday tunes, and an open bar (at 4 PM, mind you).  When you were a kid, didn’t you always wonder what your teachers would be like at a party (if it occurred to you that they had lives outside of school, anyway)?  Well, now I have a fairly decent conceptualization.  Anyway, I had a much better time than I’d anticipated, even if the food was underwhelming and my 4 drinks were roughly equivalent to 2 at a regular bar.  I enjoyed solidarity with several high-spirited colleagues, and even wound up dancing a bit, completely contrary to my nature.  Initially, I was forced to do so by our principal, who is quite the dancing machine.  Later, the afore-mentioned CofI entreats me to participate in the "white boy shuffle."  If he had any idea how much I generally avoid this activity, he’d realize what a rare compliment I was paying him by staying out there on the dance floor til the end of the party.  You never know.

My carpool and I arrive home by 9:30 or 10, but it feels like 3 AM.  The lightness of my shoulder bag/relative diminution of my bag fails to compute as I exit the vehicle.  Inside, I realize that I have forgotten my pants (from the workday) and makeup in the trunk, and call my colleague to make sure she realizes it.  I return my messages and pass out.
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Friday- Apparently, I dreamed that it was the weekend (and Christmas vacation) already, because I’m rather surprised when the alarm goes off an anyway.  I’ve actually slept an hour later, because today instead of going to work, I’m attending a staff development at the Queens Museum.  For once, I have more than enough time for everything I need to do in the morning, plus even take a quick shower.  I’m ahead of schedule when arriving up at the corner for my pick-up (in a pickup!  No pun originally intended, I added this 2 minutes later after realizing).  My assistant principal and I have a rousing political discussion after he treats me to a real coffee (I usually do decaf).  The workshop is generally very interesting, despite one very self-confident teacher monopolizing a discussion and  mispronouncing several psychological terms and names.  Even if our cohort back at school got to leave early and were officially on vacation 3-4 hours before we were, I think it’s worth it.  And even though our group only includes 10 or so people, one of those is CofI, who is as pleasant sober as he is when somewhat inebriated (albeit rather less extroverted).
It is a great way to start off my vacation. 

Later, L. comes over for a gift exchange and shopping assistance.  My gift-selection self-esteem is somewhat restored.  She then treats me to a delicious Indian dinner, followed by dessert at the Chocolate Room, as we rehash the week’s events.  In the driving downpour, I discover that my black boots are not waterproof…we later take the bus home instead of walking.  Since I swiped us both through on my Metrocard, I escort her to the train for use of the free transfer.  I hate for the second free transfer to go to waste, and while the first two potential beneficiaries lose out, the train is coming.  Suddenly appears a woman whose Metrocard swipe yields the dreaded "INSUFFICIENT FARE," escorting a blind man with a cane.  They squeeze into the turnstile together and share the free entry I cheerfully provide.  Holiday cheer is spread, good karma almost certainly nourished.  I go home and change into pajamas.  I doze off while blogging.  Nutty week notwithstanding…vacation is here.

Happy Holidays, All.

1. discovering that the "UpBeet Martini" at beet restaurant is aptly named…just one of those was enough to tipsify me last night.

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2. wearing a Wayne’s World t-shirt just because I can.

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3. wrapping presents when I am supposed to be cleaning.

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4. lying in bed even when I am not sleepy anymore.

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5. allowing chocolate or cookies to be a part of my first meal of the day.

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happy saturday everyone!

This morning, one of my coworkers brought in Dunkin Donuts for everyone.  So I thought the day was off to a pretty good start.  Then I noticed that our part of the school stinks like something died (hopefully not one of the feral cats), on top of the fetid fridge full of poorly contained leftovers from a brunch they had last Friday.  I decided to take advantage of the free sugarload and simultaneously escape the stench, so I scooted over to the teachers’ lounge.  I got there on time to choose a lovely vanilla frosted with red and green sprinkles…eat most of it…and drop the remainder on the floor (frosting/sprinkly side DOWN), while simultaneously spilling tea on myself.  I wasn’t actually too embarrassed, and I said, "Well, hopefully this will be the worst thing to happen to me today."  Fatal words.
For starters, it wasn’t even the only time I wound up spilling tea on myself (though the second time was just a little, on the sleeve of a sweater that needed washing anyway).  The jinx extended to a Secret Santa shopping trip- to make a long story short, I discovered that even a store that normally stocks an entire wall of flip-flops replaces them with other merchandise in the winter.  Also, my shopping companion made a special return trip to the Union Square X-mas market to buy a ring that is no longer available in her size.
Making another long story short, my neighbors ONCE AGAIN waited until the last minute to switch around a previously agreed-upon babysitting time.  While there, the kids were mainly better than they had been on Monday, except they freaked out when the sound on the TV was busted, then asked me to basically go away after I fixed it for them.  Usually I hide somewhere when they are watching those super-annoying cartoon shows with loud music and grating voices, but I wanted to sit on the comfortable chair with my book, goddamit!  Whereas I did this on Monday and happily snoozed through all their shows, this time (perhaps my comeuppance for not leaving the room?) they felt the need to periodically explain something to me about a show, then engage in a kicking match with each other on the couch.
And last but most definitely not least, did I mention that one of the teachers tried to dump some extra work on me, ignored all of my very good reasons why it wasn’t urgent, and implied that I was racist (or merely an ignorant whitey, at best) for not wanting to do it?
Tomorrow is a lunch meeting/party with Shelob and the rest of the clinical crew.  No matter what goes down, I don’t dare to make any proclamations about what might or might not be the worst thing to happen anytime soon.  Blech.

I couldn’t decide if I wanted to write about this, and I’m still not sure.  On the other hand, this IS one of the big issues in my life at the moment, and IPTF ain’t all fun and games.
My aunt is crazy.
Some of you already know this.  Some of you also know that "crazy" isn’t exactly a technical term, let alone professional shrink-speak.  However, all the grad school and diplomas in the world probably couldn’t make it any easier to deal with an actual, floridly psychotic person in your own family.
It was surreal when she thought her phones were being bugged, and she’d get in trouble for talking about the French Revolution.  Then it was an amusing excuse for a holiday text message when she skipped out on Thanksgiving dinner to go protest against pilgrims in Plymouth or something.  But now that she is accusing my grandmother of being in league with "the man with the turquoise ring" who spies on her in the subway, among other things, it’s not so funny anymore. 
The worst thing about dealing with a paranoid psychotic person is that occasionally, like 5 or 10% of the time, they can actually come out with bizarre things that are somewhat true, or that become self-fulfilling prophecies.  For example, one of her long-standing beliefs is that people are staring at her…but if her behavior is as noticeably odd in public as it is around us, I’m sure people actually ARE staring at her.
Anyway, last night I went to her apartment on something of an "intervention," at the request of my father and grandmother.  I mostly stayed quiet while they tried to reason and/or shout her down.  As a matter of fact, it was the first time I’d ever been to this apartment since she moved there a few years ago, and it was actually not nearly as decrepit, filthy, or overflowing with junk as I expected it to be.  For the first time in quite a while, I honestly felt sorry for her…because I can only imagine how terrified she must feel.  She honestly believes that her own family are out to get her, keeping secrets, "pretending" that she’s mentally ill, etc.  She honestly believes that she has been oppressed all these years, and that she is only now expressing truth and logical thought unencumbered by medications she perceives as harmful. 
It’s an especially strange feeling to me that, for whatever reason, she currently sees me as an ally, while she sees my father and grandmother as enemies.  Although we have not gotten along very well in the past year, she has continued to try to reach out to me, mostly by giving me weird gifts.  She seemed glad that I was there last night, perhaps because I tried to listen and validate to some of what she was saying…unfortunately, this led her to make multiple phonecalls to me tonight at home, covering a variety of subjects, but mainly her conspiracy theories about my grandmother.*  She’s usually quick to anger whenever anyone suggests anything about medication, doctors, etc., but was relatively subdued when I mentioned taking better care of herself. 
Unfortunately, I don’t think anything is going to change for the better until things really go down the shitter…excuse my language…
And unfortunately, when a paranoid person finally gets sick enough to go into the hospital, it’s like her worst fantasy is coming true.
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* I was going to write more about this in detail, but decided I would rather not put it in writing or share more than I’m already sharing.

Reasons not to stay and work late, even for 10 minutes (as if you needed any):
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Talk about making bad connections!  You think it sucks when you miss your connection from one subway line to the next in the morning?  Try working in a jail.  On Monday, I accidentally stayed in my office about 10 minutes or so past the time I normally leave (incidentally, I technically leave EARLY on most days for a safety-related reason: all my other colleagues are usually gone, and adult inmates are actually walking around "cleaning" and their supervision is dubious).
So, by staying an extra 10 minutes in my office, this is what happened:

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-I got stuck behind the gate by the bubble (security booth- that and more prison term definitions can be found here) for around 5 to 10 minutes, while the correction officers were involved in their daily 3 PM roll call.  I think it’s a shift change or something, but regardless of the actual reason, until they’re done, no one can move in or out of the four hallways that converge here.  I thought I’d learned my lesson weeks ago, but Monday was special.  One thing that made it a little more annoying was that I was stuck there with a teacher who started to get agitated, staring through the bars and wondering why the officers down the hall at roll call were ignoring him…  Somehow waiting is even more tedious when you’re waiting with another person who’s really impatient…

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-By this time, I had to stop and use the ladies’ room near the building’s entrance.  This extra five minutes caused me to miss the bus.  I know, because I saw it pulling away while I was crossing the inner parking lot on my way to the "control building."

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-Monday was really windy and chilly in general, but when you factor in an outdoor bus-stop on an island, with no tall buildings or trees, and near an airport and countless flight paths, waiting 5-10 minutes for the bus is no joke…especially when the driver unloads his passengers, then decides to take his "10-minute-break."  I suspect that they actually add time ON in proportion to how cold it is, and they watch you wait from across the middle parking lot in a special form of Schadenfreude reserved for public employees.  Even the officer who stands by the door has ended his shift and left, saying an extra goodbye to me as he heads for his car (and I realize again how much I actually do stick out around here, as a young white woman).

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-On a side note, when I finally got on the bus "10 minutes" later, I wound up sitting next to an old lady with a moustache, who smelled like vermouth.  I was too tired and cold to get up and move (and risk offending her or incurring hatred, who knows why this seemed important at the time). 

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Actually, I wrote most of this post while sitting there on the bus, other than changing it to past tense now, and also changing it from second-person to first-person.  I kind of want to leave this next part the way I wrote it at the time:

-"The smelly woman next to you keeps exhaling groans, and stares ahead in a wounded fashion.  You are reminded that if the prison had a Starsucks, you’d have happily patronized it while trying to avoid the chill, so by now you’d have a nice hot drink under your nose to avoid the smell.
You stayed 10 extra minutes at your desk, which will probably wind up delaying your arrival at home about 30-40 minutes past the usual.  Was it worth it?"

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-In point of fact, it did delay me about that long, after I transferred from the bus to the F train for the long ride home (involving another 5 minute wait).  And no.  No, it wasn’t worth it.
Lesson learned.