Christy Claxton

I'll soon be releasing my book, “Leadership Challenged - A Middle Management Memoir.” In the book, I follow Hungarian playwright Lago Egri's definition of "premise." He defines it as a thematic truth. Seems like a strange approach to writing a book on leadership, right? 
 

Not really. Egri believed premise was proved through thesis, antithesis and dialectic. I would whittle that down to one question. “Why?” In any situation, work, community or home, people are motivated to behave a certain way for some reason that requires us to ask, “why?” Something led to the end behavior or result. So, in my book premise is defined by “A leads to B,” and by understanding how “A” got to "B", we can answer the “why.” 

Why was a company so successful? If we want to learn from their success, we're going to find the “A” that inspired the success. For example, Bill Schmid founded the Halo SleepSack for infants after his baby died of SIDS. The premise to his success story is, “Tragic infant death leads to successful company.” Of course, there's a lot to unpack to get there. Ergi would dig into the thesis that Schmid imagined in order to create his lifesaving baby blankets. The story would start with tragedy and grief and plot its way to an idea. There would be antithesis where tests would fail. We'd come to understand the timeline and the conversations that were had to get to the completion of the SleepSack. Now we have answered, “why.” Bill Schmidt didn't want another baby to die. Only a successful invention would satisfy him in his mission.

We are surrounded by premises, whether it's a personal premise or a company premise. It's there. In my book, I spend most of the chapters sharing my personal “A's and their ultimate premises. The end goal is to inspire leaders who are entrenched in the day to day of teamwork. There may be some curious CEOs that read it, but my audience is in the middle or maybe in the beginning of a life of leadership. In everyday situations, team leads through middle managers are the ones who work to answer ”why." If an employee becomes disruptive and negative, a manager wants to know why. Is it a personal issue? Is it work related? Has it been bothering the employee for awhile and just became noticeable? Is it worth finding the why? 

Yes it is. 

Companies do post mortems after big initiatives have completed. It's a “why” meeting. Why did we succeed? Why did we fail? They study those premises to improve processes and understand what works and what doesn't work. People managers work with HR to keep employees productive. In most cases, HR conversations start due to something negative. We're good at pointing out the bad in others. An HR business partner is likely going to ask “why” a manager thinks the behavior is bad. Simply pointing out someone's bad attitude isn't going to change it. Addressing the “A” is a much better approach. 

The interesting thing about writing this book is that I didn't expect it to morph into what it ultimately became. I honestly didn't have a personal premise, but I soon discovered it as the book became more of an inspirational and motivational piece. The book took on a premise that goes something like this, “Personal struggle creates a servant leader.” 

I'm a creative writer first. I never thought I'd write a piece of non-fiction, so I morphed short fiction, personal story telling and very little leadership advice into a book about challenging the traditional, corporate views of leadership. I hope you'll consider reading “Leadership Challenged - A Middle Manager Memoir” even if you're retired, or you're a student or simply curious. If you're in a position to lead or manage, this book won't feel like homework. It will get you in touch with your own humanity, as well as the team you lead. For me, my own book, and the experience of writing it, confirmed that my place in the world is not a corporate setting, but instead in the company of society's most vulnerable. It's a place where the storyteller in me can craft a message that inspires others to help those less fortunate. I can create rich and valuable character studies as a way to champion humanity in all castes. And when I'm not creating premises to inspire people to act, I hope to engage directly with those who need support.

People deserve better. And that's everyone from the homeless man struggling to get on his feet to the entry level employee overwhelmed by a new job to the middle class family trying to work magic on their household budget. Corporate executive deserve better, too. Most don't want to be labeled uncaring and greedy. They just need a hard shove in the direction of a simple reminder. “Never forget where you came from.”

Pre-order you Kindle version here.

I had some bloodwork done today. When I arrived at the lab it was completely full of patients. My first thought was, “I'm going to be here forever.” Then I rethought that.  Labs don't  take  long. I knew the room would clear quickly. I signed in and took a seat.

As you all know, I'm keenly interested in the premise of the situation I'm in. In this case, the unrelenting flow of patients meant the staff was not getting a break. One woman was working the front desk. Her voice was louder than it needed it to be, and it was a bit strained. She was calling people and then speaking to them at the same volume. And she was cranking through appointments fast. Finally, another woman asked if she needed help. The first  response was, “No. I got it.”

This is a full body massage mat.  Get this for your staff and YOU schedule their breaks to use it. They'll be afraid to give themselves the opportunity for fear of getting in trouble if they do it on their own.

She needed help.
Here's the deal.

She was so inundated with patients, she set her mind and body into a furious rhythm and didn't even have the mind space to consider the offer. The other woman said, “It's almost your lunch break.” And she sat down to help. She muttered under her breath, but still audible, “I shouldn't be up here  doing this because I have a bad attitude.”

I'm going to ask you, reader. What's  the premise here?
Because it most definitely exists. Think about it as you read on. 

The bathroom door in the waiting room had a tendency to slam against the wall when someone opened it. I had to use the bathroom, and that door slammed against the wall. A worker came to the reception area and told the front desk workers that was the third time today that door had slammed and caused everything to fall off the wall in one of their work rooms. She was stressed and pissed. 

I spoke up and said, “The door needs a stopper.” To which the worker with the self proclaimed bad attitude said, “We should call maintenance.”

Whether this staff had minimal critical thinking skills outside their day to day work or whether they were so overwhelmed that they couldn't problem solve that door is fodder for leadership discussion. But consider this. Every time stuff fell off the wall, someone's work flow was disrupted as they put the items back on the shelves. When people work themselves into the what I call a "stress flow"," any wrench in the cog is emotionally catastrophic. They didn't design their flow for interruptions. 

By the time I got to the back, the phlebotomist was juggling multiple patients and paperwork. Calling us up two at a time. She hurried down the hall pointing, “You go there, and you go there.” She walked back the front and called more patients. Then she came into my space and without losing her “flow” started adjusting forms, giving me something to sign, and then sort of spinning around and looking for something she couldn't  remember she was looking for. She asked for my urine sample. I said it was in the box I was instructed to put it in. She said, “oh, good,” and walked over to where blood vials and urine cups are stored, and she grabbed a urine cup. She stopped herself and said, “What am I doing?” This young woman was so into the stress flow that her head was working faster than her body. She wasn't making the context  switch successfully. I assured her I totally got it and saw what she was struggling with. 

As she started the blood draw, I could see the smallest little tremor in her hand. She was very young, so that, my friends, was stress. 
 

Here's a 50% off code - CJSTN7B5 - Talk about a gift of appreciation! Or just get a few for the office. 

I looked at the notice on the wall that encouraged patients to call the manager if they were unsatisfied, and I thought, why do I need to call the manager. WHERE IS THE MANAGER?? Her team was imploding on itself. They were overworked, understaffed and unsupported. If one worker cracked under the stress, she was branded as “a bad attitude.” That same worker was muttering, “I need a new job I need a new job I need a new job.” 

Anyone in leadership (from shift manager to CEO), this is completely unacceptable working conditions. 
You've had time to come up with a premise. But if you're not sure what I meant or what it is, let me help you.

In fact, I'll give you a few. 

1. Understaffing leads to poor patient care
2. Understaffing leads to mental stress
3. Staffing efficiencies lead to systemic breakdown
4. Small staff with same workload as larger staff leads to failure
5. Absent and out of touch leadership destroys the core business; in this case, patient care

We see this premise play out in healthcare, customer service, retail stores, and even in tech offices. When companies need to reduce overhead, they automatically go to staff reduction. No research, no operations reviews, no deep dive into workflows. Just cut staff. Cut “bloat.” Never mind the bloat might be useless tasks (like putting things back on a shelf every time a door slams).

If you have humans working for you, you have to understand human nature. People who are overwhelmed will make mistakes. They may mess up a task, use the wrong patient chart, or simply utter a negative phrase within earshot of a person who doesn't know the premise.

I got one corporate computer shut off in less than a minute to become “semi retired.” I plugged in another to an audio digital interface to spend time doing things I absolutely love to do.

I have successfully cut my monthly income allowance to $4,000 a month! Not missing the other $7,000. I just don't spend frivolous money on the pleasures I afforded myself as a personal perk of the job I had. I have everything I need. Yes. That extra money paid for all the extra things I need;  like a turbo desktop, recording software and all the equipment that I need to record music and podcasts. Thankfully, I earned enough to have this stuff. I can now spend my day writing, composing, recording, and a little bit of gardening. 

It doesn't feel any different putting myself on a $48,000 salary than when I made three times that much money. Anyone who values stuff and status over what is right in front of them is much less happy than they let on. Unless they're born into generational wealth, they are probably feeling the stress of the kinds of jobs that deliver big salaries. I used to remind young team members that the big money comes with big responsibilities and as much work as it takes to justify the big bucks. You're going to work for every penny of it.

I know, in my heart, that happiness is what we make of it. If you're the kind of person who values good friends, good family, laughter, joy in your immediate surroundings, the offer of free art, a street musician, a sitcom, or a dip in the lake, then you probably define wealth as something besides money. 

Don't get me wrong. Money is important, but it shouldn't be the deciding factor in our definition of happiness. I'm sure the time will come that I will have to give myself a raise, but right now, I'm more than good. 

I've recorded some quick podcasts that are under ten minutes. I call them short pods, and I hid them behind a subscription paywall. I've created some new Peace from the Porch swag that folks can buy if they like. I have music available for free on Spotify, Apple Music, Amazon Music, and YouTube, and I'll have a new edition of the longform podcast, Porch Talk, available on Spotify in a week or so. This all takes a lot of work, but it is work I love to do! 

As we age and find ourselves shifting our living strategy, finding “work” that we love to do is key to happiness. If nothing else, what we produce reminds us that we are incredible and smart and creative and valuable whether we sell something or not.  

Do happiness. It won't feel like poverty. 

My older lady friends! Be careful! If someone tells you they can show you how to make money and be your own boss with online product sales, be wary.

I mean, yeah. You can do it, but if you're headed to an online seminar to get you started on a life of financial independence, be careful.

I recently sat in on a seminar that advertised advice on how to sell a digital product. It was targeted for women over 50. As I looked at the faces in the Zoom meeting, I saw hope and exhaustion. It sounds glorious to think I can sell a digital product of my own making from the comfort of home; never to walk into a place of oppressive work again. Newbies, beware. No matter what anybody tells you, there's a LOT to selling anything online. For starters, the whole world is setting up shop, and without the skills and experience to get ahead of the worldwide rest, I'd say anyone telling you that you can sell online, if you just work your butt off for a year, is probably about to hang you over the cliff and suggest you pay THEM to pull you back to safety.

This seminar that I attended had some great nuggets, but early on my warning bell went off. Firstly, the presenter discouraged affiliate marketing (true, you gotta sell a lot through our special link to get any money) and drop shipping. She used the best reason anyone who's non-confrontational needs to hear. Users and customers will blame it on YOU when the product they purchase doesn't meet expectations. With that, the presenter said, “sell your own digital product.”

What?

She went on to use examples like:

• A preloaded spreadsheet with the formulas to manage your budget
• A downloadable list of what to pack when traveling overseas
• Anything that anyone is an expert in is for sale to those who need that advice

Firstly, I suspect the spreadsheet idea is a thing of the past; if not a foreign concept to many. Those rows and columns of cells are intimidating to much of the audience most 50+ year old women would have access to from the beginning.

Secondly, why would anyone pay to download what every travel blogger is offering for free… along with affiliate Amazon links to the neat little packing pods and travel panties they recommend?

However, there are are some creations that could offer income after 50. Digital books come to mind. Digital audio files could work for some. But honestly, don't expect to get rich without putting in some serious marketing work. And no matter what anyone tells you, it takes money to make money.

The presenter cautioned against paid advertising unless you're an expert. I'm no expert, but I'll be honest. I get most of my traffic from paid advertising. She suggested the “magazine” model where one would  advertise in the periphery of products and subjects related to the downloadable item for sale. I kind of like this concept, but that's sort of the same thing  as a paid advertising, isn't it? (Marketing pros, please weigh in on this blog!)

The best takeaway from this seminar is the holy truth. It takes a LOT of  work and time to sell anything successfully online. I'd like to add that it starts with building an audience who believes in your product or offering. That alone can take years. Unless of course, you buy into what the presenter was selling… a turnkey “one page” that includes a sales proposition, features and benefits,  a promise, and a pay button. Aaaaand, you can go a little further and and pay more for mentoring.

I just can't caution enough that this is not for everyone who wants to work from home. I encourage everyone to try everything they're curious about, but do not  believe the hype. Even when that hype is laced with “the hard truths.” Usually, the hard truths are offered to boost the credibility of the presenter. 

Here's my advice. Reach deep and honestly into your soul and ask yourself if you really have the ability to sell online products.  Can you do the whole thing on your own? Be the creator, the webmaster, the marketer, the copywriter, the social media person, the customer service person, and the accountant? Then ask the honest question that goes like this, “Do you really have the motivation for it?” And if it all sounds like a foreign concept that requires a massive learning curve, can you deal with the extreme frustration of learning what it takes to do it?

I'm tired, too. I don't want to work for other people. I haven't had the kinds of experiences that build trust and faith in leaders in the workplace. But if I decide I have to do it, I will go back in before I buy some too good to be true hype that can potentially drain my resources before it ever makes a dime. 

Please be careful, y'all. 

First, let me say that I am honestly happy to not work. After 30 years of mostly corporate work, I do not miss it one bit. I had a conversation with a former workmate, and I said, “whatever I do next? It has to be fun.” Enjoyable.

So, here I am just acting like a retired person. Doing things I enjoy. Helping my mom. Taking afternoon naps. But slowly, the anxiety is creeping up like the tide. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a barrel that is slowly filling with water, and I only have one inch of air left. I have never been good with the concept of faith. Yet there is some invisible force that is blocking my mind from “work.” Not any work, but work for somebody else. 

Here's what I want to know. Am I experiencing something normal for workers in their late 50s and early 60s? Is it common to be completely over it? Just used up and done? If it's normal, it feels fatal. We do not live in a world where people get to hang up their time card at 55. And with so much work moving to the digital realm, I personally feel like my mental age is closer to 79. I think my brain is turned into an old clunker. A space with with very little air left in the tank.

My only conclusion is that I need to be patient, and if not faithful, hopeful. Believe in the positive future. Don't give a shit what working society thinks. Know my worth. Know my knowledge. Be stingy with sharing it. Call myself “semi-retired.” Be honest about how I feel. The world wants me to say I'm great and that I can't wait to work for it. That would be a lie. 

I can see the B.S. in a lot of things these days. I don't need to pretend I don't see it to save my paycheck. I suspect there are many people just like me. I need a goal, so this week's goal is to find ways to be helpful without calling out the crap. 

I could also try bravery. I don't need to let anything run past me. I can grab it. I can pop the lid off the barrel and swim towards the horizon.  And I can feel some comfort in knowing that I am not the only one feeling this way. Maybe I do have faith in my own balance. I always land on my feet. I'm just not ready to jump.

There are workers who will never step away from a corporate job, and for good reason. 

Benefits

People will take the insult of anonymity, low pay, slow to no opportunity and a revolving door of bosses for the security that a corporation can offer. Ninety percent of the time, the anonymity is a worker's greatest asset. Just doing the job unnoticed is a safety net. But is it a guarantee? No.

The economy if finally starting to slow. Jobs are harder to find. Stocks are falling in price (probably correcting). That means hanging on to a job is even more important; even if you're miserable there. But why is it that work has to be miserable for many people? What makes it so difficult to really feel invested in a job? Clinging to benefits is not the same as being invested.

Health insurance in the U.S. is like a shackle on the American worker. It's completely unaffordable for an individual, so the corporation is the solution. Sometimes I can go right down the conspiracy rabbit hole right here. It's like a kind of slavery that chains us to someone else's dreams in order to satisfy our own. But honestly, how close can anyone get to a dream while toiling away at a corporation? Yeah. Sure. Dream of owning a home. Dream of buying a new car. Dream of a European vacation. But mostly, assurance of health and some little bit of retirement savings. 

I'm not talking about everyone. Plenty of people excel in corporate America. What I'm talking about is much more existential. That need to satisfy something within oneself that goes beyond the material. To take that leap, we're talking about a modern manifest destiny that includes no security beyond one's own ability stay afloat in an attempt to realized a dream of becoming a self made person. 

Layoffs are in full swing. More are likely imminent. It's often the layoff that can toss us into the existential dream even when we're not ready to go there. That's where I'm at right now. I don't have the security of corporate benefits beyond my severance package. It's a great time to take that final sprint towards retirement in the saddle of my own dreams, but can I do it? Can I afford to buy my own insurance? Will have enough to retire? 

Welp. Here's the truth. NOTHING is a guarantee. Maybe it's too late for some of us to jump into the journey of existential satisfaction, or is that a myth we've turned into fact? I want to understand what drives and assures the dreamers who become successful. Is it self-confidence? Is it some secret nest egg? Is it a family that is willing to catch them if they fall? Is it dumb luck? Or is it the willingness to hit the bottom?

Whatever it is, I want to try. And I know I'm going it alone. But I have to try. Part of me thinks I'm going alone because other people want to know if I can do it. If I can pave the way. At this point in my life, I'm not sure I want to be risk aversive. I'm interviewing when I get the opportunity, but I'm not chomping at the bit to work for someone else. I may do a lily pad job. I may find someone or something that inspires me. I hope I don't cave for the benefits because today the biggest benefit is pursuing passion. I am not afraid of freedom. The 100% authentic me is the only one for hire. If that's too much, then I'm happily on own.

I have to say, this one shocked me. I guess I'm just that naive. While scrolling through my LinkedIn feed, I saw this:

And then what? The day you turn 50, no one bothers to consider what you offer? Which is a hell of a lot more than a Google Project Management Professional Certificate. 

This is the stuff that terrifies me. That right there is blatant ageism. A post created by someone in their 20s - 40s. I'm  all for new ideas, new blood, new energy, but none of it is worth the weight of their bullshit if there's no legacy. No foundation. No investment. You know. Those old 50+ folks with the money you need for your new idea? Those old parents that allowed you to live in the basement until you were 27?

Here's a news flash. I'm going to tell you why the 80s are having a renaissance. Because 50 year olds are fucking cool. We watched the wall fall in Berlin. We introduced synthesizers and pre-recorded tracks to music. AND we could still play the hell out of a guitar. We started listening to music on vinyl. That music was produced on 2" tape and recorded via analogue production. We invented the mix tape and disco skating and yep! Digitally produced music. Thus the CD. And we have the natural ability to tell the difference between naturally produced analogue recordings and a bunch of digital manipulation and hoo la la. Whatever. That's our science that built the foundation of the streaming music ecosystem.

And while I'm at it. That cool ass little collectors item box called a McIntosh? And Bill Gates? Yep. The foundation of all the things you do today in the digital space. All running on machines invented by 50 somethings and older. We're not stupid. We are your lifeblood. Some of you don't have the critical thinking skills to figure out a rotary phone, and we just laugh and laugh when we watch you try. So don't assume we can't learn a new fangled way to manage a project. Project management isn't new. The tool is new. 

Whoever wrote this post probably wasn't even born when I wrote a Masters thesis on that cool little Mac. From paper to programming. Now THAT's a leap.

And by the way… learn how to write in cursive. Do you even know how to sign your name on paper?

This is my Andy Rooney moment. 

… look him up.

It's all starting to look the same  to me. 

My LinkedIn feed is full of bad interview scenarios, tips  for being successful at interviews, lots and lots and LOTS of bragging, and very little of substance. 

Sometimes I come across something original and interesting, but not enough to make me want to apply for any jobs on the platform. Indeed isn't much better. So far, I'm just not finding how I fit into the business world today.

At this point in my life, I'm looking for a rare combination of drive, kindness, and a focused, righteous mission. A belief in people beyond the two dimensional paper or file that is a resume or video call. I'm craving that third dimension with humanity.

Granted, I'm fine with a remote online work life. Totally fine, but if it's a vacuum that has no flesh and blood, and it feels empty to me. Admittedly, I am no extrovert. I ride the line and usually fall to the introverted side because I start to wear out from the human energy around me. I'm not saying it's bad energy. I just get overwhelmed from being “on.” 

Mostly, I really do believe the world is about to boomerang (or maybe it's already turning) to a less tech driven place. Some Gen Z people are ditching dating apps for the old fashioned way of meeting people. If this is true, then I have so much faith in the human being's design. We are not built to exist in the ether. We are social creatures who gravitate towards each other. Surely there are those who prefer the virtual world, and that's ok, but connection in the flesh adds layers of communication that you just can't get from a screen.

This is why I'm stalling. I don't really want to exist in the virtual world exclusively. That's what my last job became. In fact, the company recently closed the physical office in Austin. It's like people are the last priority, and the only way to save what jobs are left is to ditch the office lease as a measure of EBITDA. 

I firmly believe the professional  world needs to rewind a bit and look at who drives success. Ping pong tables and beer fridges are not how to nurture the drivers. Real honest connection drives them. If you've followed this blog, you know that I challenged leaders to stop and take time to really connect with workers. I challenged them to make one minute of their busy day feel like much longer when it comes to connecting. And value what those workers have to say. Leaders are walking through company doors as entry level workers every day. A well tempered ego will help the boss see that. 

In the meantime, I'm so interested in what people think matters the most.  I'm interested in individual dreams and the intersection of those dreams. That place of balance that is good for all; not just a few.

I don't care to write about politics and the many divided opinions that surround it, but I think we can all agree that today's uncharted political climate is two things. Scary as hell and rife with historical transformation. How the people of the United States approach it is really the lynchpin. Candidates are supposed to represent the people, and whether the current race for president is an accurate representation of America is up for some serious consideration. 

It doesn't represent me. I suspect it doesn't represent you, either. I mean if you really dig into it, are YOU represented? I know that no candidate is a perfect reflection of individuality, so it comes down to macro issues. At my age, my personal concern is my savings and ability to retire as soon as possible Two months into this layoff and I can tell you this. I don't miss an office, a Zoom call or a spreadsheet. I am willfully lazy on some days. But that isn't my luxury if the economy doesn't hold. I don't think any political leaders can take credit or blame for that ultimately. Businesses, banks, and investors are too powerful and too prone to putting politics in their pocketbooks. So I become very uniquely independent and isolated when it comes to this kind of atmosphere. 

However, because of this historical blip in time, I want to remind you that you are powerful. Unrepresented blocks of humanity can sway an election if each of us agrees to ban together for the good of people. Honestly, I like the idea of black woman driving victory over the longstanding white male establishment. Why? Not because I don't like white men, but because we're in a heap of a mess as a country, and one person didn't do this. Two centuries of politics did this. I didn't ask for it, and neither did you. So stand up for yourself. 

If you're young and feeling ignored, stand up. If you are a woman and feeling controlled, stand up. If you're a trucker and feeling impoverished, stand up. If you're a parent and feeling unsafe in your neighborhood, stand up. And whoever wins, keep standing up to them. Keep holding them to their promises. If on day one, the winner isn't hard at work supporting your core needs for quality of life and a positive future, then stand up. 

Don't buy the memes. Don't buy the social media. Don't get mad at opposing views. Use your good manners and your intelligence to stand up with dignity and respect and a solid request for something better. Something safer. Something equal. And more than anything, something humane and kind and accepting. If you're unhappy with the world around you, stand up. Look around. Find your people and use your power as a citizen and a voter and a responsible community activist to make change. If your politicians aren't doing it, keep that in mind in the next elections cycle; even if it's your candidate who can't keep a promise, you can change that. If politics hold to their true self, then it won't be the people in office who make the change. You're going to have to gather your community and do it yourself. 

Stand up and do something. Please shut up and get out of that echo chamber. Stand up.

I don't know why I wrote this. It must have been some kind of creative challenge for the Labor Day Holiday back in 2010. Honestly? I can't believe I'm owning the story except it falls squarely into thinly veiled allegory. 

Just after the full moon that transcended July into August rose, the heat wave began.  I had been sweating all summer, but on July 30, I watched the moon rise as sticky salt clung to my body; left from the evaporation of sweat that had come from the intense heat and physical labor of helping one very poor, very confused old woman get her window unit AC in working order. Nobody was there to help me.  But that’s nothing new.  I’m the manager of a non-profit food bank, and sometimes we do more than fill hungry bellies.  However, the full moon and the heat tend to make even the most compassionate self-proclaimed altruist a little pissy.  Given the choice, nobody was going to stand in the heat and do physical labor for even the poorest of the poor.  Besides. I have unintentionally created an image of complete self-sufficiency that voids any need for help that I might have. I thought about drinking a beer, but I’m smarter than that.  A day in the heat means a pesky case of dehydration.  Besides, beer is a celebratory drink, and I did not wish to celebrate the coming month.

August.  The hottest month of the year.  The month that combines that heat with the weirdest, most inexplicable and trying circumstances that poverty can throw at a person like me.  I knew that air conditioner was only the beginning. Therefore, I settled for Gatorade – the original flavor – because I’m unoriginal like that – a cool shower and an early bedtime. 

By the middle of the next week, I was an expert sweater and seasoned laborer.  The warehouse at the food bank was topping at a temperature of 102. Outside, the pavement was adding a few more degrees to the heat, and then the arrival of two loaded tractor trailers full of canned vegetables and baby formula added a few more temperatures to that!  The rain that had cooled most of the summer suddenly stopped and traded posts with the sun. Meanwhile, many well meaning volunteers saw those big rigs roll up to our loading dock and decided to announce end-of-summer vacations.  Once again, pissy trumped altruism as I trolled the halls of our administrative offices looking for anyone willing to come out and help unload those trucks.  

“I don’t want to sweat. I just got my hair done.”

“I can’t lift.  I have a bad back.”

“I’m tired of being expected to do everything.”

“I’m sensitive to the heat.”

No luck.

I couldn’t hardly demand that women dressed in office attire should spend the day on the loading dock with me, but it would have been nice if even one noticed that I was, once again, already drenched in sweat, therefore ruining one more pair of slacks and a new blouse. I had stopped wearing make-up years ago because I’ve always worked in the non-profit sector, and I’ve always known that meant I would have to go above and beyond; especially in August when everyone else abandoned that idea.  So I entered the warehouse alone.  I could literally see the heat wave shimmering in the atmosphere around the exhaust of the first truck.  I beckoned the two young men who were there to finish some community service hours and said, “Whatever it was that you did to earn a community service sentence, you’re about to declare that you will NEVER do it again.”  One of them groaned a little, and I gave him a look of reproach, and snapped, “Consider it detox, buster.”

By 5pm, I was thinking of just taking my underwear off and throwing them away.  They had ceased to absorb sweat in about 10 minutes.  So they were well past any redemption.  The volunteers kind of drug themselves into the office to get their work logs signed, and I weakly smiled and waved and said, “Thank you.”

If the heat wave and its cruel tasks could have stopped there, I would have still felt sufficiently punished, but that didn’t happen.  Three weeks, 8 more semis and 32 more pissy excuses later, I was grateful for the ability to help the hungry, but stretched to my limit.  Between delivery 3 and 4, the break room toilet overflowed.  Nobody was fessing up, but after some struggles with getting the door off the stall and then wrenching my back pulling the whole pot off its wax ring, I sent an auger down the sewer hole, and I fished out a couple of feminine products that violated the stern sign taped to the inside of the stall door: “NO FEMININE PRODUCTS IN THE TOILET!”

Regardless of what common sense demands, I drank two beers that evening and passed out by sundown. When I woke up the next morning, I had a flat tire on my ¾ ton Ford F150.  I called the food bank to let them know I’d be late, and received a curt “fine” but no offer to send anyone to help me.

I mean really.  How much can a human sweat and still survive?

I started to cry a little, then got myself together and remembered that my life was incredibly good compared to my clients’ lives.  The recession had been especially hard on the working poor in my town.  People I had never seen were coming for food assistance. Most had worked for a local plant their entire adult lives, and when it closed they had nowhere to go and nothing to do.  I knew most of these people sweated and labored, like I had been doing for the past month, their entire lives, and they would have been grateful to even own a truck; much less deal with its flat tire.  So I got my act together, changed into clean clothes and headed to work. It was the Friday before Labor Day. 

As I pulled up to the warehouse, I noticed a few unfamiliar cars in the parking lot.  I got excited because I was sure a few more volunteers were on site to help distribute food on what was sure to be a busy Saturday. For the first time in a month, my mood was soaring.  It was Labor Day weekend, and I would have Monday off to relax.  It was rare that I had more than one day a week off.  Poverty doesn’t take a day off, so I rarely got one myself.  I crossed the lot with pep in my step, and the heat began to produce sweat; even at this early time of the day.  I didn’t care.  Help had arrived!

I entered the warehouse smiling and shouted, “Today will be a great day, people!”  As my eyes adjusted to the darker setting, I began to make out the last group of people I wanted to see.  The board of directors.  Why were they here?  Without missing a beat, I strode over to the dozen or so overdressed community members who claimed to run the show at our food bank.  Honestly, none of them had ever helped distribute food, unload a trailer full of green beans, or pulled the toilet in the ladies' room in order to retrieve someone else's carelessness.  They only came to the facility once a quarter to gather in the conference room and talk about policies they rarely implemented.  I had learned years ago not to point out any irrational components of anything they came up with.  After all, they were my bosses.  Therefore, I kept my mouth quiet as they shot down any possibility of hiring a warehouse manager to oversee the large deliveries we received regularly and manage our ever changing staff of court ordered volunteers.  In their mind, a volunteer coordinator was what we needed. A time keeper.  A friendly recruiter.  A board member's wife.  However, her work time was frequently interrupted by Alaskan cruises and weekend spa retreats, and always, those necessary breaks fell during the hottest time of the year.  So a month of sweating and taking on heavy labor to supplement the incompetent nature of my jailhouse crew further fueled my animosity towards the board.  But I played it off like a loyal employee should do and warmly greeted the group.

“So good to see you all. We'll have a busy day today, so expect to sweat!”

Everyone sort of shuffled and looked uncomfortable.  I tried again.

“Well, we can always use help at registration.”

Still no takers.

Finally, the board president spoke.

“We've decided to turn the food bank into an all volunteer operation.  Laurie, we really do appreciate all of your hard work, and we hope you'll stay on with us as a volunteer, but clearly, volunteers can run this organization.”

I was stunned.  I don't know why, but I was.  After all it was just another example of their hands off irrational thinking.  With as much composure as I could manage, I asked, “Exactly how did you come to this conclusion?”

Another board member piped in, “Well, as you know John's wife is your volunteer coordinator.”

Did he really think I was that dumb?

“And he's been impressed with how well this place seems to run even when she's not here!  We get great compliments from all segments of the community!”

By now, I was suppressing a wicked smile.  Not only was I being fired, but I was being fired by a moron.  I figured I had nothing to lose if I gave my two cents, so I went for it, “Well.  Since your second hand observation has proven to be so valuable, let me set a few things straight for you.”

Director John spun on his heal and huffed, “I don't have time for this.”

“Tee time will wait buddy. You just fired me, and screwed the pooch while you did it.  How many Scotch and sodas had you drank when you had this conversation with your wife? Because no reasonable person takes the word of a woman who spends more time in a tanning booth than on this warehouse floor.”

There was a collective gasp, and that gave me fuel to burn. 

“This place runs smoothly because your so called paper pusher manager has ruined more clothes that even John's dear wife can buy while unloading trailers full of food, and fans and air conditioners.  This place runs because I pull the toilet to extract feminine clogs and save this place a regular plumbing bill.  This place runs because I'm the phantom who travels around the poorest of the poor neighborhoods inserting AC units in rotting windows so that some elderly woman doesn't become a summer time heat casualty statistic.  And then you bunch of hands off jerks pat yourselves on the back and call it all a volunteer coordinator's success story.”

“Well, Laurie, we certainly know you've done your part...”

“Screw you, John.”

“That won't be nec...”

“No.  It won't.  I'll be leaving now.”  I turned to leave the warehouse.

“But won't you stay and help us through today?”

I almost didn't stop, but that was the most obtuse thing I had ever heard.  So I stopped and turned around.
“Has anyone of you ever gone hungry?”

No one said yes.
“Has anyone of you ever eaten what's in these cans?”

Still no affirmative response.

“Do any of you actually know any of our clients and their stories?”

Again, a rhetorical question.
“You have no idea what suffering is. Today, you're going to find out because I won't be here to help you.  You just fired me before three hundred people file in here for food.  You will see what hungry is.  You will smell what's in those cans,  You will hear their stories, and you will feel helpless and insignificant.  I'll walk away from here and use my mystery reputation to get a good job with a well run non-profit organization just like this one. But the people who are lining up outside for a bag of food will be here day after day after day, and John's wife will not be here to feed them.  The office staff will not be here to help them.  And your so called well earned reputation will peel away like your wife's facial mask.  Happy Labor Day guys.  I'm not sticking around to help you, so you have no choice.  Today, you're a working board, so get ready to sweat.”

I left the building, and as I passed through the line of waiting people, one man shouted, “Hey Laurie! Where ya' goin'?”

I kept walking and replied over my shoulder, “I have the weekend off.  I'm planting my own garden.”

It was already 95 degrees and I wasn't sure if it was sweat or tears rolling down my face, but I slowed my pace, then I stopped and turned to face the crowd.  They were the most genuine people I knew.  I walked back to the line of hungry families and found the man who had called out to me.  His name was John, too.

“John.  Do you like homegrown green beans?  Or how about tomatoes?”

“Hell yeah, I do!” he replied.
“Ever grow a garden?”

He grinned and I could count at least 4 missing teeth, “Aw... yes indeed.  Had some fine gardens, but a man can't do that livin' in the projects.”

“John.  I know a man who has an empty lot near your project, and I could sure use some help growing some real food for some real people.  You on board.”
His face lit up and he laughed a hearty laugh while looking around the crowd, “Yes indeed!  Count me in.”

And the crowd joined in.

“Me, too.”
“I got some tools I ain't used in a long while.”

“Y'all know how to grow okra? Now you can't mess up no okra.”
“ooooh.  I can just taste a homegrown melon.  Yes indeed!”

I threw my hands up and said, “We start tomorrow! Early!  See you at seven.”

Again the chorus of hungry faces.

“That's right, baby! We gonna make our own way!”

“I'll be there!”

“Thank you, Laurie.”

When I heard that, I turned to see a young man with a small child in his arms.  He said it again.

“Thank you, Laurie. Thank you for giving something to work for.”

Our garden prospered. We grew enough to create one of the most successful cooperatives in the state.  All of those laborers who had lost their jobs when that plant closed finally felt like they had value.  Twenty families volunteered to work that garden season after season, and what we couldn't eat, we sold to pay for seed, mulch, soil, fertilizer and chicken feed.

Two years later, that same young man joined me as I planted squash and pumpkins, and as he smoothed the dirt with calloused hands, he said,  “You know.  You turned Labor Day into a liberation day for me.   That old plant might 'a closed, an' you might 'a got fired, but this sure beats them nasty old canned green beans you used to give me at the food bank!”

I got up and walked over to a cooler near the edge of the garden and pulled out two cold beers.  I handed one to the young fellow, toasted him and said, “Here's to our liberation.”