Res ipsa loquitur

The church is hiring a new custodian. I'm not officially a part of the hiring process, but as the person who hands out the applications and takes them back when they're done, I'm in a position to make a few observations.

1. If, in the time it takes you to fill out an application, you make the entire office smell like stale cigarettes, you are unlikely to be hired for a cleaning job.

2. I cannot emphasize this enough: follow the damned directions. If the ad says "Apply Monday through Thursday," don't show up on Friday, and definitely don't show up on Saturday and then leave a phone message that says, "I done banged on all the doors and I cain't raise nobody." If the secretary says, "Please sit down here and fill out an application," don't just stand there and stare at her as if she's said something profoundly confusing. If the secretary says on Monday, "I don't know what the committee's timetable is, but I'll be contacting everyone when they've made a decision," don't call on Wednesday and say accusingly, "Nobody got back to me."*

3. Don't talk about how you left your old job because you "didn't agree with the way they treated women" and then pause for applause. Don't talk about how proud you are of your kids and then pause for applause. Basically, if you waste half an hour of my time patting yourself on the back about non-job-related things when you come in to fill out an application, while I attempt to get on with my workday, I'm going to assume that any relationship we might have would continue in that vein -- and, guess what, I'm going to weigh in against hiring you.

4. On the other hand, if you ask questions about the job, you may discover that the person who's being replaced is sitting right beside you and very eager to tell you things. There, you see? Curiosity pays off.



* Yes, this was all the same guy. If the committee chairwoman asked me to put the applications in preference order, I'd put him after the convicted sex offender.

We had one guy come in, arrive at the top of the stairs, and politely remove his hat -- revealing another hat underneath!

When it gets frustrating to solve the same problems over and over, sometimes there's nothing you can do but make a bingo card.



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(Yes, the one who spills her lunch is me.)

This is the polite version, the one that doesn't make fun of anybody who actually works there. The impolite version would have squares for:

The Head Monkey bitches about the White Sheep
The White Sheep bitches about the Head Monkey
The White Sheep bitches about her governing board representative
Little Trouble bitches about her governing board rep
Little Trouble makes a racist remark
Little Trouble disapproves of other people's work ethic
The Head Monkey sits at my desk and talks for more than thirty minutes
The Head Monkey loudly takes a phone call while sitting at my desk
The Head Monkey tells me at great length about: his collectible car, his granddaughter the state-champion athlete, how smart his adult son is, or how his daughter has a master's degree plus XX hours but no common sense.
The Spontaniator* sits at my desk and talks for more than thirty minutes
The Spontaniator leaves my desk and talks to someone else for more than thirty minutes
The Spontaniator gets halfway down the stairs and then comes back up to talk some more
The Spontaniator complains about how much work he has to do
The Spontaniator changes the music for Sunday any later than Thursday morning
The Hilarious Bastard** bitches about the White Sheep
The Hilarious Bastard bitches about his governing board rep
Generalized bitch session about Pastor Vague

* The Spontaniator is our music director. He's the bane of my existence partly because he can't bear to make a decision, as that would close off other possibilities, which seems to cause him actual pain (hence we're still learning our Easter anthem on Good Friday) and also because he does nothing but talk.

** The Hilarious Bastard is our organist. He's very hilarious, and I love to talk to him. He's also the same personality type as me (INTJ, if you follow that sort of thing), but he's ... immature, and doesn't believe that there's any good reason not to share your insights. He knows the better way to do everything, and He Will Tell You.

Dear fund-raisers, retreat facilities, and others who supply to churches:

Your calls came over my switchboard the week before Easter, and you all seemed very surprised to be told that the pastor and the youth director really don't have time to chat with you about your publication or your lakeside cabins or your church directory package.

Funny thing -- turns out that in Christianity (you know, one of the religions you market to?), Easter is kind of a big deal.

Given how many of y'all there seem to be, I'm guessing there must be serious money in marketing to churches. Maybe learn a little something about us before you show up holding out your cup?

I worked my first church supper yesterday, under the watchful, migraine-watery eye of the Chairwoman of Sighs. There's a lot I don't know (for instance, evidently the One Right Way of folding tablecloths is one of the Secrets of the Fellowship Committee), but I think I've got the cast of characters figured out.

You've got your Cheerful Workers. You've got your Friendly Socializers, for whom a hot pan can't stand in the way of a hug. You've got your Improvers, with a kindly word of advice for everyone, at all times, whether anyone asked for it or not, and particularly when it's already too late to change things. You've got your Volunteer Martyrs, who come in despite poor health because they can't bear to let anyone down, doing baffling things because they're not feeling well and thus not thinking well. You've got the fluttery-handed Willing But Helpless ones, who stand in the path of traffic and wait for someone to tell them what to do. You've got the Single-Minded, who choose one small detail (the cleanliness of the fronts of the cabinets, the latching of the back door, the supply of pepper in the pepper shakers) and see to it fiercely, oblivious to all else.

Me myself, I aspire to be an Invisible Hand when I'm in a kitchen not my own -- the one who notices when the pan of potatoes you're dishing out of is empty and whisks a full one into its place between the lifting and the lowering of the spoon. My mother and I used to cook together before I moved away. I miss it.

I believe the Chairwoman of Sighs thought I was going to be Willing But Helpless. At the end of the dinner, she said, "You've never worked with us before, so I wasn't sure, but I knew you'd be OK when you showed up with your own knife* and started smashing garlic cloves."

The first dinner I'll be in charge of is in January, but since it's the Annual Meeting, the menu is traditional (you might almost say it's liturgical) and the procedure is well-honed. My real test will be in February. Oh, the checklists I will make and the pre-chopping I will do! It's an odd thing to admit, but I'm looking forward to it.

Maybe if I get started, I can find some fellow cooks who sing.

* Best way to transport a big knife that doesn't have its own blade guard? With the blade stuck between the pages of a cookbook.

I'm contemplating a Cynic's Version of the Psalms.

Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity! It is like a freaking miracle, that's what it is like.

I've long contended that spam contains a philosophy -- that you can look at it and gather what impossible dreams people are dreaming. Our world's philosopher's stone and fountain of youth seem to be larger penises, money for nothing, easy weight loss, and reliable Microsoft Windows.

I wasn't aware until I started working in a church that churches get their own kind of spam. (For one thing, in our version of the Nigerian scam, the person who needs help getting her husband's money out of the country is the widow of a pastor.)

The top three impossible desires of churches, based on the spam index:

1. A redesigned website.
2. Cheap health insurance for part-time employees.
3. Recruit volunteers with the click of a mouse!

Mostly just because I'm lonesome and want some company.

The White Sheep: She totally brought me into her voodoo crazy-lady world!

The White Sheep: This place is like a soap opera. The Old and the Senseless.

Me: It's a cruel world.
Kidlet: Which one?


Things you never expect to hear come out of your mouth: "Of course not. No one means for Harry Potter to wind up in the toilet."

( Read more... )

I'm horribly late at announcing these, but:

- Cybel Harper has done a podbook of kinseyx's podfic of my Harry/Snape story, The Familiar, with cover art by barbana.

- luzula has done a podfic of my Due South story, American Way.

for those who've been wondering:

( Updates on the cat, the school fire, the job, and the midlife crisis inside. )

And what's new in your worlds?