The decline and fall of Indiana Princess
I'm not allowed to hire freshmen. That was the general rule handed down to me by the administration when I started working at my college's library. "Too new," the registrar writes next to their names when I forward her my list of applicants at the beginning of every semester. "They don't yet have an academic record," was how it was explained to me.
Of course, there are never a ton of applicants for the minimum-wage positions I post, especially with class schedules being as chaotic as they've been this semester. Not to mention that my pile of applications gets vetted by two different administrators before I can even decide who to interview, most of the upperclassmen also crossed off the list for various unwritten offenses. Over the summer, I had exactly one applicant to choose from, and I could only hire him on the condition that he'd wear long sleeves all summer, because he might offend our president with his extensive arm tattoos.
This fall, I fought back. I had a small pool of applicants for the two open shifts, and I was determined to find one person who could fill both. For $7.50 an hour, it seemed ridiculous to hire someone to work 2-1/2 hours a week. And while the girl who could work Fridays was a dream come true, the guy who I'd have to hire for Wednesdays was an idiot.
But there was a freshman who could do both. And no run of the mill freshman. She was poised, she was confident. She was a former AP English student. She lived in student housing, just down the street, and was eager for extra shifts. She did great in her interview. I made an executive decision and hired her. She started during Week 5 of the semester.
Working in our library is not a tough job, but she caught on to everything right away--even the crazy Library of Congress classification system. She showed up early every day and took on extra shifts when Tattoo Boy had back surgery. True, she had an irritating habit of finishing my sentences. One of the freshman seminar instructors mentioned that she'd actually done the same thing in class. She referred to her as Indiana Princess, since she'd come to Chicago from central Indiana. Big-fish-in-a-small-pond syndrome, we figured--a bad grade or a tough teacher would bring her down to reality.
Week 9, she started to seem subdued. She had a cold. On Halloween she mentioned roommate troubles. There had been a disagreement, she and her roommates had ironed things out, but in the meantime her mom had taken it upon herself to call the school, and now no one in her apartment was speaking to her.
Week 10, on Wednesday, she sent me an email at 4 a.m. saying she was sick and wouldn't be in to work. She apologized profusely and offered to come in anyway if I couldn't get anyone else. On Friday she was back and somewhat cheerful, telling me about her trip that evening to visit her brother at Purdue. There was an open shift the following Monday evening and she snapped it up, saying she was always up for extra hours.
Week 11, on Tuesday, the Monday evening guy mentioned that no one had come in to relieve him. I figured she'd forgotten about it during her weekend away and resolved not to be too hard on her. I had a nice little speech planned for Wednesday--except that she didn't show up. I sat at my desk and fumed a little, but mostly I was concerned.
Her freshman seminar told me she hadn't been in class on Tuesday. She also mentioned that her class journal was full of entries about how she hated the city and her classes and missed home. I was trying to decide the best course of action on Thursday when I turned down the hallway and almost ran smack into her. "Oh, hi," she said coolly, and kept walking.
Then I was pissed. I sent her an email (having realized the day before that in my managerial wisdom I had never required them to provide me with a phone number) asking her to let me know if she was planning to come to work the next day. No reply.
Friday afternoon I hosted a librarians' group meeting that concluded with a tour of our school. As we paused to look at a display case, she approached me. "You're actually in front of my locker," she said.
Sputtering, I asked if she was coming in that afternoon. Yes, she said. She had been sick. I told her we'd talk later.
She arrived right on time for her shift. Still no real sign of remorse. "I was sick that day," she said. "I slept all day and when I woke up, it was like 3:00. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again." It would have been more convincing if her tone hadn't been completely flat and robotic.
It's Week 12 and we're all dragging. Thanksgiving break can't come fast enough. She showed up on time for both of her shifts, but listless, expressionless. She hasn't turned in her freshman comp research paper and she's one absence away from failing on attendance alone.
On my way out today I ran into the student housing coordinator, who told me that she's leaving school after the semester. That's no small thing, because she'll be responsible for next semester's rent unless she can find a student to take over her lease. But I get the impression that her family can afford it. Besides, what else could they do? If I were her parents, I wouldn't make her stay.
Seeing her decline this year has made me think about my own freshman year of college, how I missed being home and having friends, how I never quite connected with my roommate and failed my astronomy lab because I couldn't bring myself to go to roof of the physics building and complete the out-of-class observation assignment. But I was also no stranger to feeling a little out of place, to being used to my own company.
She told me she's flying home for Thanksgiving. I wonder if she'll come back for these final few weeks of classes. I remember my first Thanksgiving home and how eagerly my high school friends and I got together to share stories about our adventures apart. I wonder if she'll go to those parties, and what she'll say about her experiences. I can't even imagine what it's like to leave home in September an Indiana princess and return in November an empty-eyed Chicago freshman.
Of course, there are never a ton of applicants for the minimum-wage positions I post, especially with class schedules being as chaotic as they've been this semester. Not to mention that my pile of applications gets vetted by two different administrators before I can even decide who to interview, most of the upperclassmen also crossed off the list for various unwritten offenses. Over the summer, I had exactly one applicant to choose from, and I could only hire him on the condition that he'd wear long sleeves all summer, because he might offend our president with his extensive arm tattoos.
This fall, I fought back. I had a small pool of applicants for the two open shifts, and I was determined to find one person who could fill both. For $7.50 an hour, it seemed ridiculous to hire someone to work 2-1/2 hours a week. And while the girl who could work Fridays was a dream come true, the guy who I'd have to hire for Wednesdays was an idiot.
But there was a freshman who could do both. And no run of the mill freshman. She was poised, she was confident. She was a former AP English student. She lived in student housing, just down the street, and was eager for extra shifts. She did great in her interview. I made an executive decision and hired her. She started during Week 5 of the semester.
Working in our library is not a tough job, but she caught on to everything right away--even the crazy Library of Congress classification system. She showed up early every day and took on extra shifts when Tattoo Boy had back surgery. True, she had an irritating habit of finishing my sentences. One of the freshman seminar instructors mentioned that she'd actually done the same thing in class. She referred to her as Indiana Princess, since she'd come to Chicago from central Indiana. Big-fish-in-a-small-pond syndrome, we figured--a bad grade or a tough teacher would bring her down to reality.
Week 9, she started to seem subdued. She had a cold. On Halloween she mentioned roommate troubles. There had been a disagreement, she and her roommates had ironed things out, but in the meantime her mom had taken it upon herself to call the school, and now no one in her apartment was speaking to her.
Week 10, on Wednesday, she sent me an email at 4 a.m. saying she was sick and wouldn't be in to work. She apologized profusely and offered to come in anyway if I couldn't get anyone else. On Friday she was back and somewhat cheerful, telling me about her trip that evening to visit her brother at Purdue. There was an open shift the following Monday evening and she snapped it up, saying she was always up for extra hours.
Week 11, on Tuesday, the Monday evening guy mentioned that no one had come in to relieve him. I figured she'd forgotten about it during her weekend away and resolved not to be too hard on her. I had a nice little speech planned for Wednesday--except that she didn't show up. I sat at my desk and fumed a little, but mostly I was concerned.
Her freshman seminar told me she hadn't been in class on Tuesday. She also mentioned that her class journal was full of entries about how she hated the city and her classes and missed home. I was trying to decide the best course of action on Thursday when I turned down the hallway and almost ran smack into her. "Oh, hi," she said coolly, and kept walking.
Then I was pissed. I sent her an email (having realized the day before that in my managerial wisdom I had never required them to provide me with a phone number) asking her to let me know if she was planning to come to work the next day. No reply.
Friday afternoon I hosted a librarians' group meeting that concluded with a tour of our school. As we paused to look at a display case, she approached me. "You're actually in front of my locker," she said.
Sputtering, I asked if she was coming in that afternoon. Yes, she said. She had been sick. I told her we'd talk later.
She arrived right on time for her shift. Still no real sign of remorse. "I was sick that day," she said. "I slept all day and when I woke up, it was like 3:00. I'm really sorry. It won't happen again." It would have been more convincing if her tone hadn't been completely flat and robotic.
It's Week 12 and we're all dragging. Thanksgiving break can't come fast enough. She showed up on time for both of her shifts, but listless, expressionless. She hasn't turned in her freshman comp research paper and she's one absence away from failing on attendance alone.
On my way out today I ran into the student housing coordinator, who told me that she's leaving school after the semester. That's no small thing, because she'll be responsible for next semester's rent unless she can find a student to take over her lease. But I get the impression that her family can afford it. Besides, what else could they do? If I were her parents, I wouldn't make her stay.
Seeing her decline this year has made me think about my own freshman year of college, how I missed being home and having friends, how I never quite connected with my roommate and failed my astronomy lab because I couldn't bring myself to go to roof of the physics building and complete the out-of-class observation assignment. But I was also no stranger to feeling a little out of place, to being used to my own company.
She told me she's flying home for Thanksgiving. I wonder if she'll come back for these final few weeks of classes. I remember my first Thanksgiving home and how eagerly my high school friends and I got together to share stories about our adventures apart. I wonder if she'll go to those parties, and what she'll say about her experiences. I can't even imagine what it's like to leave home in September an Indiana princess and return in November an empty-eyed Chicago freshman.
posted by Madame Defarge at 4:26 PM
2 Comments:
You're a brilliant writer. How's that for a prompt? What you write is thoughtful, clever and sincere.
We were talking about literature in my freshman honors class yesterday, and the importance of reading. I put up a study done by the NEA that showed a correlation between reading and income and participation in cultural and civic activities. By the time they were done reviewing it, most of them had checked something out from my classroom library to read over break. One student randomly asked me if I could write a book, what would I write? I was intrigued by the question, but was a bit flustered because I had no answer. I hadn't really thought about it. I mentioned the adage of write what you know. I think I told them either something about relationships (which I tend to overanalyze) or politics, which angers me. Or travel. =) I'm going to have to live vicariously through you.
Student magazine and creative writing group? Perhaps you're some kind of literary fairy godmother, swooping in to make sure those around you are being creative and reading the right things. Maybe that's your purpose now seeing as how they keep trying to stop you from being a librarian ;-). Either way, I'm jealous.
In other news, I'm supposed to read and perform a scene from Chekhov. Just walking around with a Chekhov book makes me feel smarter.
I don't know if that counts as a prompt, but I'll take it.
I'm so impressed with your freshman honors students for taking books home to read over break. And with you for having a classroom library. I'm hoping that if the creative writing group gets off the ground I can tie it in to the book discussion group in some way, both because we tend to get a low turnout for the book club and because I think anyone who wants to write should be doing at least as much reading.
Chekhov, though, I don't think I've ever attempted. How is he?
In Indiana Princess news, a student I've never met came in this morning and asked if I'd filled her position. Apparently she completely withdrew from school last week. Before her shift, apparently, and before our conversation about her travel arrangements for this Wednesday. So far she has not seen fit to notify me of this fact, though.
I think I'd like our school better if there were no students.
Post a Comment
<< Home