I'm trying to figure out when it happened. When I went from being this high schooler who was conflicted on the inside because she couldn't say how she felt to the people it mattered to most to this person who isn't afraid to speak her mind to just about anyone, including the head honcho that many others are quite literally terrified of. I have been thinking back to trying to pinpoint the moment of change. I think a lot of it had to do with living in New York. There is a saying about New York, "If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere." And I'd like to think that's true. When I first moved to the city, I was afraid to go out after dark. (I blame that on watching too much Law and Order right before I moved to Manhattan.) But by the time I moved away, I was able to navigate pedestrian traffic in Times Square with ease and get a seat on the subway like a pro.
I was also able to talk my way into anything and navigate the bureaucracy of my graduate school like it was my job. I remember when I first moved to the city, I was shocked and appalled that some of these undergrads would call their attorney parents and tell staff members that they "pay their salary" so they should do what they can to make the students happy. They could argue their way in or out of any situation, no matter how many people had to bend over backwards because of a missed deadline or a broken rule. That was actually the reason I felt like New York and I needed to take a break. I had become way too comfortable in that environment and I didn't like that about myself. A friend of mine described is as putting on your "Columbia skin" when you get off the subway at 116th and Broadway. And it was true. By the end of my time there, I wasn't very distinguishable from those students I despised when I arrived two years before. So I decided it was time to go. I felt the need to do the exact opposite of what I was doing in New York: working at an Ivy League university with college students. So I decided that tutoring under privileged kids in Alaska would suffice.
I feel as though I lost some of my edge in Alaska. Things moved a lot slower there. There were a fraction of the amount of people milling about. People didn't leave their houses in the winter. The buses weren't quite on par with the subway system. A moose in the road was an acceptable reason to be late to work. I wanted a change from New York and that is absolutely what I got. But even in Alaska, there came to be a point where I was pretty miserable with where I was and what I was doing and I didn't feel like I could talk to my boss about it.
Then came NCCC. I was responsible for the safety and well being of 10 people. 10 whole people! Even to this day, my instinct is to totally "mama bear" if someone even looks at them funny. I know they are all grown ups, but I'm not sure that that instinct will ever completely go away. For all intents and purposes, those were my kids and it was my job to protect them. The one moment I can pinpoint where this new found boldness may have emerged is during our second round project. We were having a bit of a plumbing issue to say the least. The pipe under the house that was supposed to take all of the waste out from the house to where ever waste goes burst. So all of the waste from the toilet was now being deposited under our house. Yes, it was as gross as it sounds. It took them weeks to fix it even with much poking and prodding from yours truly. We planned a volunteer event that kept us out of the house all day, ate dinner out, and did some shopping to make sure we gave them plenty of time to fix the problem. We arrived back that evening to our lone member who had stayed home that day, delirious and sick to her stomach from the poop smell. She was 18 and my youngest member at the time. Finding her in this state, I was worried that the AmeriCorps version of child protective services was going to come and take her away from me for being a neglectful Team Leader and leaving her home alone under these conditions. We arrived back to a toilet not completely attached to the wall (are they supposed to wobble like that?) with cardboard tacked to the wall behind the tank where actual wall should be. And a bathroom full of dirt and drain flies. It was disgusting. And that's putting it mildly. It was already slightly ridiculous that we had one bathroom for 10 people, but this was the last straw. All of us donned our rubber gloves, grabbed the bleach, and went to work cleaning up the bathroom. I called every number in my cell phone at 9pm on a Saturday night to let the folks from our sponsoring organization know of our state of affairs and that it was unacceptable that we live in these conditions. Someone finally called me back and told me that we could use the toilets in the church next door. So after getting the key, one of my guys and I headed over. He heads to one bathroom and I to the other. Upon finding what we can only presume to be month old feces in each of our respective toilets, we simultaneously start screaming and cursing-at the toilet, at each other, at the situation that we're in. Having a shouting match with a member of my team about poop wasn't one of my finer moments as a Team Leader, but it is one that I won't soon forget. I later had a member of my team tell me, "That was the moment I knew I didn't want to be a Team Leader. There was no way I could call and yell at someone about poop at 9pm on a Saturday night."
I did a lot of things last year that I never thought I would do including calling people at 9pm on a Saturday night to yell at them about poop. But it was necessary so that's what I did. I feel like I've had to do a lot more of the metaphorical yelling at people about poop. And maybe more than I should have...
