We watched the Sound of Music the other night. Not all the way through. During commercials of one show, we'd flip over to the movie taking bets on which song we'd hear, which scene we'd watch. "Somewhere in my youth or childhood," I sang to Ann, "I must have done something good." Flip the switch and there was Julie Andrews in the arms of Christopher Plummer singing that very song. Followed by the short but regal wedding with the nuns "trapped" (Ann's word) behind the iron gate watching the problem like Maria dragging her ridiculously long veil down the aisle toward the handsome Captain.
"I always thought the movie ended here when I was a kid," I told Ann. "And then in college, I watched the movie again and was astounded that there was this whole other escape-from-the-Nazis part of the movie."
Ann laughed at me a little and then said, "I guess it makes sense. The happy ending is a lot easier to remember than the stress of real life."
The next day, I had to go to my part-time retail job for a short shift. I've been thinking a lot about quitting, which is probably stupid given the recent economy, but it's hard to put in a whole day of work walking dogs, researching writing projects, and finding time to write them and then stand on my tired feet for four or five more hours in the evening. But I won't quit, not yet. Not until my business is a bit more firmly established or something else opens up.
Meanwhile, I am a part of a retail community distinctly different than the educational communities I've been involved with most of my adult life. The best way I can describe the difference is that both jobs take themselves too seriously, but I understand teachers carrying a greater burden of responsibility than that of retail employees whose sole responsibility is selling expensive camping equipment.
But there are a lot of similarities and the one I find most interesting are that they both are filled with gossip. It was easy to get sucked into the rumors of teachers, but I laugh at the gossip of retailers. "Did you hear what happened to L?" a fellow employee told me the other day and without any response from me, she said, "She was fired for having an undisclosed relationship with N."
When I was hired, we had lots and lots of trainings. One hour alone was devoted to ethical training, which consisted of a list of things we could not do followed by explicit examples of how the store would "release you immediately" if you violated the code. These included things like using your employee discount for someone else, stealing (obviously), talking about sales records with competitors, and yes, not disclosing a relationship with another employee.
In other words, if you're going to date someone in footwear you need to tell your supervisor. If you don't and they find out about it, you are immediately released. So it was the case, it appears, with L and N -- both supervisors in different departments. The kicker, according to my co-worker was that they didn't spill the beans rather L told her friend and co-supervisor C and C told her superiors.
"That's just wrong," said my co-worker, "And it's so stupid because N and L only went out for like 6 months and then broke up. No harm, no foul as far as I'm concerned. Can you imagine your friend telling on you?"
Working retail is a lot like being IN high school as opposed to teaching in a high school.
This is when the story gets tangled or, at least, when I get tangled up with it. C is my supervisor and she recently asked me if I would be willing to walk her dog two days a week for the month of April. This was a favor on my part since I didn't charge her my full rate and she lives about 20 minutes from my dog-walking area. Still, it was only for a month and the extra money would be good for business.
So now, every Wednesday and Friday I make my way to my supervisor's house and walk her very sweet older dog. In the process, I've learned more about C, a woman I didn't really know, but treated with respect since she was, after all, my supervisor though she is 25 years younger. In the basement of a beautiful old house, she shares her small apartment with her dog and apparently, with someone else or previously with someone else. She lives, it appears, a life solely focused on work. It feels lonely to me and in that sense, I find myself having sympathy for her where no sympathy existed before.
"I'm kind of in flux," she told me one day. "There's a lot going on in my life right now," she added in an email. And then later, "I might be moving so I'm not really sure if I'll need you after April."
As more and more unfolds, I've softened a bit. She's a cold person, that's for sure, and focused on getting ahead at work climbing the retail ladder quickly and efficiently. But in her personal life, something's gone terribly awry and even the dog projects a kind of serious sadness about it all.
I don't really want to know what's going on and I'm certain NOT to share any of it with my co-workers. If she wants them to know, she can tell them, but at this point our "relationship" is undisclosed.
"Are you worried that it's unethical not to tell someone?" Ann asked me the other night.
"It's business," was my response, "not personal." But the more I walk the dog, the more I let myself into her house and see her side of life, the more I see there is another half of the story. Her story doesn't end with her role as my supervisor. There is nothing as dramatic as an escape route over the Alps, but more complexity exists between work and the rest of her life.
I have no idea if her friendship with the fired supervisor has any relationship with her possible move from her home or her need for a dog walker. Perhaps all the chips just fell the wrong way all at once, which happens to all of us throughout our lives, or maybe the falling of one chip created a cascade of all the rest. I don't really know nor do I really want to know, but the other night, flipping through the Sound of Music (of all movies), it struck me that we are all made up of more than one story. Our chapters overlap the chapters of others and in the process, our stories grow more and more complex. We are novels as thick as War and Peace, as sad and entertaining as The World According to Garp. We are a Farewell to Arms and The Wizard of Oz all rolled into one. We are the Sound of Music from beginning to the unexpected and unremembered end.
PS -- The next day, I saw this movie on You Tube -- the next chapter!
No comments:
Post a Comment