Today is named after toil, and I tried.
For some reason, it never occurred to me that I wouldn't work on Labor Day. Betty, the eighty-year-old work-aholic (who is an absolutely wonderful, energetic, role model) in the office next door was telling me she'd be coming in on Labor Day, so of course I thought I would too. Never minding the ambiguity of who works for who. Betty does the accounting for The Mansfield Foundation based out of D.C., which is housed in the Mansfield Library of the University of Montana, in a portion of the library called the Maureen and Mike Mansfield Center -- another entity all together, working in conjunction with the military, university, US State Department, and international academic, grant funded programs. And who do I work for? I'm paid by the Mansfield Foundation to do accounting corrections and redistributions of charges for the Maureen and Mike Mansfield Center that are run through the University of Montana. You'd think one of those organizations would want me to run some accounting today!
I couldn't even get into the building; the lights were off and both the front and back doors were locked. Last weeks energy of returning students and new freshmen was replaced with totally vacant sidewalks, and quiet, and a slight mist of overcast clouds and rain. A freshman here, once, myself, I remember the energy of those days. Walking across campus in the early morning, between dorms, hung-over, and wrapped in my friend's blanket. Now that I work here, when I arrive on campus I look for the well dressed, people I've met and have to accustom myself to greeting as colleagues as we pass between the grassy knolls of our respective department buildings. This morning, not a soul. I even biked to campus, despite Fall's chill, because the bus doesn't even run today! Fine! Todays black slacks are hanging in the closet for a retry tomorrow.
Who needs pants now?
(I read once that after college you have to out grow being ironic... No)
There's still so much to do, so many ambitions to take swipes at. If I work for two years at the youth home, I can get a good salaried position with Partnership for Children, but does that serve my larger ambitions of a mental health research in regards to prison reform? .... why am I blogging right now!? No... really...?? How lazy!
Because the world is so rich. I tell you story.
In 2014 I was sharing a beautiful house with a wonderful housemate. I loved living with this guy, but when his friend moved in, our differences of opinion about partying at 2 am led me to moving out, living alone. All amicable, we respected our differences, and made arrangements for the new roommates daughter to take my room asap as her mother was imminently leaving for a week long work trip. That meant totally vacating my room in a week, and let me tell you, I was happy to, but it would be helpful to him as well. We agreed that he would pay the $300 deposit for the room as soon as he was able; after all, rent and deposit for two rooms in the house was too much of a burden for him right then. The arrangement sounded fair, and I checked in with him through out that summer to see if he was able to make payments, to see what his situation was, and remind him that I hadn't forgotten. We touched base, renegotiated. After months of the run around, I got a text saying I was in no way owed any money for deposit because I moved out before the end of the lease agreement I made with the rental company, and he had had to clean my bathroom.
... I went a little ballistic...
I gathered papers preparing to sue him, despite only having verbal agreements, just to drag him back before the court of law he had a history with. In addition, I considered giving the police an anonymous tip about the pot cycling through the house, which might have led to him losing custody of his daughter. Threats of this, at least. Not to mention the threats I'd make of my other roommate of informing the rental company of some other shenanigans that would get them both evicted. Oh, I was momentarily -- for a few days -- unhinged.
Before you go calling me a crazy, angry, ol' loon, as would totally be fair, consider that the last time I ran into this ex-roommate he gave me a nice hug. Why? Because of what I did do. I calmly explained the situation to the other roommate, and drew up fair plans for reimbursement on the basis that no one has to lose any money (much less anything else, not that I brought that to his attention) And then I followed that up with lies of legal backing mixed with well placed, passive aggressive, well wishing. I got my money back, and we all maintained our good natured facades.
Why do I tell this story? I have no idea. It just makes me happy. Happy Labor Day.
