Appreciating diversity, part 2

Continued from this post.

My current job is in a large non-profit. Some of our departments have a lot of perceived prestige and visibility, while others are definitely not so glamorous. I work in arguably the second-least glamorous department here. And, since we're in the South, that means most of my co-workers are (a) black and (b) high-school educated or less. So yeah, I stick out a little.

When I walked in the door (and increased the white people count in our department by 25%), I was met with a mixed reaction. (Looking back, I think carrying my Dooney and Bourke purse may have been part of that.) Some folks welcomed me immediately. Some of my new colleagues did not disguise their suspicion (and were quite convinced that I was rich, again, see that Dooney). And some just pretty much ignored me.

But you know what? I had just about everyone charmed within a month. How did I do it?

I acted human. I brought a homemade dish to the first department potluck (only 3 weeks after my first day of work). I spoke respectfully. Most of the people I essentially supervise* are considerably older than I am. I call them ma'am. I show them pictures of my kids and ask to see pictures of theirs (or the grandkids). I buy their kids' school fundraiser items and they buy mine.

I don't play games or get involved in petty disputes or try to flaunt my education or upbringing or salary. And when they have a question? They come to me. For help with the computer. For help with their kids' college financial aid forms. For help with negotiating the medical system. (Not sure how I became the authority figure on that one, but I did.) They also come to me to share information. If someone is working the system, is pregnant and hiding it, is about to quit, I often know in advance.

And this December, when it was time to organize our department's holiday party, I had no problem getting a committee together to plan everything. And the party (a potluck lunch) went great, and I heard the rest of the day about my fantastic macaroni and cheese. (It is that good. But nice to hear the compliments.)

Being in this department has caused me to interface not only with the employees in my department, but also with the employees in similar departments (housekeeping, security, etc.) and to develop relationships with these employees too. Which means when I walk through the building, I am cordially greeted by the guys in maintenance (with whom I share chili recipes and a deep, deep love for venison), the security guards, and the cleaning ladies. Because they know I'm not one of "those" people.

Not sure yet if I've got more to say about this. It feels like there might be more. But not today.


_______
*I say essentially supervise because my job does not officially include supervision of employees. However, I do act as a de facto supervisor in the absence of a "real" supervisor. And the "real" supervisor position for that area was vacant for about six months over the past two years. So yeah, I was supervising.

Appreciating diversity: part one

In a previous post, I mentioned how well I get along with the union employees where I work. It bears exploration and explanation, but as I got rolling, I realized this was bigger than one post.

Background:
When I was a kid, my family moved a lot. Like every two years, on average, and I'm not talking about moving houses. I'm talking about moving states, even entire regions, and more than once, countries. Living in all those different places (the mid-south, the middle Atlantic, the northwest, the west, the midwest, the Carribbean) left no option: figure out how to adapt and get to know the locals. When your childhood schooling begins in a Jamaican Montessori school, switches to the Little Rock Public Schools (remember Crisis at Central High?), then switches again to a small town in Wyoming (with the exception of a few kids of Crow descent, everyone was white and very provincial), and completes in a suburban Detroit high school which is roughly 25% Jewish, 25% African American, 25% Iraqi Christian (Chaldean) and 25% "everything else" (which included Asian, other Middle Eastern, Armenian, Greek, various Catholic and Orthodox strains, and a very few WASPs), you get used to being in the minority if you're a Protestant of Irish/German/Welsh descent who has traveled and lived abroad.

Imagine my bafflement, then, upon entering college. A small liberal arts college in the South. Where almost everyone was white and Protestant. In a city that (at the time) seemed to have black and white but almost nothing else. All the foods I had grown to love in Detroit's diverse suburbia, the shades of brown skin I had grown able to identify (especially if I could hear an accent) by region, the variety of names ending in vowels or -stein or -berg or -ian. It was a weird shift that I didn't anticipate and didn't appreciate.

So I did what any white girl from the 'burbs who missed her diverse home of two years would do. I joined the Black Student Association. And joined a committee. And wrote the proposal that would convince the administration of my college to observe the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday.

Fast forward past college, into a first career in art museums. Let's just leave it at this: my world was very white, very educated, and very moneyed. And it felt, well, fake. I was missing something. And I knew I had to make a change.

I've already blogged about my career changes. But what I didn't mention was that I was the only white person in the room in almost all my other jobs. And it was sometimes strange (as a teacher, the kids were quite open about how they felt about white people, and given the history of their county, I couldn't really blame them) and sometimes I didn't notice (at least not immediately). What have I learned from ten years of working in majority-black workplaces?

That greens taste better if you cook them with a little Italian dressing.
That spaghetti is sometimes a side dish.
That people are more similar than different.
That most of the differences attributed to race should be attributed to economic status.
That Southern manners matter. (Ma'am and Sir are useful words when used at the right time.)
That being real and respectful gets you a lot farther than education.

To be continued.....

278 left to go

It started today. Girl Scout Cookie sales. Susie has consistently sold about 220 boxes each year since we began our affiliation with the Girl Scouts. But she's aiming higher this year. The prize for 300 boxes must seem pretty great to her nine-year-old, tweeny self. (A radio pedometer.) (And yes, I know good and well that I could go out and buy her one and save myself the trouble, for probably under $15.)

So I started taking orders this morning and she'll hit the neighborhood (with a buddy! safety first!) either this evening or sometime this weekend. Or both, which would probably make sense. Last year we hit the neighborhood late in the sales window and a few folks had already ordered from other kids (how dare they?) and were honestly bummed that they didn't buy from Susie (because, look at her!)

From Holidays in M...

(How could you not?). So we're going early and often if we want to break the 250-box wall.

Sales strategies that work:

• Hit the house with the medical students first. They ordered a LOT of cookies last year. Like 10 boxes or so. If their order is listed first, it sets a tone. A "don't bother ordering just one box...you know you want more than that" tone. Because it's just as easy to deliver five boxes as it is to deliver one.
• Hang the cookie order form on the employee schedule bulletin board at work. Our union folks check their schedules um, daily, and they? Love them some cookies. (Especially when sold by a girl this cute!) (Okay, so they really like me a lot too, which probably helps the process.) (I should probably blog about why my union colleagues like me so much one day. It's fun to talk about.)
• Email the staff of a department that I interface with frequently. (Boxes sold within 5 minutes of email? 5.)
• Email neighbors and post on neighborhood message board (yes, my neighborhood has a message board, doesn't yours?).
• Don't underestimate your gay friends. My gay friends don't have kids and they don't get hit up by kids year 'round to Buy this! Buy that! so they actually have a few extra dollars to spend on cookies (hooray to my favorite gay who bought $42 worth of cookies the first year we sold them) and aren't totally sick of the whole "I'm a cute nine-year-old girl and I want you to buy something just because I tell you to" routine.
• Blog about it, and find cookie orders in the comments, at least from one anonymous poster. Thin mints, samoas, and tagalongs, right?

And that's all I've got.

Television and other electronica

Unrelated to anything else, so it gets its own paragraph: my Roomba, formerly not working, is back in the land of the living. Hooray for iRobot customer support, who accurately diagnosed what was wrong with very little helpful information provided by me, and sent the new part in record time. I had to empty the bin three times yesterday as Roomba scooted around the house, picking up pet hair from the nether regions of the house (under the couch, under the bed, under the china cabinet). Our poor deaf dog. He was enjoying the break.

After the Girl Scouts meeting last night, the kids headed upstairs for a little TV and then sleep. And the adults sat downstairs watching TV, which is finally back from its holiday hiatus. Friday Night Lights got away from me a little when I was busy with rehearsals two and three evenings a week, but I was able to figure out what I missed and thoroughly enjoy last night's episode. What a great show.

Top Chef is not quite as fun this season as last season. Marcel is not nearly as awful as Steven was. But the food last night was really great-looking, and there was enough bad behavior to make the episode interesting, although hardly worth the long wait from the previous episode to this one.

OHMYGOSH...did you hear? I just heard. Oh no. I think I'll be needing some chocolate after all.

It's almost time!

Tonight is the much-anticipated Girl Scout Cookie Sales Meeting. The meeting that must not be missed. Because if you miss it, your girl doesn't get to sell cookies. The gates open on Friday. If you want cookies, find a Girl Scout! I know one who consistently sells the second-highest number of boxes in the troop (oh no, does that mean she's doomed to a life of second-place finishes just like me?).

I enjoyed selling cookies as a kid. I enjoy a lot of the cookie sales work now, too. No, I never sign up (nor will I) to be the "cookie mom" (for good reasons...I live far away from the rest of the girls in the troop, and I don't have anywhere to put the cookies since we don't have a garage or spare room). But I'm an avid cookie sales supporter. I'll sit in the Wal-Mart parking lot and encourage the girls to be good aggressive little salespeople. I'll walk with my child, door-to-door, making sure she does the "real" work of interacting with her neighbors. Because selling Girl Scout cookies is an easy way to learn to sell. If you can sell, you can raise money, you can recruit volunteers, you can do lots of things.

So, get in a single file line and have your order ready. I'll be enjoying some Thin Mints soon!