Entry 28: Sometimes I Worry About Staff, Part #3

This profession, along with other social services, can tend to attract people struggling with their own issues who want to continue their recovery while trying to help others at the same time. You know the people I'm talking about: the ones who've been in therapy so long that they have decided to become a therapist. Many of them are my co-workers.

One such teammate was a pock marked and weathered looking woman named Mary, who drove up in a gray-primered and dented convertable Mustang, the tattered remnants of its top cascading in the wind. Almost immediately, she began spilling details of her life that no one really cared to hear.

One bit of unnecessary information was about how she used to make a lot of money as a dancer in Vegas, was well taken care of and drove a new red Ferrari. She told us with a knowing look that a lot of dancers do a lot more than just dance.

I looked out at her car and said, "Judging from the looks of that bucket I guess business has been a little slow."

As could be guessed, Mary's self-esteem was really bad. She was always trying to impress the adults with stories of how it used to be before she decided to become a "do-gooder" for less money, but she always just sounded a little abused herself. She could never set a strong limit with the kids ("Take a time-out Rusty. Well, no, I mean, should you really take one? You don't have to if you don't want to. Stokie, make him take a time-out!") She would actually apologize to the kids for making them mad enough to hit her.

When the kids smell weakness they go in for the kill. For instance, some kids would simply ignore her when she talked to them, others would just tell her to shut up. And she would just let it happen or explain to other staff that she probably deserved it. This severely limited her effectiveness as staff. In fact, staff started referring to her as the "eleventh child".

I knew she had completely lost all effectiveness when, at dinner, one of the kids told me quietly, "watch this" and sang the old Rick James song, "Mary Jane" (the kids are not to be singing or talking about inappropriate subject matter like smoking weed, but I was waiting to see what she would do). Mary looked old enough to have come from the Rick James generation and sure enough, she said, "Hey, I know that song," and started singing it herself, complete with pot-smoking gestures.

I had long ago lost all respect for her, and here I was now, laughing at her with a disturbed kid who had set her up.

It's a bad sign when one staff and one kid are the only ones at dinner laughing at the expense of another, oblivious staff.