As for me, I liked to take my time getting back to the house after I dropped the kids off at school, and for a couple of reasons. Many of the school staff are my old friends. Most of them used to be counselors just like me but got sick of the low pay and administrative bullshit that goes with this job. (Little did they know that the School Counselor's job came with its own brand of low pay and bullshit.) The fact of the matter is, there is an "us against them" mentality that affects both staffs.
It goes like this:
The House staff knows best because we are on the front lines and are experts on the kids' behavior. We know all their interpersonal dynamics, from peer interaction to family abuse. What these kids really need is tough behavior modification because nobody ever took the time to teach these kids discipline.
vs.
The School staff knows best because they are on the front lines of the kids' educational development. Kids' misbehavior can be traced to obvious learning disabilities. What these kids really need are chances, because nobody ever gave them one when they really needed it.
I have seen many House staff switch jobs and seemingly overnight, treat me like I was the enemy, like my ideas were crazy. I have also seen School staff come and work up at the houses and behave similarly to their ex-mates. The truth is, the Administrative staffs of both organizations hold each other in contempt. This attitude naturally trickles down to the front line staff who take it out on each other. I like to hang around the School staff for a while to get a sense of what is going on down at the school, what the staff are thinking and doing with the kids.
As I walked the kids to their classrooms, I spent a couple of minutes checking in with the teachers and the teachers' aides before I walked on down to the counselor's office. By the time I got there, fat-ass Rusty was already in trouble, huffing and puffing about some injustice his teacher had perpetrated against him. He was talking to Jamaal, an ex-counselor who had about as much experience as me, someone I respect, and a guy who also sees that so much of our jobs rest on the exercise of ridiculousness.
Jamaal says to Rusty, "Now Rusty, just because your teacher is a fucking bitch doesn't mean you can't stay in school."
"Well that's what she is, and she knows it," puffs Rusty.
"Well, yeah, she definitely knows it now that you screamed it to her in class..."
"Oh no! You're definitely coming back up to the house and you're gonna get tons of consequences," I say, "Let's go."
Jamaal winks at me. "Oh my gosh, did you hear that? That's Stokie Jaye talking, he don't mess around. You know why? Cuz he's old and crusty..."
"That's right, Jamaal knows, too. I was already this way when me and him built this school 30 years ago, back in our hippie days. Jamaal had an afro out to here and I had long hair, a beard and long robe, lotta people mistook me for Jesus, right Jamaal?"
"Mmm, hmm."
Rusty perked up. "You guys built this school?"
Jamaal said, "In fact, back then Stokie's rap name was 'Stokie JJ Hippie Jeeze' becuase he looked so much like Jesus."
I said, "But everybody knows Jesus was a black man."
Jamaal's cheeks were puffy, suppressing laughter. "I wouldn't want to be up in the house with him. If I were you, I'd rather apologize to your teacher and stay down here..."
"Here it comes," I said.
"...Now I'm gonna give you just one more chance..."
I started out the door. "Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Jaye," said Jamaal.
"As always. Let me know when his thirty last chances run out, I'll be back down to pick him up."
By the time I had returned to the house, I was about a half an hour late for the staff meeting. As I entered, I noticed that the chemicals were still really strong, even with the fan on. Around the table sat 5 counselors, the House Supervisor Yolanda, the therapist Sam, and Mel, who was giggling and pointing at Miyako. Miyako held a paper towel over her mouth and nose and was sitting next to the laundry room door, which was slightly open. (I assumed correctly that Mel's magic potion sat bubbling behind the door.) Also in attendance was Janette Stankin, the Clinical Supervisor. I couldn't tell which was worse; Mel's cleaning potion or Janette's perfume. Whenever she walked into a room, it seemed like you were being smashed over the head with a bottle of Chanel #5. I felt like asking Miyako if I could borrow her paper towel.
Yolanda said to me as I found a seat next to Mel, "Lots of kids in crisis at school, I guess."
"Oh, always. Lucky thing I was there."
She said, "Just to catch you up, we were just talking about Michael and some of the frustrations we feel."
"Oh, okay. Did we already talk about 'warehousing?'"
My comment hit its target squarely as Janette visibly tensed up.
"Well, no, nobody actually used that term. Maybe there's something you'd like to say about it?"
I said, "Okay. Well it just seems to me that we've done about all we can with Michael. We are not equipped to deal with developmental disabilities; we deal with emotional problems. He needs to go to a facility like the Regional Center that deals with DD. In the mean time, he gets bigger and stronger, has more sex with his peers and assaults more staff. And since he can't understand our program, we just wind up appeasing him all the time so he doesn't get mad." I turned to Janette, "And I guess since his county just keeps paying, we just take the money and store him here, like a warehouse."
Mel elbowed me, trying to make me laugh at Miyako. Janette was mad at me.
"Stokie, you know very well that we've been trying to get Michael to the Regional Center for months. They just won't take him because he's not developmentally disabled enough. They just turned down our most recent application. His social worker is happy with the job we're doing with him and is satisfied that Michael is placed well here."
I said, "So as long as the county is paying, we're happy to let him get bigger, have sex and hit people. Okay, I just wanted to be able to tow the company line."
"You sound so bitter," said Janette.
"Yup, that's me, Mr. Bitter. I should probably be more happy about warehousing kids. You know what? I can be happier! Is this a bad time to ask for a raise? I figure with all that money we're getting from the county, we could all be getting paid more. May my teammates and I please all have raises?"
Janette got up to leave. "Yolanda, thank you for your time and good luck with your staff."
I turned to my teammates, "Sorry guys, I gave it my all."
Miyako also got up and quickly shuffled outside for some air. As the meeting broke up, I went in to the laundry room with Mel.
"Mel, what the fuck is in this shit?" Mel was still giggling as he opened the chemical closet.
"Man, I just threw in everything," he said as he took out bottles of cleaner and put them on the washing machine. "Little of this, little of that."
I looked at the cleaners. Ajax, Simple Green, bleach, Windex, Pine-Sol, Mr. Clean with ammonia...
My jaw dropped. "Dude! What the fuck is wrong with you? This shit can kill you! Didn't you read the label?" I realized what a stupid question that was, of course he didn't read the fucking label. "Mel, dude, if you mix bleach and ammonia it makes a poisonous gas that kills people. For real, it kills people."
"How the fuck I'm supposed to know that? All the labels are in Spanish."
"That's so people's cleaning ladies don't die when they clean their house." I dumped the potion out through the back door. "Course, if you killed Miyako, that woulda made Yolanda's day. God damn, Mel!"
I came back into the kitchen and there, standing with Miyako, was Pete Post. He had three circle shaped Band-Aids stuck on his face where he shaved over his adult acne.
"Greetings, Stokie. It seems as though there was an intervention this morning which involved you and Brian. Apparently, some questionable techniques were used. I would like you to accompany me so that I may glean some more information."
As I walked with Pete to the Supervisor's office, I thought to myself, "If I still have a job when this shit is over, I'm gonna kill that Miyako. This is what I get for trying to help."
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