Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Spike Reflections from FEMA Corps Members

Reflection Sonnets


This is a collection of sonnets. It shows the evolution of one corps member's term through the first eight months of FEMA Corps. Unfortunately for FEMA Corps (fortunately for the individual), this corps member did not finish the full term because his/her pleas were never heard:


Not Enough Time to Help

I write this to you to declare my peace,
To show FEMA Corps staff what we’ve done.
PA*, in Mississippi, did not cease.
From JFO** to applicants we’ve run.
Our mentor was great; his friends called him Tom.
He taught me all that I needed to know.
Our jobs were slim, but we still were the bomb.
Before we could actually help, “Go!”
FEMA said, and with that we did move on,
Not a diff’rence made; and then we were gone.

*PA stands for Public Assistance, a branch of FEMA that reimburses governments, volunteer agencies, fire departments, etc. (applicants) for money they spent on disaster relief.
**JFO stands for Joint Field Office, the location in which FEMA works with the state after a disaster.

Not Enough Help for Time

With all of the time that I have, I used
In Staten Island to make ‘me’ better.
CR* was our job, but we were abused
Because they thought of us as a fetter.
Knock, knock, knock, every door we did knock
“You FEMAs were here yesterday!” they’d say.
“Don’t knock our doors here: go down to ‘the rock’!”**
In vans we sat, our heads ashamedly lay.
Superstorm Sandy gave nothing to do?
FEMA Corps: press stunt: I reflect to you.

*CR stands for Community Relations. These specialists go door-to-door in an effort to tell survivors how FEMA can or cannot help.
**’The rock’ is what the locals call the area where Hurricane Sandy destroyed large portions of the Staten Island beach.

Stop Promising Change; That’s Called Lying

FEMA Corps, “Ready to serve,” after our break.
Experience said we’d get nothing done,
But this fortune, a prophet need not make,
For of ten hours logged, we oft worked one.
We do not know why we let our hopes rise,
Perhaps because we’re still naïve and young.
Many corps members hope this program dies,
So others don’t wish a whole year unsung.
Summit One, the lucky ones, I suppose,
Because at least we volunteer Fridays,
So one of five days we are on our toes,
Which allows us out of this office haze.
Others envy us, but we envy them:
They do not have our TL*, what a gem.

*TL stands for Team Leader.

Spoiler Alert: Nothing Changed

To serve my country, that is why I came.
I saw faults, though. To staff, I wrote letters
Of problems—our TL*, FEMA Corps’s aim,
But I should have known of these dense fetters:
Staff would do nothing, but ignore the sobs.
No one stepped up to change FEMA Corps’s flaws
They need us to succeed to keep their jobs,
So threating dismissal, they sealed our jaws.
Above the law, she was our team leader.
I resigned, in lieu of being dismissed
Our team dropped to six**; zero could beat her
Because her butt is one I never kissed.
Between the flaws, the TLs* and the staff—
FEMA Corps: one great American gaffe.

*TL stands for Team Leader
**A team starts with eleven or in some cases twelve corps members.


Coerced Reflection


This corps member reflected that he/she would not write a reflection for the first two Spikes because staff would do absolutely nothing with the reflection and would in fact take the reflection, promise to make it all better and then doing hold it against the corps member. When this corps member finally wrote a reflection, it was too negative and deemed unsuitable. This was the original reflection:


This has been the worst program I have ever been a part of in my entire life.  It is incomprehensible how the organizational structure of such a large government-run program could be so flawed and dysfunctional.  The “help” and “support” that we as corps members receive from the staff is nonexistent and how the majority of these “professionals” were ever hired is a complete fucking mystery.  One of the most entertaining/puzzling aspects of this whole ordeal is the fact that staff seems to think they are essential to everything we do when, in fact, they are completely fucking useless. A thought has just occurred to me. Perhaps they hold this belief on the basis of self-preservation, because I am confident in saying that there is no way they sincerely believe they are of any importance. That being said, I would act like an ignorant, oblivious, “integral” employee of a great program as well.
                Our work has been especially disheartening and forgettable.  We do nothing but sit in a cramped office and work on minimal amounts of meaningless projects. Take a wild guess at where I am while I am writing this. The occasional volunteer work that we do is the only time that I feel as though I am being productive. Never in my life have I felt so underutilized and demoralized. My hatred for life grows by every life-draining hour I sit at my dreary, cold, metal table that they call a workplace.
                As for our team, I don’t believe things could have gone much worse.  Three team members left because the program was that miserable. I do not want that last statement to come off as disapproval because, in fact, I applaud them for ditching this false hope of a desirable situation. One other team member, who just so happened to be one of my best friends in the program, was moved to a different team due to the fact that the world would have imploded if she stayed on our team- no doubt. The remnants of the team all have problems with one another and we all generally wish things had gone 100% differently. These team issues could largely be placed in our team leader’s overflowing bucket of Shit She Has Fucked Up.
                I now count down the minutes until I can go back to real life. I spend most of my days applying for jobs and looking for any outlet to get the fuck out of this hell I am living.

The corps member had to write a new reflection, suitable for staff's eyes. This is the result (what staff wants the world to see):

This has been the most beneficial program I have ever been a part of in my entire life. Until now, I have not seen such unity and cohesion in an organizational structure, especially in a government program that is in its infancy.  The help and support that we as corps members receive from the staff is expectation-exceeding and they, no doubt, have reassured their integral positions they hold. The day-to-day happenings of every single team would not be able to flow so fluidly if not for these indispensable cogs of this great machine that we have become.
                Our work has been especially memorable and noteworthy.  We come to the office every day and work on our respective projects that we have been assigned. As I write the project worksheets, I can see the help I am providing come to life right in front of my eyes and envision all the people I am affecting by the invaluable service we provide. I have had to frantically search for time to write this reflection and get it in by the deadline. The only downside is that I have to put off my projects after Thursday’s end till Monday so we can squeeze in some volunteer hours. Not that I don’t cherish the times where we get to give back to our local communities, I just wish there was more time in the day. If only miracles happened.
                As for our team, I don’t think things could have turned out any better.  Yes, three team members have left the program, but it has really brought our team together.  Also, one member of our team was moved to a different unit which I believe really opened our team up to connect even more considering said team member was a bit of an emotional drain. Our team leader has also helped things progress in a positive direction by managing the team so well.
                With June 6th on the horizon, I am greatly saddened that my time in FEMA Corps is nearing an end. I spend a large majority of my free time looking into other great AmeriCorps programs where I can devote more of my time and continue to make a difference.

Brute Honesty


This corps member had finally had enough and decided to be honest. He/She refused to rewrite the reflection or be on any level falsely positive:


            I joined AmeriCorps for a number of reasons: to strengthen my already solid core values, give back to my country through community service, and generally better myself as a human being. I can confidently say, after participating in this program for nearly eight months, that I have achieved absolutely none of these things. My disappointment in this program as a whole grows exponentially. I had not previously been aware of how low my hopes could sink prior to AmeriCorps.  Some of the major issues that I encounter on a frequent basis are as follows: inconsistent repercussions to rule infractions, staff ignoring corps member concerns/issues, favoritism, meaningless work, underutilization of skills, and false representation of corps activities as a whole in order to portray a situation to the media.
            Staff likes to make it seem like they will go to any length to help out any corps member. It is my opinion that this is inaccurate to say the least.  Sure, staff will jump through hoops and break their back to help certain individuals, but what about the rest? Certain corps members are treated unfairly because of the way that their team leaders have made them out to be. These individuals often are reprimanded for speaking their minds or voicing their opinions that do not conform to the corps-loving attitude that is integral if one wishes to be looked at favorably by staff. Ironically, these few people that seem to be loathed by staff for having differing views or opinions are not the ones breaking any rules. These are not the people that are smoking marijuana on a daily basis or skipping work or being unprofessional or being sexually explicit in workplace bathrooms or any of the things that one might think would be reasonable to frown upon. In fact, quite the opposite takes place; the ones that are taking part in all of the previously stated delinquent activities seem to have some sort of staff-sanctioned immunity.
            Staff is also inconsistent with what they allow corps members to do. Is it understandable that staff approves one corps member to stay at another corps members housing? Sure. Is it acceptable that staff denies another corps member that same privilege? One would have to look into the circumstances. What is certainly NOT acceptable is that the one corps member that got it approved is having sex with whoever they are staying with while the rest of the roommates are still in the room when the corps member who gets denied was just looking to hang out with a friend. But hey, some people are just better than others no matter what rules they break, right?
            As previously stated, I had every intention of joining this program to strengthen my core values. My honesty, respect, and work ethic have never been so blatantly put in jeopardy before.  I find myself frequently being put in situations where I am encouraged to lie about the work I am doing (or not doing) or exaggerate the truth so everything looks good on paper. This goes against my hard work ethic and honesty and I will no longer be participating in such activities. Working with people that hold themselves to a lower standard than I hold myself, it has been particularly trying to maintain a civilized level of respect. I remain professional, but I should not have to struggle daily to respect people that so obviously do not provide me the same courtesy.
            The misappropriation of government funds has never been so apparent to me. FEMA Corps is a colossal waste of money and nothing more than a press stunt. I sincerely hope that traditional NCCC uses tax payer monies more prudently but based on what I have seen from staff, that is unlikely.  Some corps members have briefly brought this to light but that was swiftly extinguished- we don’t want the public to know what really goes on.
            The only reasons that I am still in AmeriCorps are my team leader and the fact that I made a commitment that I intend to honor. I left a lucrative career opportunity behind only to find myself regretting that decision with each passing hour. The remaining two months will be long and I will grow bitter as the days progress. I am confident in this because I know that nothing will change- I gave that hope up a long time ago. 

If you would like your reflection anonymously posted on this blog, please email it to femacorpse@gmail.com. Remember, our goal is to help fix the program by bringing the truth to light. We tried from within and that didn't work. Maybe some honesty for all to see will do the trick.


Monday, March 25, 2013

The Trial


Sunday, 17 March 2013: The Bus Ride Day 1
The event begins with a 34-hour bus ride from New York to Mississippi. Generally, a blue state isn’t so willing to extradite the accused to the South, given their extreme punishments for various crimes, but with the cooperating witness of a team leader, I didn’t stand a chance. The judge requested my leave and two days later, I sit here on a bus. I thought about ditching the bus and heading straight to Canada (wait, sorry, different story), heading straight home on the first train to Philly, but I find myself optimistic that I can at least strike a plea bargain with the district attorney. I think back to the moments that led us to my impending trial:
            “Could you drop the keys off when you get back?”
            “Sure, how long do you need them? I told Zach I would pick him up in an hour and I told Alyssa I would pick her up tonight.”
            “No one asked me for permission to use the van keys, so you can’t have the van. Sorry.”
            These text messages were getting old, quickly. I walked just a few doors down (something with which she always had a problem because she is incapable of looking at someone in the eyes) and knocked:
            “Oh, hey! Whatsup?” Carolanne spoke as though nothing was going wrong, as if this text message conversation was a completely different world, one in which we were allowed to be confrontational, but be pleasant face-to-face.
            This world barrier never cut it for me in the past and I wouldn’t let it this time either. “Is there a new policy I don’t know about? Are we required to give you advanced notice on when we need the keys?”
            “I’m the team leader and I’m in charge of the van keys. You need to ask me anytime you want to use the van keys. Just casually letting me know, ‘I’m taking the van,’ isn’t good enough.”
            “Carolanne, you do know that you don’t own the van, right? It’s the Summit One van and as long as it isn’t being used by someone else and I’m not breaking any NCCC policies, you don’t have the right to deny me permission to use it.”
            “I’m sorry you don’t like the policy, but that’s the way it is.”
            “Is this your policy or NCCC’s new policy? Because we’ve never been informed of such a policy before this very moment?”
            “This is the policy,” she said, admitting that it was her own policy without saying it.
            “You are such an incredible control freak, Carolanne!” [Crime number 1: Disrespect towards my team leader. This is the first rule of my team’s behavior contract after other incidents like this one.]
            “I’m sorry you don’t like the policy, but that’s the way it is.” With that, she closed the door. When I needed the keys later that day, I simply told Alyssa that Carolanne denied me permission to have the van keys. Alyssa went to her and told her she needed me to take her to the train station that night. Carolanne willingly gave her the keys, since our fearless leader only upholds her absurd rules for those of us she doesn’t like. What I don’t understand is that Carolanne quit her NCCC year because of her allegedly terrible team leader. She said he was constantly letting her down and that he wouldn’t fight for the team. Wouldn’t you rather have a team leader that won’t fight for you than one that would fight against you?

The next day, Carolanne approached me with her laptop. All of the events that I’ve just described were on the “Incident Report” that she was showing me on the screen. She asked me to sign it, but as I read it (as I never sign something I haven’t thoroughly read as taught by my mother),I notices she also added a few lies to the report to make it look like I had absolutely no reason for calling her a control freak. I started to point out the lies and she unwillingly deleted the sections about which I comment. I refused to sign yet another lie-filled incident report. Some of the lies have been simple in the past, not worth me writing an entire rebuttal to the report, but some of the lies are extravagant, not even close to the episodes. I then inquired about an incident that happened the night before when I was sitting with some of my friends from other teams. They informed me that Carolanne had to approve of my getting a ride in another team's van. Apparently, after our little run-in, she told all the team leaders to tell their corps members that Summit One corps members are not allowed in any other teams’ vans without Carolanne’s consent. This was the last straw. I can’t handle having a team leader that thinks I’m her first grade son. I could feel my body loosening for the argument that was unfolding in my mind. Her only response through the entire argument is “I’m the team leader and that’s the way it is.” The conversation sparked memories in my mind of the Catholic masses during which the priest continually speaks different things and the congregation replies the same words repeatedly in unison:
            “Carolanne, I find it offensive that you think I need your permission to go in another team’s van. I don’t need your permission. I’m a grown-up.”
            “I’m the team leader and that’s the way it is.”
            “You do know that you’re not my mother, right? That you can’t make these decisions for me.”
            “I’m the team leader and that’s the way it is.”
            “Doesn’t this, in and of itself, prove that you are a control freak?”
            “I’m the team leader and that’s the way it is.”
            “Seriously, isn’t it proof that you believe you can literally tell me when and where I go somewhere and who I go with?” (I scowl at myself for ending that question with a preposition.)
            “I’m the team leader and that’s the way it is.”
            With a German accent I said, “Well, ich heil mein Fuehrer, because you are always in charge!” [Crime number 2: Disrespect towards my team leader. At least, I’ll be on trial for two counts of the same thing. Maybe this will show the court that I’m consistently fighting the same problems.]
            At this point in the conversation, Jay interrupted and said “Guys, I’m actually trying to work, so if you want to continue this conversation, please do so outside.” I’m not sure if I was more stunned that he actually said something about our argument or that he claimed to have work to do. Let’s face it, no one in FEMA, let alone FEMA Corps actually had work to do, ever, let alone in that dingy office. I don’t think Carolanne was as stunned as I was by Jay’s interjection. She left the room, assumedly to cry and to call Monica, who I’m sure will be involved in my trial once I reach Vicksburg.

Two nights later, Carolanne came to me to explain the extradition process. I was actually surprised, but rotten news just reared its ugly head in a different part of my life moments prior, so I was already in a state of shock and therefore unable to care.
            I asked what my trip back to Vicksburg meant. Whether I'd leave the program or whether staff would just discipline me for my horrific actions. She denied having any knowledge of the potential outcomes of my journey back South. I’m a volunteer, I thought, There’s no way they’ll fire a volunteer…but then again, they never do anything logical. I’m screwed.

The bus engine roars and I’m thrilled I have a row of my own to relax and sleep this first leg of the trip. I have countless stops and five bus changes to make. This first leg will be the nicest though. I have my own row and I don’t have to wake until we reach Richmond, which is at least six or seven hours away.
            I wake just before the bus slams its breaks and I feel surprisingly good. I have a little bit of a neck ache from the poor sleeping conditions a Greyhound has to offer, but considering my current life-situation, I’m feeling quite healthy. It’s possible that I’m still drunk from last night. Yes, we do that quite a bit in FEMA Corps. There’s nothing else to do and, while it’s far too expensive of an activity for the tiny stipend we make, we have no other expenses, so the majority of us spend about 90% of each direct deposit slip on making our weekends enjoyable.
            I get back on the bus after an approximately thirty minute wait time. A little black boy, probably between ten and twelve years old, says to me, “My mom told me to find a nice white person to sit with. Can I sit here?” Naturally, I say yes and we instantly become best friends. Right as the bus starts to back out, he realizes he hasn’t waved goodbye to his mother yet, so he stands on the seat and points to me. She gives him two thumbs up and blows him a kiss. He explains to me how every Sunday he goes from his Mom’s house to his Dad’s and every Friday after school, he gets to go back to his Mom’s house. Even though he has to go to school during the week at his father’s house, Robert likes his Dad better, but that’s a secret and since I’ll never meet either one, it’s okay for him to tell me that. He doesn’t like the name Rob or Robby because those are both names that make people want to call you Bob or Bobby and those names are “just plain stupid.” Robert thinks that when he gets to his destination, he will be in trouble. I ask why and Robert explains a situation in which he called his dad an ‘asshole.’ I ask what the punishment for that would be and he says his father will probably restrict him from video games for a week. Seriously, Robert calls his Dad an ass hole and he revokes video games for a week, but I make a comment about my Nazi “mother” being Hitler-like and I’m on trial for Disrespect with the potential punishment of dismissal? Hey, Carolanne, if you’re going to insist on treating me like a child, should staff try me as an adult? Robert gets off at the next stop, which is bitter sweet for me. I’ll miss talking to the little guy, but my hangover is starting to kick-in, so I could use a nap.
            Getting onto the bus in Charlotte, I hand the man my entire bundle of boarding passes because each one says “Void if torn.” He tears off each portion that he needs separately, so I assume that means I can do the same and I separate each ticket so that I can hand in each ticket as I go. I try desperately to get some more sleep in between Charlotte and Atlanta, but the man next to me is quite sketchy and reeks of some illegal chemical-smoking device.
            When we reach Atlanta, I have to hand the bus driver three of my tickets as he goes from seat to seat in order to collect all of them. He sees that mine are not together and says, “Now why would you tear these, boy? I told you not to.”
            “I know; I apologize. I had already done it before I got here to Atlanta in order to organize all the paperwork that I have.”
            My new seating buddy chimes in, “It says ‘void if torn.’ I say you void it and he can catch the next bus.” Wondering why my elbows haven’t reacted into her mouth, I smile at the driver and he moves past me to the next passenger. I know these next few legs of the trip are not going to be happy ones.

Monday, 18 March 2013:
The Bus Ride Day 2
            When we get to Tuscaloosa, the two people in the seats across the aisle from me leave the bus. Instinctively, I hop into their seats and pray no one else gets on the bus. Without such luck, I see a man about 6’5,” probably 250lbs. of pure muscle get on the bus. Knowing that there are only two seats available, the one next to me and the one next to my old friend who would rather throw me under the bus than sit next to someone, I can sense that I won’t be sitting alone. His shirt is a green clover that says “Lucky Shirt.” I wasn’t on board with that. People in the north enjoy their own space, their own business, and their own pace. This man immediately sits and says, “It’s Jaime. What do you called yourself?
            “I’m Daniel.” I never give my real name to strangers.
            “You mean your name is Daniel? ‘Cause I’m willin’ to bet y’all aren’t the only Daniel in the world.” Yes, he actually called me, one single person, ‘y’all.’
            I give him as much laugh as I can force out without being fake. “You’ve got that right. I’m not the only one.”
            He tells me the story about his girlfriend that was text messaging him at that moment. Last night, she was at a bar and a homeless man questioned her asking for some money. When she refused, he slapped her. A police officer nearby saw the event and arrested the man for assault. My lucky bus neighbor then tells me the story of how when she recounted the event to him, he had a vision. He didn’t see the homeless man’s face or anything like that. No, that would be crazy. He just saw his poor helpless girlfriend’s face react to the slap. He knew at that moment, seeing a mental visage of his girlfriend’s abuse, that he would propose this upcoming weekend when he went to see her. He knew that she was the one because when she was hurt, he was visibly, audibly, and physically able to sense her pain. Finally, he talks about what he wants in a woman until he falls asleep on my shoulder.

            When we arrive in Jackson, I part ways with my lucky hunk and meet a woman with more stories than a children’s book. Although these stories are not going to ever be in any children’s book. I don’t know whether to pray for her or hope she’s lying. I know her entire life story though. Here’s the short version:
            In 1984, she married her first husband. He turned out to be a liar, cheater, and murderer. Apparently the man was able to borrow money, so that she thought he was working for a long portion of their marriage, but instead, during the day when he was “working,” he was out cheating on her with his girlfriend. “Don’t worry,” my new friend assures me, “she got what was comin’ to her.” After a year, the husband left my bus buddy for his girlfriend, leaving her with a one-year old daughter. “I should be in the Guinness Book of World Records,” she informs me, “My daughter is the best gift any murderer has given anyone,” a sweet, but creepy phrase that I hope she never repeats. Now to the murdering part: about a year after her husband left, he killed his girlfriend and her entire family. Then he killed himself. Boy, did she dodge a bullet there. Pun undoubtedly intended.
            Don’t worry though. Her story gets slightly less depressing. She married another man in 1990. He gave her another daughter and then a son. Her second husband, however, did not like when she would show any affection toward the son because boys need men to raise them. “That’s how fags turn out,” she insisted, “I knew he was right, but I just couldn’t help but to hug my sweet little boy. If he ever caught me kissin’ on him or huggin’ him, he’d get real kinds o’ mean. I’ll spare you the details, but this scar here on m’ol forehead speaks fer itself.”
            I don’t think I ever added more than an “oh” or a “wow” during the entire story. During the divorce, which lasted three and a half years, the couple finally decided that she would raise the boy, “who funny ‘nough turned out to be straight even after all them kisses and hugs” and he would raise the girl, “even though that’s not really how it should be.” The girl, who is now eighteen, lives on her own with her two children, and the son has a trust fund and both parents are “hopin’ real hard he chooses to spend it on college. Can’t imagine what else a eighteen-year-old boy could do with $60,000.”
            The story continues: “I’m on my way to see my two grandbabies and both my kids. I don’t mean to say that the oldest one isn’t my daughter or nothin’, but she’s made somethin’ of herself with economics or somesuch livin’ in New York…sends me a check for my Mom every once a while. Momma’s got the cancer, the bad kind you hope on no one. Didn’t go for her chemo today, so that’s good. Sometimes she just don’t need it.” The last of the information this woman tells me of her spectacle of a life is that she’s in the middle of attempting to contact Stephen King, to see if he would want to “co-write” a book about her life. She knows that she’s not the best writer in the world, but she admits that her life story isn’t ordinary and combining his skills with her life, well “that’s like a million dollars right in [her] pocket.”

            Finally, I reach Vicksburg. I never thought I’d be glad to see this town. That’s a lie. I’m not glad to see this town. I’m glad to see El Sombrero, where I’ll be going to get the best margaritas in the world if they acquit me of these charges. I only have to wait about five minutes when I see a government vehicle pull into the parking lot. A bus rider immediately questions the girl that gets out of the Ford Fusion to pick me up. I cannot hear what he says, but her reply is, “Yes, this is Vicksburg, but I don’t work for Greyhound so I don’t know the answer to that question. Sorry!”
            Glad to see each other because of the mutants that coach buses apparently magnetize, she opens the trunk for me and I load my belongings into the car. We have small talk about what she does as a support team leader (STL). From what Corey tells me during our five-minute car ride back to campus, I gather it’s about as much as a unit leader, so nothing. We pull back onto campus and I head straight to Monica’s office (the unit leader). She informs me that my meeting will be with Kathy (the director of all units).

Trial Part 1A
I meet with Kathy for two minutes just to explain the situation. I enter my official plea of “not guilty by reason of self-defense” and I tell her that I find it very difficult to show respect for someone who blatantly disrespects me in her actions. Her response is that “you should respect yourself enough to show professionalism and control toward your team leader. When you blow at someone like that, you’re not showing disrespect to her, but to yourself.” Checkmate. Whatever this woman says is going to stick. I think to myself, She will be the judge in this case. Monica will have her input and so will the new regional director, Don, but this is Don’s first day, so they’re not going to be asking him whether or not I will be fired. She’s the key. It’s Kathy that I’ll be trying to impress.

As always, I record all of my court proceedings with my “Smart Voice Recorder” application with the microphone just sticking out of my pocket. Kathy sends me to check into my jail cell, which is the place in which I'll slowly rot for the next week while on trial, Johnson 105. I unpack a few things, but head straight back up to the office for the next part of my trial.

Trial Part 1B
This is the more extensive part of trial Part 1. Monica is still not present. I’m starting to wonder if she won’t be involved in this trial at all because of her inaction in my last trial. This would probably work in my favor because I can turn on the charm a little bit and get Kathy and Don to like me. I know Monica doesn’t like me because for whatever reason, she loves Carolanne, so maybe the judge’s opinions will be untainted and she can see an unbiased point of view.
            I walk into the room and the three of us sit. Kathy is behind the table, facing me with the evidence and the only current witness’s account of what happened those two dreadful days. The prosecuting attorney starts by introducing himself. He simply asks what happened. I tell them both the whole story and they’re stunned. Originally, I thought they were surprised because Carolanne’s version was so wildly different and that they would try me for perjury too. Their surprise, however, came from an abundance of honesty. They appreciated the fact that I told them the whole story. I think they were at least expecting me to leave out the part about speaking German to Carolanne. I don’t know what their thought processes were. I don’t know if their verdict will be guilty. I do know, however, that I was able to use their words in my favor at some points. For example, at one point, Don even said, “It’s not like you have to ask for permission for the van.” Yes Don, she does. We have to form our request in the shape of a question. Informative statements are not good enough.

Trial Part 1C
When the judge finally comes out after about a half hour of deliberation with the D.A., she tells me, “We’ve decided to meet again with you at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow, so we’ll see you then.” I agree and leave for the evening. By the way, if we were to contact the other members of your team, would they verify that Carolanne makes up these rules and starts enforcing them before she tells you about them?” I absolutely confirm and hope that she seeks more witnesses to testify in the trial. They’ve already heard from Alyssa, but because that was only Monica talking to Alyssa, I don’t know if her testimony is admissible during the actual trial. Not to mention, Monica might not have even told them.

I retire to my cell, but after a short time, I am bored. I walk to Wal-Mart, which is my go-to store in times of taking advantage of disgusting corporate pigs. I purchase a new phone charger with every intention of returning it at the end of the week, when my friend brings the one I left in New York down here. However, if the judge finds me guilty, it will be too late, and I won’t be here to get the charger. Either way, I’m returning the new one to Wal-Mart. They don’t deserve my money.
            After the walk back to my prison cell, I find myself in the third floor of Johnson, attempting to watch television. It’s not working. The campus must have canceled their services with DirecTV, probably just for the one week that I’m here in case I found the one door with a broken lock to a place with a TV. Again, I retire to my cell. I do laundry before bedtime. As soon as the dryer buzzes, I realize I may have done far too much for my first day in jail. What will there be left for me to do tomorrow? I intentionally leaving my clothes unfolded and on the bed, so that I have something to do tomorrow.
            In an effort to fall asleep, I take the only pillow I can find and wrap it in a t-shirt that I just washed. The pillow is flimsy, so I fold it in half before wrapping it because I like my pillows firm. Without any sheets, I line the bed with clothes, to keep warm since the heat in my cell doesn’t work and it gets cold here at night. I bundle up in a sweater and sweat pants, and use my charcoal pea coat as a blanket. There is no internet here, so I can’t go online to catch up on some of the TV shows that I missed the last couple of days on the bus and without TV here, I’m going to get behind on all of them. I wonder if Don and crew find me not guilty, whether my trial counts as time on my clock. I hope to find out tomorrow. My legal advisor, Zach, believes that because the prosecutor is only on his first day of work, he will keep requesting continuances from the judge until the rest of my team returns. Although I am hoping to get this whole thing finished very quickly, it might be nice to have my team supporting me from outside the courtroom doors, awaiting an announcement of a non-guilty verdict.

Tuesday, 19 March 2013: Trial Part 2
The incredible organization of an agency such as this one allows it to cancel multiple meetings each day. I arrive for my 10:00 meeting ten minutes early (as required in the AmeriCorps standard), which I learn at 10:10 is going to be changed to 11:00, so I show up at 10:50 and wait until 11:40, when Monica says, “They better hurry up and come getchu. Is almost lunchtime.”
            Less than five minutes pass when Kathy enters, “Yeah, we’ll call you when we’re ready for you. It’s Don’s second day and we just keep getting interrupted with phone calls.” AmeriCorps and America are two different things. I’m not entitled to sit in on meetings between the judge and prosecutor and I do not have the right to a speedy trial by a jury of my peers. I sit in my room and await the phone call from the judge. What scares me is that they could have already made up their minds. They might have already made a decision and I’m wearing this stupid uniform for nothing.
           
I have no clue why I decide to keep my uniform on, but I wait for a little while in my cell, for a little while walking around the campus, and for a little while, sitting by the pool playing various apps that I have downloaded. Around 3:00 p.m., I decide I should probably go ask if there is any way that I can gain access to my black bin, which holds my belongings such as my Kindle and my sheets. I’ll need those in order to keep from insanity. One person can only study so much German in one day.
            I walk into Monica’s office to ask her about the black box and before I can say anything, she says, “Did Kathy call you before she left for the day?” By my confused look, she knows the answer and says, “For whatever reason, this is taking a while, and we hope to have an answer for you by tomorrow morning. I think we just have to make sure all the paperwork is in order and that everything is done correctly.” I will absolutely be taking off my uniform when I get back to my room.
            “Oh, that’s fine,” I lie, “I’m actually here to see if I can get access to my black box. All of my belongings are in there, including my sheets, so I have nothing on which I can sleep.”
            “You tell whoever is downstairs in the storage room that I said it’s okay for you to go into your black box.” I thank her and head down to the supply room.
            When I explain the situation to Wade, he initially says to me, “Who told you we should let you in to get your black box? Because they told us to wait.” Wait for what, I wonder. Wait until Don reads my guilty verdict or until the rest of FEMA Corps gets here Monday? Then he says, “Oh, the only thing you need is your sheets, right? Because we have sheets for you.” I try to bring up the fact that my Kindle is in there and I have absolutely nothing to do while I’m here, but he insists that if the only absolutely necessary item is my sheets, I can wait because going into that room is a terrible inconvenience.

I get back to my room and immediately take off my uniform. With nothing else to do, I go for a run. All I can think about are Monica’s words: “have an answer for me.” Does this mean they still don’t know whether I’m guilty? I’ve been on trial for two days now and they have nothing for me. The other words that resonate in my head are that they “have to make sure all the paperwork is in order.” Without a guilty verdict, I assume there is no paperwork to get in order. At this point, I almost hope they find me guilty. Yes, I made a commitment and that’s why I could never quit, but let’s face it, if another human being will ever read these words, they must find me guilty. I feel it is my duty to restart FEMA Bore Corps and remind the corps members in FEMA Corps that there is hope after this dreadful organization. This will be the first blog entry, the first link posted to the Twitter’s page. I want FEMA Corps members to know that this is unacceptable, that FEMA Corps would dismiss me for this, based on a conflict with my team leader, but staff treats those that are actually doing wrong, breaking rules, and being an embarrassment to FEMA Corps as if they’ve done nothing wrong.
            My run is a success. I feel amazing. Nothing is on my mind and nothing can hold me back. I don’t fear these people. I pity them. If they return with a verdict of guilty, I feel sorry they’ve allowed this cursed program to lose me. I know it sounds arrogant, but I was one of the few people in the program actually doing my own projects, one of the few people in this program with rights to go onto sites like Dashboard and EMMIE, which are necessary to work as an individual project specialist. Only my team can make that claim. I can honestly say, in all fairness, that my team owes that to a few of our original FEMA mentors, who treated us like adults. They put actual, legitimate responsibilities in our hands and expected high results. They recognized FEMA's flaws and helped us attempt to get things done, even though we were only in Mississippi for a short time. The men and women with whom we worked in Mississippi were incredible mentors and as a result, we earned clearances that other FEMA Corps teams won't ever have.
            Sorry, FEMA, but you'll lose out. AmeriCorps won’t allow someone in the program who has a backbone, someone who isn’t okay with his team leader's childlike treatment of him and his teammates. I’m better than this program. I came here to serve my country and local communities, but instead the staff and my team leader treated me like garbage.

Wednesday, 20 March 2013: Trial Part 3
Today should be the reading of my verdict. My plan is to avoid going to the offices unless someone calls me. I will wait in my cell and study or go for a walk, outside of the view of the offices until they make the decision without a reminder of me walking into the office.
            At 9:00 a.m., my phone rings. My heart drops as I wonder who owns the unknown number on my phone. Luckily, it turns out to be my old boss calling about me working there starting again this fall.
            At 9:20, my phone vibrates. It’s a text message from my good friend Megan who explains the situation from her team leader’s point of view. Sarah, her team leader, told her last night that the reason this is taking so long is that staff cannot make a decision. Some of them like me and some of them want me gone. I guarantee I can tell you most of their decisions.
·         Monica and Leigh-Ann obviously hate me. They believe that Carolanne walks on water. That’s why both of them freaked out at me when they found out about my inability to get along with a hypocritical team leader, but neither one cared when multiple corps members talked about Carolanne’s rule-breaking.
This program is interesting. You see, it’s fine if you break the rules. No one really cares. In fact, it’s almost like there is only one rule for the whole program. Suck up to the person above you and no one cares what else you do. Smoke weed in the government vehicle? SURE. Just do yourselves a favor and don’t disrespect your team leaders. Give alcohol to underage corps members on the federal campus: Why not, as long as Miss Monica likes you. Take the government vehicle two hours during the workday to a mall while your team is at work in order to buy a slutty police officer Halloween costume: just make sure you lie on the vehicle log about where the van has been.
            I have an entire list of things of which Carolanne is guilty, all breaking policies, but none disciplined by staff. When corps members bring these issues up, though, staff completely ignores her behaviors. Is it because she’s a team leader? Who knows why?
·         Justin likes me. I know this because he had to handle an issue between me and another corps member. Justin and this person wanted to know why I kept my distance from this corps member. I explained that this was because of his vile behaviors, such as, but not limited to: eating anything he can pick from his nose, watching pornography in his bed unashamedly for all to see, interrupting people’s conversations in a professional setting to say something inappropriate and then laugh obnoxiously, and masturbating in the office restrooms for about an hour each day loud enough for all to hear.
This corps member isn’t the one here on trial though. No. He excuses himself from these behaviors because he allegedly has autism and a sex addiction. Listen, I’m not being insensitive toward those with autism, but he uses this as an excuse to explain all of his behaviors. I know what autism is. I’ve worked with multiple children with autism, and every one of them would be able to tell you that the behaviors listed above are both disgusting and inappropriate. As for the sex addiction, I’m sorry that he feels he has one, but if someone were an alcoholic and went to work intoxicated, that company would still fire that individual.
·         The new unit leader doesn’t know me, so I would hope and pray his opinion doesn’t count. I’ve never had any encounter with him, so I can’t imagine he would have any input on the verdict of my decision.
·         Kathy and Don are the mystery cards. At least one of them is on my side. If both of them were against me, I’d be on an airplane right now listening to Southwest’s comedic safety renditions. I would imagine since it’s Don’s first week, he’s not really getting involved in the decision-making process as he doesn’t want his first decision to make him look like a softy or a jerk. I think Don is leaving this decision to Kathy. I believe her to be on my side at this point, but if that verdict turns out guilty, I’ll know she is the one who scheduled my execution.

At 10:00 a.m., I still have heard nothing, so I decide to take a shower and get ready for the day. At any moment, I could receive the call.
            Noon arrives and I know this is the point where all the offices empty out for lunchtime. Since it’s a government job, they probably take exactly one hour and fourteen minutes for lunch. Clocking out at 11:53 rounds them up to 12:00 and clocking back in at 1:07 rounds them down to 1:00. Because of this, I decide to change and go for a run again, to clear my mind of all the evil toxins of this prison.
            When I return from my run, since there’s nothing to eat here (yes, I’ve been here since Monday afternoon and they have still brought / purchased / given me zero food). They have offered, “Have you been provided with food yet? Find Corey (the support team leader who picked me up) and have her bring you something.” Twice this has happened and both times, Corey is not where they said she was. I return to inquire more and as if they knew I wouldn’t find Corey, staff disappeared. Luckily for me, AmeriCorps pays me an absurd amount of money, so I’m able to afford the fine dining of soup, Spaghetti O's and tuna.
            The good news is, Corey called me and told me that she would bring me food around 2:00 p.m. The bad news is that she’s still not here. So now it is at 4:00 p.m. and I’m going to go for a run, but first, I’m going to see Monica, since no one called me all day.
            “Hey, Kathy hurt her arm, actually no. It turned out to be one of her backbones. So anyway, she didn’t come in today. And Don had a meeting in Hattiesburg, so that’s why no one called you today.” It would have been very nice if someone had just let me know that, but hey, no harm, no foul I suppose. “Also, since I don’t have the authority to make this type of decision, you’re just gonna have to wait until tomorrow. Someone will definitely call you at around 10:00 a.m. after our morning meeting gets out, which starts at 9:15.” Again though, I don’t know if I can take off my uniform if I don’t get a phone call tomorrow morning at 10:00, which, let’s face reality and the go with the odds here, I probably won’t.
            The run really gets my blood pumping, but with clear, pure thoughts. I’m not angry. This situation doesn't frazzle me. My body relaxes, knowing that I did my part to make this a better program. I know that God is in control of this situation, and no matter what the outcome, it will all work out. Everything happens for a reason.
            The new bad kid arrives. Her information will not be included in this in order to protect her privacy.
            I do nothing for the rest of the night. I discover that my phone is capable of going to websites and watching television shows, a feature I’d never discovered before this moment. Boom. Even prison has a silver lining.

Thursday, 21 March 2013: Trial Part 4
The first thing I do when I wake up this morning is call my brother. He’s always the best advisor. I swear, between him and his wife, they know everything. If he doesn’t know something, she does. He’s able to give me great advice (as always) on how to approach the situation (if they ever call me). I’m going to go in and ask to give a closing argument before they actually read their decision. I know that my words probably won’t alter their decisions, but they need to know: a.) I’m not going to just bend over and take this; b.) I came here to serve—to make my country, its communities and myself better; and c.) Even if they do decide to fire me, I want to help improve both my team and FEMA Corps, so I’ll be following through on my ignored complaints against Carolanne and the program itself. So now, I wait for an absolution that might just never arrive.
            At 1:00 p.m., Monica sends me a message, one that comes with “High Importance” according to my phone. It tells me they will be meeting me this afternoon. Well, it’s now Thursday. I would hope they’re not going to wait until tomorrow. After all, if they’re going to fire me, they can’t do it on a Friday because that would require one of them working on a Saturday to take me to the airport. I replied and asked her to let me know what time and I would be there.
            At 3:00, after what seems like an eternity of waiting, Monica text messages me to say we will be meeting at 4:00. I head outside to enjoy some of, what could be my last, fresh, warm Mississippi air. I cannot wait to find out what they’ve decided. Will I be indicted?


            When the time finally arrives, I head to the offices to find out my fate. As usual, I wait for about a half hour until the meeting starts. I have such mixed feelings about whether they will find me guilty. Finally, Don comes out of his office and invites me to join them. They have nothing with them except one piece of paper. This is it. I know it’s bad news. He reads the letter. The letter is for me, from him. He reads it. It’s a plea bargain. I have the option to plead guilty to the charges and resign from my position. Otherwise, I will have to face a jury’s decision on Monday. The difference between this jury and a real jury is that this jury is staff members. My peers will not be judging me. Staff members will be judging me. These staff members work for Don. He is the regional director. In other words, he is everyone’s boss here. No one that he appoints to be on this jury of three is going to vote against me. They will be sitting there and have nothing to do except to cast judgment on my behavior. Yes, I will have the chance to defend myself and to bring witnesses, but Don will not allow me to talk about any of Carolanne’s behaviors or anyone else for that matter. I even inquire about Carolanne’s behaviors. He tells me that if I lodge yet another formal complaint against her, he will personally handle it. I should email it to him when (if I decide to do so) I email him my formal letter of resignation from the corps. I can tell they want me to resign. Not because they know it would be easier for me and a wiser choice, but because they simply don’t want to deal with someone with conviction and confidence any longer. Don informs me that this hearing will only be a character assessment of me, so I will have no chance to prove that staff is causing a vast injustice.
            “I’m in disbelief,” I start to get frazzled. I can hear my voice shaking. After all this waiting in my cell, I think I convinced myself that they would actually use some logic. “I am just astounded that those that are caught doing absolutely vile things in the office, in the government vehicles, on the campus, as team leaders and corps members—you’re not telling them about some hearing that they will have to face on Monday.”
            Don interrupts me to further clarify: “Again, I will be making sure that this is not what the hearing is about. The hearing will be about you and your behavior alone.”
            “Oh I understand. I’m willing to take responsibility for my actions. I’m willing to admit that I crossed a line when I called Carolanne a Nazi, but I did not come here to defend myself. I did not join FEMA Corps for me. I joined to improve the lives of others, including my teammates. I want to know how I can make this right, so that those on my team can have a successful end of the year.” Don reiterates that he will take any formal complaints that I send to him very seriously and he will deal with them. While I don’t believe him, based on history, I will still send him the entire formal complaint I have against my team leader, Carolanne Fernandez. I reassure them, “I want you to know I’m not here for me. I will do whatever it takes to continue to improve the lives of my teammates and the future of FEMA Corps. I will not give up simply because you refuse to do anything.” With that, I know I have said my peace.
            I accept the plea bargain by signing waiver of the hearing. I just want to go home. I want to see my mom, my brother and his wife, and my friends. I want to see people that love me. I want to be around people that know who I am and don’t judge me because of my lashings out at one person. The other day I counted how many people in my life there have ever been with whom I did not get along. My teammates, who view me in an opposite light than staff does, did not believe that there were too many. I tried my best and discovered seven names total. This included every person in my lifetime with whom I did not get along. I have completely mended my relationship with one of them and two of them had amazingly redeeming qualities, so I couldn’t even find it in myself to dislike them.

Friday, 22 March 2013: Departure Day
As a support team leader drives me off campus toward the airport, I feel nothing toward the campus. To quote Rascal Flats, “I feel bad that I don’t feel bad.” In a program like this one, there should be sadness at the end. There should be some form of bitterness to leaving. I won’t be there to prove it to you, but I guarantee that at the end of the term, on June 6, when the first-ever graduating class of FEMA Corps gets its certificates of completion, there won’t be a teary eye in the building. How do I know? I’ve been able to grow extremely close with the members of FEMA Corps. It’s unreal how closely you bond with people when you’re all in the same abysmal situations. I guarantee that if the educational award for FEMA Corps were taken away, the attrition rate would go from a current ~33% to 95%+. It’s heart breaking but true.
            As I near the airport, as if someone made a FEMA Corps-wide announcement that I left, I start to receive text messages. More than twenty times, my phone alerts me of corps members telling me that they will miss me, but how incredibly happy for me they are (and a few even mentioned that they were jealous). It’s at this point, I realize that I may have thought I was in jail this whole week, but this whole program is a prison. All I did was escape.


I wanted to stick it out to the end, but only for the selfish reason of getting the educational award. I am moving forward with contacting the appropriate people to change this program. My list of inappropriate and unprofessional behaviors that Carolanne has committed in this program is in Don’s and Kathy’s mailboxes. My prayer for the sake of the rest of my team is that they will not ignore my email. I want things to get better for Summit One. Based on my experience, I don’t believe they will, but I’m not going to stop trying now that I’m not in FEMA Corps any more.

I came here in August to serve my country, its communities, and its people. My team leader and the lack of support from the Southern Region staff denied me that opportunity, so I’ll leave.