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.
