I’m not sure what your run-of-the-mill AmeriCorps gig is
like, but I’m sure what I am doing is not it.
First of all, AmeriCorps focuses primarily in cities. I’m
sure they’d deny that, but when it comes down to percentages, there are far
more concentrations in large cities than anywhere else.
As result, what trickles down to me isn’t put-into-plannable
where I am. And a lot of the stuff that’s offered doesn’t pertain to my
situation. I learn to filter out a lot of what isn’t relevant in my situation.
And when I fill out things like timesheets, they’re pretty
much pieces of fiction. See, in theory, I work a 40-hour week, but, like PC,
that’s sort of not true. Essentially, unless you’re in your own private living
space, you’re on display.
For most AmeriCorps volunteers, this isn’t the case. They
have their own housing, apartments, families and lives – some even serve in
their hometowns, living with their spouses and children or parents.
But me, well, life in the trailerhood is a bit different.
Essentially, I am “on” 24/7. It’s not a bad thing and I’m not complaining about
it, but it’s somewhat inconceivable to others. I step out of the RV – whether
it’s to refill my tea, run an errand, work in a cooler space or what – and I’m
out there.
People know me as a staff member and as one whom they can
ask if they have any questions, so if I am out, I’m available to ask. For
example, two nights ago, someone drove up looking for a volunteer. I spent 15
minutes helping her hunt for the person, and all the while I was dressed in my
PJs, wearing a towel around my neck and carrying my toiletries basket – I’d
been headed to take a shower when she drove up.
So how does a person fill out a timesheet on that?
This morning, I had penciled in time to work on a grant. I’d
been working on it awhile but realized we needed some paperwork we’re not going
to be able to get in time. That is a bummer, but as it turns out,
But before I realized that, I was settling in to work on it.
And that requires tea, which requires a trip across the compound.
That, in turns, necessitates talking with people and seeing
how they’re doing and how things are working. And putting out cookies for
everyone. (I’m not making this up – I was talking to the cooks and they are not
allowed to put out food someone else makes, so I, as a neutral non-cook, am in
charge, at least temporarily, of setting out the baked-by-community members
cookies.)
So, naturally, I pick up a few cookies, but also gathered
all these plastic bags to throw away. In doing so, I recognized I heard sirens
in the background, but thought nothing of it.
Armed with tea, trash and cookie parts (I took three smashed
sugar ones), I wandered to the Dumpster on my way back to the RV. Way off in
the end of the lot, I noticed a big red truck. Then I noticed its lights
flashing. And then, as sirens wailed, another one pulled in, and then a
police-type fire car drove in the other driveway.
Turns out, one of our reefers – freezer semi-trucks – had
caught on fire somehow. The wiring or something. It wasn’t serious – the fire
fighters weren’t there for more than five minutes – but the trailer is again
down and we had to move, assembly-line fashion, everything from that freezer
into the other truck.
And once we moved it, we had to move it again to rotate the
food, like to push the meats back as far as we could to keep it frozen.
So this, I am sure, is not in my original job description,
but it’s one of those things that has to be done. And this is me we’re talking
about. If it has to be done, I’m going to be in there doing it.
I’m just not sure how to credit that on a timecard for Uncle
Sam.
No comments:
Post a Comment