white noise

Wow.

Original article linked from boingboing.

I woke up this morning with the realization that I don’t have to dread it if the telephone rings. In fact, for the last three days, the world has been strangely peaceful as if a storm has finally passed leaving behind a snow covered landscape. You know that softness and serenity that lingers behind with the fallen snow? It’s how I feel although not so much surrounded by it as much as engulfed in it. It emanates from the inside and I can feel it radiate outward, passing through my heart and leaving through my fingers and toes.

I no longer feel powerless or as if I’m under constant attack. None of the problems I face today seem insurmountable. Barbie’s in the hospital. Either she’ll recover, or she won’t. We talked last July about this trip being a sort of rite of passage for her. The visit became personal for her then, and I realized it, but it has meant tormenting and bullying my father just enough to combat his resistance. I want him to have his trump card, but I also want him to know that I NEED them to be my parents, that as much as Barbie wants it, I need it and for them to play by my rules. In this case, that means allowing me to be the daughter, not the caretaker, the guardian, or the meat shield.

If Gail, my future mom-in-law, gets overly excited about some wedding detail, I sit calmly now and repeat the word “stop” until she listens to what I have to say. There are times when her energy turns frenetic and I must retreat before she exhausts me. She doesn’t get upset or take it personally, or if she does, she says something about it. We get along so well I may have to feel guilty for having a mother-in-law who’s so wicked-awesome.

I’m communicating again instead of feeling like a hostage with no power or the will to work through my own problems. My hope for the future is that I learn to recognize them for what they are much sooner than I have in the recent past. Not just recognize them, but act on them and fix them, even if that means the outcome isn’t the one I first hoped for.

Today is my bestest friend in the whole wide world’s 40th birthday. Hers is one of those days like my step-mom’s that I can’t, for the life of me, keep straight. Even if I write it down. So she takes pity on me and calls ME on her birthday.

HAPPY 40TH BIRTHDAY YANA-HONEYBUNNYSNOOKYPOOKIEBUNCHESOFOOOOHS. I love you to the very depths of my being and I’m sending BIG ol’ happy vibes for a splenderific day and a fantastic new year. We’ll party when you get here!

Love and hugs,

Diann

You’ve seen these videos on YouTube, right? Baltimore Cops Vs. skateboarder and A Second Video Dredged Up

When I was 24 years old, I took a job at the Inyo County Jail as a Booking Clerk. That position launched me into a 5-year career with the jail as a Correctional Officer. What disturbs me most about Officer Salvatore Rivieri’s behavior in both of these videos isn’t that it’s redundant or more prevalent than we’d want to admit, but that in watching him, I saw myself reflected in his actions. It isn’t just that he’s a power-monger, but more so that he’s a miserable wretch, and a badge has given him the power to act on his wretchedness in ways that would get most of us fired or arrested. It’s not likely that he’s sitting back on his paid vacation contemplating his actions with the sickening revelation that he SERIOUSLY needs counseling. Experience tells me he’s back there in the quiet comforts of his own home screaming at the top of his lungs about how rotten we all are for thinking HIM rotten instead of giving him an EFFING MEDAL BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDED TO TEACH THAT PUNK A LESSON! After all, the laws that apply to the rest of us don’t apply to him.

Seriously, I’d pay to be a fly on his wall right now, complete with camera phone and a YouTube account.

Before Law Enforcement, I considered myself one of those affable fence-walking creatures, always balanced right smack in the middle of that center line. The good thought I was good, the bad thought I was bad, and the truly evil left me alone because I wasn’t above sticking a fork in one’s thigh to get my point across: if you don’t like me, fine, then don’t bug me about it. I was meek right up to being pushed too far and learned early that most bullies are all bluster when someone looks them in the eye and says with conviction, “be willing to kill me because that’s what it’ll take to stop me.” I was self-reliant enough that I didn’t care who did or didn’t like me, but not so self-contained as to forsake someone who needed a friend. It was a happy balance and one I managed to return to even after some harrowing, life altering moments (most notably facing the past, the abuse, the sexual assaults, etc.). But, working in the jail when I did (hindsight being what it is) was probably the very worst possible timing. I was open and raw emotionally, impressionable, easily manipulated and, well, just generally gullible. I walked into it feeling strong and positive, believing it was my chance to make a difference. And in small ways, I did make a difference. Mostly, though, I succeeded in turning myself into a monster — not nearly as horrific as Rivieri — but a monster, nonetheless. I didn’t like the rabid, toothy-furry thing snarling back at me from the mirror.

When I accepted the job, I didn’t understand that swearing an oath to uphold the law meant losing 95% of the friends and family I knew. In essence, I became a traitor. I didn’t realize I could never walk that center line ever again or that my personality would change irrevocably. What I did know was that swearing to uphold the law didn’t set me above it. I could never reconcile this in others — what sets most “Leos” (Law Enforcement Officials) apart from the general public is that they’ve never been caught. Believe me, I’ve read the California Penal Code. Laws are broken. Every day. No one is innocent. Of course, if one reads the bible, one already knows this to be true. WE’RE ALL SINNERS AND WE’RE DOOMED. Doomed, I say.

But, I digress. :)

Most of the men in my department and some of the women I worked with, too, suffered aggression problems. I should clarify here that working every day with a public comprised of people at their worst can erode the patience of even the nicest of souls; it is no easy task. It might be good to point out, too, that for as much as Leos must be professional and patient with the public the public doesn’t always respond in kind. Ten and twelve hour days, seven or eight day weeks are not unusual. My shortest work week was 40 hours, but my longest week was 70 and I worked overtime nearly every week for five years. Angry or frightened people can be very mean. Add to that all the drunks, drug addicts, pedophiles, rapists and murderers an officer might have to deal with in a DAY and maybe you can begin to understand why some of them might be a tad bit bleary-eyed and crabby. I don’t care how stoic some of them might seem, each one carries his daily interactions with him.

In no way is that meant to excuse gross misconduct and the behavior in the aforementioned videos is MILD compared to some of what I was subjected to while in uniform. By the time I turned in my badge and headed north, I trusted my back to the inmates more than I did my co-workers. This isn’t just run of the mill cynicism, either. I expected nasty, evil things from inmates. I never knew what to expect from my co-workers. After seeing the worst in people for so long, one just automatically assumes the worst in people. I know. It took me less than five years to start believing ALL people were vile and evil, and I was already on record for believing most of them were useless, anyhow (let me clarify that: mostly men).

I guess what I’m saying is that Rivieri’s behavior is nothing unusual. For some, it begins the moment you pin a badge on them. For others, it happens gradually over time. My transition back to the corporate world proved horrid. I was so used to telling people what to do AND making them comply that in the real world I had no idea what to do. Out here, if nobody cares about your stupid rules, what are you going to do about it? I certainly couldn’t take their television privileges away from them, or move them from C pod to D pod, or worse, lock them down in A pod. For a year, not only did I struggle to regain my health physically and emotionally, but I had to learn a whole new set of coping skills AGAIN. Customer service? The customer is always right? What do you mean, I can’t hang up on a customer who is yelling at me and calling me names? BET ME!

I’m actually pretty good at customer service. I’m honest and empathetic. While my social skills and my Southern hospitality might both be lacking, my people skills are still sharp, and I’m good at reading people intuitively. But, having been trained NOT to be a “yes-man” won’t give me the Customer Service Rep of the Year award any time soon. And, even to this day, I have a hard time caring. Whoever thought allowing employees to be horsewhipped by customers who are out of line should also be horsewhipped. Severely. I gleefully volunteer for the job of Horse Whipper-er too. No pun intended. Honest.

My friend Denise went in for surgery today at 6 a.m. to repair “girl” troubles she’s been having for the last nine months. This problem, which has a technical name I cannot remember, is the result of a surgery she had last year. Since she’s been feeling poorly over the last few months, please send happy healing thoughts so that she might get better and be able to move on from this to bigger and funner things.