Karla Noyes' Captain's Log Series

I swear, my work-life reads like a county song. Last week I attended a new employee orientation where a couple of people in management spoke. Our acting Executive Director, a 33-year Army veteran, retired as a colonel, is about 5’7”, built like a string bean, couldn’t weigh more than 100 pounds but she got that commanding voice, “Any questions?!” I think the answer was supposed to be “No… sir!” But I haven’t been in the Army and I did have a question. “Yesterday I overheard the brother of a resident say that he’d heard a nurse say something that sounded like she was stealing his money. What should you do if you hear something like that?” I was expecting an answer like, “go to your supervisor” but she, and the head of licensed care who was there, said they wanted to hear more about it. Later, my (long suffering) supervisor called me into his office and asked what I thought of the orientation. I told him it was great, I really ‘got’ the sincerity and genuine caring of management and to...

I was given a tour of the Member Services building and saw the 6 lane bowling alley, the PX (nice little store with just about anything you’d need, including ice cream), the TV studio, the Music Recording room, the bulletin board with flyers of the organized outings, keep in mind the Lincoln Theater abuts the building with lots of entertainment for the small, but wealthy, community of Yountville. The last stop was the Allied Council office. I met the secretary, L____, and picked up a menu for the resident’s cafeteria. The day was organized to honor Native Americans with special talks and presentations along with Trout, Buffalo Burgers and wild rice. L____ said she had some Native American ancestry, a great grandfather, “I’m so glad I didn’t inherit his nose!” I asked her if she’d had her DNA sequenced, yes she had, through Ancestry, and a long-lost nephew had contacted her. I boasted that I found two half-brothers. She replied quite enviously, “I don’t have any half-siblings.” I felt...

I’ve worked 8 days at the Veteran’s Home in Yountville. There are 7 of us in one good-sized room, each with a largish cubical; quite spacious. One of my ‘walls’ is a large north-east facing window, I have a Peace Plant and a Boston Fern and the 3 stuffed animals my mother made for me on my shelves. My co-workers are super nice and friendly, outspoken, joyous, loving. We have very supportive supervisors who have the attitude of facilitating their subordinates, ‘how can I help you?’ So very different from my last, brief place of employment. I am the person who first meets with the prospective residents to explain the costs and receive financial documents. (I think I’ve been training for this job my whole life.) The residents are veterans who live in California (although we have a few that have snuck in from other states, all you need is a California Driver’s License) and are over 55. That’s pretty much it. They have a preference for Purple Hearts, Distinguished Service, POWs, those...

18 months; 78 applications; 17 interviews; 1 one-month job. I should put Job Hunting on my resume. If you’re looking for a job: Be prepared. Specifically work up some stories of 1.) how you’ve dealt will a customer who was screaming at you; 2.) your team-work experience; 3.) how you handled an employee who wouldn’t give you information you need to do your job; stuff like that. I love to get questions I’m not prepared for like: “you get a call from the parents of a Department of Rehabilitation client demanding to know about changes to  their child’s plan of action. The client is 22 and not conserved. What do you do?” It’s kind of a trick question, the clue is, “not conserved.” The answer is “it’s none of your business, your kid needs to learn how to man-up and we’re here to help them.” Well, said with great tact. By the way, I have the greatest respect for what the Department of Rehabilitation is doing, really giving people self-determined goals, guidance and support. They’re mak...

My mother was a tomboy and so was I. She loved to run barefoot through the woods of Nanaimo, British Columbia, and could spit through her teeth farther than any of the boys. I loved climbing trees and sliding down the wet, spring-grassy hill on a sheet of cardboard with the neighborhood kids in The Gully, across the street from my home. As a kid I remember attending parties and being shooed into the kitchen with the women to help with the dishes while the men lounged in the living room. The women talked about their families and relationships; I was sure the men were talking about politics and things that really mattered. Imagine my crushing disappointment when I snuck into the living room and found the men talking about football. Life is not fair! Krist! Where could I find some interesting people? (Now, I understand the importance of relationships and would prefer to be ‘in the kitchen.’) When married, decades ago, I organized a dinner party for my husband’s closest friends, ...

After lunch Friday, I was called into my supervisor’s office, again, given another 2 page letter about how unprofessional and insubordinate I’ve been, and given 2 Administrative Directives to read, sign and return by the end of the day. Since I’ve not completed my 12-month probation period she could fire me at any time without cause, maybe it’s better for them if I quit. What really upset me was knowing that BOTH of my two co-workers were ratting on me, I thought I could trust one. I went back to my desk and my entire body was roiling, not just my stomach but arms, legs, everything. This might be the fight or flight response. The short story is I calmly told my two co-workers, in the presence of two accounting personnel that share the office, that obviously you both don’t like me and rat on me all the time, I can’t stay here, which is too bad because I like the work and you’ve invested a lot of time and energy in training me. I’m sorry to leave you with all this work on my desk (well...

I work at Napa State Hospital, the bulk of the patients are there because they have been homeless, mentally ill and have done something against the law, been caught and have been processed through the criminal-justice system which has determined that they are incompetent to stand trial, until they get ‘stabilized’ on a cocktail of medications (this place is Club Med.) Previously I mentioned what an unpleasant place it is for the residents: the pale-green walls, the heat, the fence topped with razor wire. I guess it’s a minimum security prison, for the mentally ill. There’s no ‘getting better’ and going back to your family, job or community. When you ‘get better’ you go to jail. To think that California’s prisons are full of the mentally ill. First you’re mentally ill and then you’re stuck in prison. What a nightmare! Thank you, Ronald Regan, when you were governor and shut down the places for these people and turned them out onto the streets to become our homeless problem. This isn’t...