Clerking 5
Emergencies
A clerk is perfectly situated
for emergencies. We have enough authority to handle moderate and small events
by ourselves if we like, but if things get heavy or ugly we have every right
and even the responsibility to hand the problem off to a person in charge. And
even then we get to, if we like, be a kind of emergency assistant, no longer
responsible, but still involved in something important and unusual. This means
everything from holding the door for the paramedics to, mostly, telling the
story of what has happened and is happening over and over to a variety of very
interested audiences, sometimes for days to come. What this really means to us
and, to me in particular, is that attending to emergencies, if they are of the
right sort, is a major treat outranked only by breaks, lunch and going home.
It’s such a treat because even if I am doing what seems to be a hideous and
ugly task; cleaning plops of excrement from a hallway or attempting to rouse a
limp, not scrupulously clean man who seems to have stopped breathing, a deep
part of my clerk brain, fooled by variety, is reveling in the idea that, at
least, despite everything, I am not working. And that, after all, is all that a
clerk ever wants.
Certainly there are
emergencies that I would or do hate. I do not imagine I would fancy a gunman
opening fire at my workplace. I would not enjoy seeing any but an extremely
rare few of my colleagues coming to harm. But these are extraordinarily unusual
events. And likewise I do tend to very much dislike emergencies I am involved
in directly; a vomiting child can be a nice diversion, whereas a child vomiting
on me, no matter how eventful, is distinctly unappealing. A few hundred dollars
that has gone missing and that I had access to is quite uncomfortable whereas a
few hundred dollars missing that I had no possible connection to is, frankly,
of profound interest.
So what emergencies am I
talking about? The range is enormous. On a beginning level are things like a
patron with a hand wound, fairly minor, but dripping some blood, a stray cat
loose in the library, a small car crash in the parking lot, an outside ashtray
on fire, all good for a few minutes and maybe even some fresh air. Somewhere
towards the middle is water dripping from the ceiling, a computer system crash,
a toilet bowl filled with rolls of toilet paper, or maybe a glass entrance door
smeared with vomit. There are only a very small minority of clerks who so
treasure emergencies that they would take all of these on, but, really, these are
all good for ten to thirty minutes of not working, and think more towards the
30 minute mark. There is no one, clerk, management, or patron, who will begrudge
you a careful thoroughness punctuated with idle chatting and storytelling when
you’re in the process of cleaning vomit. Then, of course, there is the top
level of emergencies where you have flashers and other seriously deranged
patrons, tornado warnings with massive storms, full power failures (heaven on
earth but never long enough!), and the previously mentioned odoriferous man who
can’t be roused. These generally are good for half an hour to the rest of the
night and it’s like an angel of god has come down from the heavens just for
you.
In all of this unbridled joy
I am aware there are sick kids, scared cats, victims, and people in mortal
danger. I’m not a terrible person here, just a clerk, and part of being a clerk
is being humane, it’s speaking calmly and reassuringly to a lost child until
they are reunited with their parent, it’s commiserating with you on how you
somehow managed to nearly sever your thumb on the dull plastic of a CD lid.
It’s just that part of being a clerk too, in the very important limbic section
of the clerk brain, is exulting in getting paid for a nice, safe, interesting
seat at Calamities' Table. All too many are the seats at that awful table, but
all too few are the really good, plush ones. The pleasures of clerking are
fleeting and precious and I, for one, am ever anxious to grab a seat, put my
feet up, and only get back to work when everything, and I mean everything, is
one hundred and ten percent okay. And then I’m happy to tell you all about it.
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