Although July has been a blessedly restful month for me at the café, it has not been without its dramas. The “I want hours, no I don’t” scenario has continued to play out with several of my longer tenured employees. Fortunately, I am over-staffed
at the moment, so when they decide to crap out on me at the last
minute, I either have so many people on the schedule that we won’t miss
the miscreant, or there are plenty of people available to call to cover a
shift. For a short time, that fact alone seemed to have caused the old staff to get religion. Knowing
that there were others available and willing to step in when they
flaked out gave them a little something to think about. Sadly, that seems to be wearing off, now, and they are back to their old ways.
Cook in Training No. 1 continues to be the star of this particular show. Back
in June, after graduating from her high school completion class, she
left me a long, impassioned note about how she was now available to work
any hours, wanted to work forty hours and, in fact, needed the
hours/money in order to pay her bills. And then she requested a week’s vacation.
After her return about four weeks ago, I took her at her word and started giving her as many hours as I could send her way. None of my girls works a forty-hour schedule, not even the good and faithful “D,” who is the closest thing I have to a manager. Hours
of operation and the timing of rush hours, coupled with the fact that
these guys seem to burn out if I give them any more than 35 hours a
week, have dictated this policy. So Cook No. 1 got between 30 and 40 hours on the next three schedules. Essentially, she got exactly what she asked for, within my ability to grant it.
By the end of the first week of her new schedule, Cook No. 1 was already draggin’ her wagon. All
we heard when she showed up for work was how tired she was, and she was
the first one to raise her hand if the need arose to send someone home
early. Odd behavior for someone
who needed the money so badly, but I figured perhaps it would take a few
weeks for her to get used to working so many hours. (This in itself is crazy to me…when I was her age, I was working 45 to 50 hours with one day off a week. AND I was young and in love, and future husband and I still seemed to have time to have a life and advance our relationship. Yes, I know, this smacks of “I walked to school uphill both ways in the snow when I was your age…”)
Long story short, after three weeks of working what passes for full-time these days, young Cook had apparently had her fill. She went home sick two days in a row the fourth week. But found time to research and register for some school program for which she will begin classes August 11. And
left me a note about how she was sorry, but she needed to go back to
school and would only be available to work Friday nights, Saturdays and
Sundays after school started. Was I surprised? Not really. Was I disappointed? Not really. I knew in my heart that young Cook did not want what she was asking me for.
In another life, I would have been proud to fill the role of mentor in her life. She’s a smart, talented girl, and if she wasinclined, she could have become an important part of our team. Working
at the café could have been a valuable learning experience for her,
instead of a constant tug-of-war between her issues and her desire to
rise above them. It’s been obvious for some time that the issues were winning.
At least someone has turned this into a learning experience: ME. I’ve
learned something about these young girls who have grown up in
single-parent households, the kind of young women who, for good or ill,
constitute a large percentage of the labor pool available to me. These girls have one huge handicap: young, irresponsible Gen-X mothers. Who have raised their
daughters, especially the older ones, mostly as free day-care for
younger siblings, and handy shoulders upon which to unload their
messed-up parents’ dramas. There's more of a co-dependent relationship going on here than a parent/child relationship. More often than not, the daughter has had to take on the role of the adult.
In
the olden days, our drive to become autonomous human beings caused us
to lash out against the traditional authority figures in our lives: our
parents. They got the
brunt of our teenage angst—that torturous time of life when adulthood is
both the prize and the punishment toward which we are hurtling hell
bent for leather. But for these
girls—who are essentially parentless, and were royally gypped when it
came to childhood—that angst, that “Here, give me a hand…no, don’t touch
me” stuff needs to find another outlet. So folks like teachers and, unfortunately, bosses, get smacked in the face with it.
Yet that in itself wouldn’t be enough to deter me. I mean, I get it. I understand that, as a business owner, I’m set up to play the “Evil Boss” role in people’s lives. And I have been largely successful in combating that stereotype. But these goofy mothers throw up yet another roadblock for me: They
viciously defend their title of “mother,” and they are extremely
threatened by the existence of another competent woman taking any kind
of role in their daughters’ lives. In short, the mothers hate me (no, they don’t know me personally, but they hate the idea of me…) and are not shy about letting their daughters know it in no uncertain terms.
I’ve
made it a personal policy to be available to help and mentor any
employee who should so desire, but I’m not trying to BE anyone's mother
(though heaven knows many of these girls could use one…) If I can
contribute to a young person’s long-term welfare, I am happy to do it. In fact, it’s one of the rewards of the job. But I’m not about to play tug-of-war with some deranged parent for the affections of her daughter. That’s sad for me…but it’s a disaster for these young girls.
I wish things could be different.
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