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Nonfiction

Valerie Ackroyd

We are Mad, Mad, Mad

As I sit here sniffling and choking in front of my computer, box of tissues and a cup of steaming hot water with lemon and the dredges of my honey pot close to hand, I consider the events that drove me to this situation. Was it the four day hop across the country last week, with the time change and ensuing loss of sleep? Or was it the sixteen hours spent in planes and airports, edgy, wondering if flights would be on time (they weren't), and wondering if the stranger hacking away in the seat beside me carried some mysterious virus (he probably did). Or was it the return to the workplace last Friday, jet lagged and sleep deprived, a mountain of data sitting on my desk, produced by a cousin to the very same machine that now provides me this avenue to vent my spleen?

Whatever it was, this cold (or mysterious virus) has proven to be a mixed blessing. Having dragged my protesting body into the office these past six days, last night I finally croaked "enough" and allowed myself to be borne away by my concerned mate, tucked into bed, and given stern instructions to "stay there until you are human again". That, of course, may mean that I will still be here when Gabriel blows his celestial trumpet. Because, you see, having moved to the U.S. three years ago (at the behest, I may say, of aforementioned mate), I have become seriously infected by the most virulent virus at all--the American "Work Ethic".

Oh, I had been aware of this pestilence when I lived in Canada. There were even a few Canadians of my acquaintance who were carriers. Still, I believed that, after 20 years in the gentle workplace of Canadian universities, where reflection and recreation are bywords, my competence and commonsense would be a match for anyone who might seek to make a (whisper the word) "workaholic" out of me. After all, weren't we now living in a small town of 19,000 in the Oregon mountains? Wasn't the college that recently hired me one third the size of the universities I had heretofore worked at? Surely, things would move at a slow pace and I would be able to spend time "doing what matters most", being involved in the community. Perhaps, in my spare time, finally writing that novel that has been nagging at me for several years.

Hah! My first inkling that my assumptions might need to be "readjusted" came when my boss proudly announced that she had not been home for dinner for the past month, that she carries a cell phone so that her children can speak to her and that her idea of a "vacation" is a long weekend spent painting her house. "This won't happen to me", I said to myself. I continued to say it over the next three months as the 40 hour workweek (a shock in itself as our norm back home was 35-37.5) became 42, 43, 45 and finally, the last few weeks, edged up to 50. And why is it so? Does the work really warrant it? Truthfully--no. With the right training from the beginning, with planning and preparation, and with delegation, this needn't have happened. And, as I endure another fit of coughing and think that it is time to repair to my bed once again, I swear that it will NOT happen again next year.

The sad thing is, though, that in this cutthroat society, even in this small college environment, working 40 hours or less is seen as being unambitious, "not with the program". It doesn't seem to matter how effective you are--if you're effective, they'll ask you to take on more. And, if you refuse, you'll be nailed to your desk forever, turned down for promotions because "she's not a team player" or "doesn't have what it takes". Just what does it take beyond a willingness to sacrifice family, health and, ultimately, sanity, for something that can be gone in the blink of an eye?

I wonder how many other competent, commonsense, people are out there who are underrated and under appreciated because they see that there is more to life than running around in a sort of "Lobster's Quadrille" * work wise. Perhaps we can start our very own support group (another phenomenon that has emerged from our driven society). Any suggestions?

*   I now have a deep and abiding respect for Lewis Carroll and the truths he spoke in "Alice in Wonderland". I wonder if some bright light (it could even be me if I could find the time) might decide to write "The Tao of Alice"? It might just become an underground management bestseller.