Taking Care 6 (i)

       It didn't take me long to settle down into the job and become a respected team member at the day centre.  It was the same at Remus Lodge, too.  I was hardly there, really - just at the beginning and end of each day.  Nevertheless, I began to get a 'feel' for the place and its working routines - and, inevitably, its 'politics'.  I picked up a few things from snippets of gossip and passing comments - things to do with staff loyalties, complaints, etc: who was in with whom, and what people thought about things generally.  Many of the gripes seemed to be focused on the company itself: the penny-pinching around things like food budgets, equipment, repairs. All staff like myself were on minimum wage, and any higher positions - seniors, managers - didn't see increments entirely commensurate with the extra responsibilities they had.  Then there was the fact that none of the care staff were entitled to sick pay.  SSP was all.  This led to people coming in to work with colds and other infections, simply because they couldn't afford to be off.  The only exception to this was with stomach bugs, which meant a minimum of 48 hours off and a return only when symptoms had abated.  That would then mean taking extra shifts or working overtime to keep up.  There was a general sense among staff that they weren't respected by the company - that they were just cogs in the system.  This was no different, though, from some of the other large companies or organisations I'd worked for - including the NHS and the Civil Service.

       As far as loyalties were concerned - most people agreed that Andrea was running a tight ship and doing her best in a difficult job.  But she was a hard task-master.  She had no problems with telling people what she thought - and loudly.  Her 'explosions' (as they were known) often reverberated through the house.  She didn't care for the niceties of privacy, either, and would cheerfully bawl out a staff member in front of not just other staff, but residents too.  I didn't think that was very professional.  But it seemed to have the desired effect of keeping people on their toes - their tip-toes, even - around her.  I came to dread getting similar treatment, so did my usual 'people-pleasing' thing.  It was more about fear than being an arse-licker. That was why, too, I stayed out of her way as much as possible.

       Malcolm seemed to set himself up as some sort of 'buffer' or intermediary - the more 'human' face of the team.  The one who was easier to talk to.  I was wary of him, though.  His 'alpha male' status was always writ large, and I felt I was easy meat for him: ripe for a leg-pull, quiet and reserved.  Meek, even.  There are always people who like to exploit that.  He was always civil to me. But my instincts, which I'd learned to listen to, warned me away from him.  He had a swagger and a loose way with words - especially around women (he definitely thought he was the 'it' man).  I could easily imagine him as the playground bully at school.  He knew I had no interest in football, for instance, so that was a mark-down.  Then, of course, he knew I had a degree and liked reading - so that fuelled things, too.  As was the case with a lot of bullies, the actions and attitudes were probably driven by insecurity. He'd made clear to me on a couple of occasions what he thought about things like 'political correctness' ("Poncy wankers telling us what to think"), poetry ("Bollocks"), vegetarians ("No wonder they all look anorexic"), and so on.  One day, I tried a way in with him by telling him I had a blue belt in Bujinkai karate.  That made him lift an eyebrow, at least.

       "Taekwon-do is my style," he said, in a way that suggested Bujinkai was inferior.

       "What level?" I asked.

       He grinned arrogantly.

       "Put it this way.  I've gone for my black belt three times.  I failed each time.  Not because I don't know my stuff.  But because I'm too violent.  I always get blood."

       I didn't believe that for a minute.  Fortunately, he didn't challenge me to a bit of kumite in the garden.  Which I would have expected, actually. I suspected it was the usual big-mouth guff.

       Then there was the way he spoke about, and also spoke to, the residents.  He liked to think he was the 'it' man with them, too.

       "I can do anything at all with any of these people," he once said to me.  "It's all about respect."

       I didn't think that was entirely true, either.  Respect garnered by fear is hardly the right kind.  I never once heard him speak to Shirley - the most intellectually capable of the residents - in anything other than a negative tone: a put-down at best, an admonishment at worst.  Sharon, his wife, was the same.  And when they were both on shift together, you could feel the change in the mood of the house.  Being a senior, she would be shift lead when she was on, so the other staff on shift were always much quieter - keeping their heads down, getting on with things, keeping out of the way as much as possible.

       There were staff, though, who were 'favourites' of theirs - friends outside of work as well as colleagues - and I soon figured those out.  I'd never been one for gangs or cliques, so didn't get involved with any of that stuff.  It was made easier by the fact that I wasn't there much, anyway.  Again, I'd witnessed in other jobs the damaging and disruptive influence of cliques: the gossip networks, the favouritism, the shunning of 'outsiders', the passive-aggression.  I hated it and would have no part of it.  It reminded me too much of the school playground.  But I knew how it could play against you if you were 'outside'.  Things like the unequal distribution of tasks, back-handed remarks, exclusion from conversations and so on.  It was all about the same thing: power.  The power of the bullies.

       There were staff, too, who - even if they weren't part of the 'in' group - would go along with things for the sake of a quiet life.  I admit that I tended that way myself - depending on the circumstances.  It was why I didn't say too much when I witnessed things - 'in' staff, for instance, speaking to residents like Shirley in the same disrespectful manner that Malcolm and Sharon did.  A few of them used to mock her for her stammer, which made it worse.  I didn't like it, and would certainly never do it myself.  But I let it go over my head, for the sake of a quiet life.  Again, I was new in this kind of work, and was afraid of getting marked out.  I wasn't fully aware (though I should have been, I know) of what officially constituted abusive behaviour.  I'd always wished I could have more confidence in that respect and speak up for myself.  But I didn't.  I didn't want to make waves at this time.  I couldn't afford to lose this job. I was still paying half of our mortgage as well as my rent, and I couldn't manage without an income.  I wanted to feel 'accepted', even if I wouldn't engage in those behaviours and antics.  So I went along with it.  It's something I still feel deeply ashamed about.

       There were other staff, though, who saw through it all in the same way I did - and also didn't like it.  Early on, I picked up a very clear 'anti-Malcolm' sentiment from one of the female care workers.  June was a divorced woman in her fifties who  mainly did night shifts - sleeps or wakes - but sometimes did days to cover for absences.  She also covered at the centre sometimes if I was off.  Once or twice she came with me on swimming trips, which needed extra staff.

       "He's a bastard," she said to me one day, in the quiet of the staff room.  "A nasty, evil bastard."

       She told me how she'd had a brief 'fling' with him when she first started, and how he'd taken her under his wing.  This was while he was already married to Sharon.  He'd made out that things were breaking down and he was looking for a shoulder to cry on.

       "He used me for what he wanted.  He tries it on with all the women who come here to work.  I wasn't in a good place at the time, and was struggling with depression.  He took advantage of it.  All his manipulation and empty charm.  He gets his way, then dumps you.  I feel sorry for her, really.  He must lead her a dog's life."

       I hadn't got that impression from Sharon.  There was always a strong dynamic between them when they were working together.  They both seemed like loud, bullying people. But who knew what went on after hours?

       "That's why I prefer the nights," June went on.  "Because they've gone home, and it's just you and one other person - and either you're asleep or they are.  It's just a lot easier that way."

       There were a couple of other staff, too - quieter ones, like myself - who didn't say much, but who made subtle comments about how they felt: like they were unhappy with the conditions, too, but tolerated things for the sake of a quiet life, because they didn't want to upset the apple cart.

       In a sense, I felt lucky that I wasn't at the house much. I liked being a part of it all - but 'apart' at the same time.  There were a couple of odd days when we couldn't go out - perhaps because the bus had to go in for repairs - and I had to do my own 'skills session' in the home.  That was enough to convince me that I wouldn't have liked being there all the time.  My natural element was with the people, and at the centre with all the others.  That way, I could avoid the politics.  I didn't have to be on my toes all the time, working with different staff each day, having to bend and sway with their preferences and loyalties.

       I quickly found, too, that once I was with the residents, I shifted into 'their' world and became part of that.  It was where I felt most comfortable. These were people with whom I felt a natural identification, and around whom I didn't feel the constant discomfort of having to 'keep up'.  I wasn't out to impress anyone, or to be 'top dog'.  I didn't have to try too hard to be liked and respected.  I think they felt  safe with me - that I wouldn't try to trick them, or make fun of them, or shout at them or otherwise bully them.  It was all a very natural and unaffected relationship - perhaps the easiest I'd ever had in my life among other people  And the ease with that relationship was hugely reassuring and rewarding for me.  It made me feel that 'care' and 'support' in this kind of work was a two-way thing.  I got back as much as I gave - even if in a different way.

       As regards the work, I tended to just do things my way, using my instincts and initiative to guide me.  It wasn't something I found I had to 'learn' to do in the essential sense of it all.  And the positive responses I was getting from these people, and the progress I seemed to be making with them, made me feel - perhaps for the first time in my life - that I'd found something I could really do; something I was good at, too.  Again, it pointed to that two-way thing in care and support: I was gaining from it as well as they were.  I was feeling better about myself.  I wasn't the 'failure' I'd so often both felt and been dismissed as.  I was a 'success'.  It's just that I was succeeding in a different way.  It wasn't about making money, or buying a house or a big car, or getting lots of accolades.  My 'success' felt far more rewarding than any of those frivolous and trivial things. It was more long-lasting, too.

(continued) https://www.abctales.com/story/harryc/taking-care-6-ii