Last week I had an individual stop by my office for a quick administrative task that needed to be accomplished by noon the following day. The task was purely accommodative on my part as my office did not service the individual but an office in Montana. She had called earlier in the week to make arrangements with my office manager to take care of the task; however, upon her delayed arrival, I was in the office by myself, my assistant's vacation days having already started.
I've worked for my present company for 29 years, having just celebrated the milestone a couple of weeks ago, on August 3, 2022. I haven't been able to complete many of the simplest administrative tasks for at least the past ten years. The ignorance isn't due to any declining cognitive ability on my part (I hope); however, it is the result of two specific items—first, my complete trust in my office manager's ability to do her job. Second, rapid changes in technology and processes have occurred over the same timeframe. Trust has increased in direct correlation with my increasing ignorance of the procedures my office partner deals with daily.
Therefore, I was at a complete loss when (let's call her June) walked in the door for my help. After a call to Montana to confirm what needed to transpire, it became apparent that I wouldn't be able to assist her without help from someone who understood how to accomplish the task. Calling my home office, the operator soon contacted someone who could help. The home office assistant and I began resolving the issue, which involved many apologies on my part and the constant walking back and forth to the computer station and printer for receipts and documents.
Between these trips, June and I would visit while the home office assistant completed her task, and I soon learned that June was originally from Cedar City and was visiting when the needed jobs were required. She thanked me for my time, and I thanked her for her patience.
As the tasks were completed and as June and I ran out of things to say; I realized that I knew this woman; I hadn't recognized her before; however, the more we talked, the more her personality began to show through the older person that sat before me now. She wouldn't know me from Adam; however, I knew her brother, so I asked, "is Kent (not his real name) your brother?" "Yes," she replied, somewhat shocked. It was apparent she held no recollection of me in my much older persona either. "We went to high school together, not close friends as Kent was a year younger than I; however, we got along well and had several mutual friends." was my response. Our conversation was interrupted by the administrative assistant letting us know she had completed the tasks for June. We thanked her and began to walk toward the door.
"Did you have any older brothers or sisters?" June asked as I gathered the remaining paperwork off the printer stand. "Yes, two. A sister Jan who would be about the same age as you and two years older than me; then Susan who is five years older than me." June stopped walking, "Jan is your sister?" she said. "Yes, why?" I asked. "Jan taught me an extremely important life lesson in the ninth grade." she said. June then explained how they had been in a class together, and a term paper was due. June said she had found a magazine article and copied it word for word, turning it in as her own work. "I plagiarized the entire article." June said, and "Jan ratted me out."
The way June said "ratted me out." bugged me. June was a popular girl in school and my sister, not so much. I can only assume the hell June and her friends unleashed on my sister, especially in the ninth grade. It was evident that although June had learned a life lesson, it had taken years and perhaps decades for June to recognize it as valuable. With the associated sneer of "ratted me out," I assumed the cost still offset the life lesson learned by June, and the embarrassment of the class had made the memory difficult.
I wondered, "does June ever think about the potential cost and harm done by her to my sister's long-term mental health caused by her torment in the ninth grade?" What life lesson of value did you teach my sister?" I toyed with asking Jan about the incident and then decided against it. Jan had successfully moved on to become a fantastic teacher, working in some of the most remote villages in Alaska. Having completed cosmetology school and being an accomplished seamstress, Jan quickly became the hub of any town she and her husband lived in. She taught everyone's children, cut or styled hair, and sewed wedding dresses. As a result, Jan grew to be loved by many thousands of individuals. As I listened to June explain her life lesson, it dawned on me how proud I was that those remote villages would receive life lessons from a person of integrity, which was evident in my sister even as early as the ninth grade.
Written September 10, 2022