May 29, 2020 was my last day as a full time circulation supervisor at the William Hall Free Library, in Cranston Rhode Island. Forty five days from that date I’ll be allowed to work there as a part time employee. It’s protocol, nothing personal. I am going to be a full time studio artist. I am 62.
I’ve worked there since June 5, 2005. I left one week short of 15 years. I worked part time until October 3, 2016.
During those years my dad died (2007), my mom died (2018), my son graduated from high school & college (NYU 2019). Two of our cats died and our beloved dog Alice died. I wasn’t with her because I was at work. My biggest regret.
This library is 3 blocks from my house. I have walked there and home in almost all weather since September 24, 2015. I have worked there longer than any of the current employees.
There have been good and bad and sad times. There was a flood in the auditorium. I removed, with our beloved custodian Alfredo, excrement and detritus left by a suicidal homeless woman who lived for a time in our backyard. Two dead squirrels. A poop stuck in the toilet – so large it took two of us to remove (it was impossible to flush). I’ve trained new employees, added books to our stacks (thanks to our branch librarian who nearly always accepts my recommendations). Art monographs, novels, non-fiction.
I have made many mistakes. I’ve learned so much. I was responsible for the money count, lost and damaged material, disgruntled, sad, needy demanding, dangerous, wonderful patrons, allowing crews in to fix and spruce. During the COVID pandemic I worked every day, often alone. I knew I’d be leaving and I wanted our collection to be in perfect order. I cleaned every cd, gave them new cases, replaced dirty book covers, repaired bindings. I was supposed to retire April 10, then April 30, then May 31. My final day I worked alone to finish my projects, and to write personal note of thanks to my supervisor. I left at 5:20 after working 9 hours.
So, the key. I have a key to the building, and an alarm code. I offered to leave it but was told I could hang on to it for when I’d be back for part time shifts. The next day I was told I needed to return it. A lot of staff has keys. I would say it’s clear that I can be trusted.
Without detail, which would only hurt some people – and contrary to popular belief I never want to hurt anyone – I will say that I have given my all over these past 15 years. One very unhappy incident occurred there which changed me. September 24, 2015. I was 57. I was almost fired. It was personal. I stayed, restored my reputation, got my full time position. No need to tell the whole story at this time.
The world and our country are in turmoil. We have a sociopath fascist president, a pandemic, and racism rooted so deep in the hearts and minds of our American population that even the election of a black president hasn’t moved us forward in a meaningful way. We have an airborne virus not just killing citizens but keeping the elderly in what is basically solitary confinement, maybe safe from COVID but losing their minds from loneliness.
In this big scheme of things my story is so small. I never expected fanfare when I left my job. It’s too complicated. Small groups only, reopening RI for phase 2, much to be done. My boss gave me a card, a slice of my favorite cake (Gregg’s white with white frosting), and a gift. I will miss working with her. We were a team.
But that key.
It feels personal.
Lonely artist. 