Supervisor

 

As I turn the corner at Esmond and 30^th street, I can’t help but notice a confab of PG&E trucks up ahead. At least three. With spinning yellow lights atop, ladders raised, and of course, a small mob of workers: men in hard hats, oranges vests and beards.

            Should I take another route today and avoid walking into their domain?

            No. I am not gonna let some PG&E guys keep me from my walking path. After all, they aren’t gonna do anything to me, right?

            As I turn the corner at 31^st street and begin my march through them, I can’t help but engage. “Looks like you guys have a Situation here.”

            They all chuckle. One emerges from the group, scraggly black dreadlocks erupting from under his hardhat. “We are in need of a Supervisor today. You game?”
            I laugh. “Sure.”

            “Someone has to tell these guys to get to work!” he bellows, the men all laughing behind him.

            I slow my pace, turn toward the group, and point at them all authoritatively: “I can do that! Okay, guys, GET TO WORK!!!!”

            Everyone laughs, myself included.

            But no one moves. Evidently my power as the temporary supervisor is ineffectual and moot. And, I have to wonder, what was it about me initially that inspired Dreadlocks Man to joke about my being the supervisor? Do I have a bossy demeanor?
            I do. But how did he know? My bossiness must come across in my walk. Or the fact that I pronounced that they had a ‘situation’ going on when I first came upon them. Obviously, they do. And I had no clue what it was, but it didn’t matter. They just needed a supervisor.

            Of course, I’ve been a supervisor most of my adult life as a college writing instructor. Giving out assignments, controlling classroom behavior, or trying to. I’ll never forget the time I was up in front of my class, going blah blah blah about something I’m sure was beyond boring, but one student would not put away his phone even after I had repeatedly (and nicely) asked him to. Finally, he gave me an exasperated stare and said: “Professor, I can’t put away my phone. I’m on call for a Mission and my commander might notify me at any moment.”

            Shit. What could I say to that? Never mind your commander and your mission to save democracy; you have to listen to your English teacher drone on about the writing process.

            I don’t think so.

            So, today, when my command to “GET TO WORK” was ignored, and obviously it was just a joke and I wasn’t expecting any movement, this wasn’t the first time that my authority as a supervisor had been ignored.

            Though I doubt the PG&E guys were on a mission to save democracy. But a mission to keep the power on?

            Well, what’s more important than that?

Nothing. Except maybe my mission to keep walking. And walking. And walking....