The Lady, or the Tiger? My chronic state of being a temp seems to be finally, well, tempered. I’ve scored a job offer from the City of Baltimore. My mission, should I choose to accept it, will be to instruct the youth of our fair city in the finer points of the English language. (Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll be lucky if I can get three kids per year to conjugate “be” correctly.) At the same time, there’s a fairly good prospect of getting a permanent job here at JHU.
Why are these overwhelming life decisions invariably fraught with “ifs”? The teaching job pays reasonably well, but the job at JHU (should I get an offer) pays significantly more. The teaching job is probably my last real chance to do something with my degree (read: something I find even marginally interesting), but the job at JHU would ensure that I’d never have to worry about paying all the bills on time.
This, as they say, is the way the ball bounces…ten years with no sign of a decent job prospect, and now two land in my lap simultaneously. If nothing else, the ensuing angst ought to do wonders for my karma.
My own present employment drama coincides with the local PBS station’s presentation of “Manor House”, one of public TV’s efforts to create a reality show for the non-mentally-challenged. A modern middle-class family is plonked into the milieu of a nouveau-aristocracy family of 1906; they’re accompanied by a coterie of volunteers who assume the roles of various household staff. There’s a good bit of strife; the modern types don’t feel too comfortable shoved into the restrictive lifestyles of a century past. Personally, I think I’d do a fine job as a butler (being too short and not pretty enough to be a footman). If I were, you can bet that family would have the shiniest damned silver in the Empire. The staff—particularly those who got stuck with the crummier workloads—make a lot of noise about oppression, etc.
I don’t see the oppression at all. Sure, the pay is low, but you also get free room and board. The uniforms would be paid for. The income, small or not, would be completely disposable. And if the work is hard, it’s still work, isn’t it? I don’t see why people mind the necessity of servants to defer to the family they work for. It’s simply part of the job description. I’m expected to behave deferentially to the President of the University; what’s so oppressive about bowing your head to the lord of the manor? Hell, he’s paying you to do it. If you don’t want to do it, you can get a job in a factory.
The disappearance, between the two World Wars, of domestic service created a gigantic void in the economies of both Britain and the US. Even the most basic middle-class households employed at least one person to function as cook/maid/nanny; a house the size of my St. Paul street rowhouse probably involved two or three household staff. Assuming that each house in the row had two people on staff, that’s thirty-eight jobs created by one city block alone. How many job opportunities vaporized forever when that particular aspect of society faded?
Sadly, for a good number of the people who would have once worked in domestic service there are few options. The school systems are trying desperately to focus more on math and science, but we cannot assume that every student will be able to excel. There will always be those whose forte is, in fact, silver polishing. Assuming that I end up trying to mold the minds of Baltimore’s youth, it will be very hard to come up with a plan to teach both the floor-buffers and the rocket scientists.
Why are these overwhelming life decisions invariably fraught with “ifs”? The teaching job pays reasonably well, but the job at JHU (should I get an offer) pays significantly more. The teaching job is probably my last real chance to do something with my degree (read: something I find even marginally interesting), but the job at JHU would ensure that I’d never have to worry about paying all the bills on time.
This, as they say, is the way the ball bounces…ten years with no sign of a decent job prospect, and now two land in my lap simultaneously. If nothing else, the ensuing angst ought to do wonders for my karma.
My own present employment drama coincides with the local PBS station’s presentation of “Manor House”, one of public TV’s efforts to create a reality show for the non-mentally-challenged. A modern middle-class family is plonked into the milieu of a nouveau-aristocracy family of 1906; they’re accompanied by a coterie of volunteers who assume the roles of various household staff. There’s a good bit of strife; the modern types don’t feel too comfortable shoved into the restrictive lifestyles of a century past. Personally, I think I’d do a fine job as a butler (being too short and not pretty enough to be a footman). If I were, you can bet that family would have the shiniest damned silver in the Empire. The staff—particularly those who got stuck with the crummier workloads—make a lot of noise about oppression, etc.
I don’t see the oppression at all. Sure, the pay is low, but you also get free room and board. The uniforms would be paid for. The income, small or not, would be completely disposable. And if the work is hard, it’s still work, isn’t it? I don’t see why people mind the necessity of servants to defer to the family they work for. It’s simply part of the job description. I’m expected to behave deferentially to the President of the University; what’s so oppressive about bowing your head to the lord of the manor? Hell, he’s paying you to do it. If you don’t want to do it, you can get a job in a factory.
The disappearance, between the two World Wars, of domestic service created a gigantic void in the economies of both Britain and the US. Even the most basic middle-class households employed at least one person to function as cook/maid/nanny; a house the size of my St. Paul street rowhouse probably involved two or three household staff. Assuming that each house in the row had two people on staff, that’s thirty-eight jobs created by one city block alone. How many job opportunities vaporized forever when that particular aspect of society faded?
Sadly, for a good number of the people who would have once worked in domestic service there are few options. The school systems are trying desperately to focus more on math and science, but we cannot assume that every student will be able to excel. There will always be those whose forte is, in fact, silver polishing. Assuming that I end up trying to mold the minds of Baltimore’s youth, it will be very hard to come up with a plan to teach both the floor-buffers and the rocket scientists.
posted by Daniel | 12:36 PM
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