Working at the JCC

My job is simple. I am a secretary/sales associate. I greet members while simultaneously answering phone calls, selling programs, mediating small conflicts (usually caused by grouchy seniors or rich woman), and directing traffic to either the gym, JCC, JFS, the Federation, pool, spa, or cafe.

Yes, our building is that big.

With that said, imagine all that can go on. Picture how many people can be swarming our foyer on a daily basis. If you are having trouble using your imagination, this might help--we have three parking lots. All of which fill up frequently.

Most of my entertainment, high blood pressure, and gratification come from this one place. So, for the sake of my own sanity and your own curiosity (I hope you have at least some), I will share with you an ordinary day.

It is raining; cold, but still they arrive by car loads to fill the parking lots. It is time for work, the space, lunch, training, or all three. Sounds echoes into the cavernous corner I sit in, but visually, this hallway is much more stimulation.
Any Lubavitch mother is attached to her stroller by the wrists. (One asks me if I have a plastic bag to protect her wig from the rain). The snob from upstairs is wearing her red coat again but this time is lined with fur. (I know she is approaching by her wooden clambering). The high water pant count is up to five and it's only noon (what other ill-fitting-pant disasters await?).

Traffic slows down after lunch, and I am relieved the picture-seeking lady isn't here demanding me to fulfill her needs when she doesn't know who she is looking for, what agency she is supposed to meet, or what program she is associated with.

Gloria Medoff rolls up to me slowly and slouched behind her walker. Its story  time. A Muslim came to her classroom carrying a gun when she was teaching in Cleveland after 9/11. He threatened to shoot her in front of the class for teaching 'his' children about Jewish holidays. She may have been older, she said, but no one messes with a Chicagoan. Gloria sent him running by saying she was in the Jewish Mafia (does that even exist?).

Most come in sour-lipped, complaining that it's too cold, then it's too hot. The cafe smells funny. What's burning? Why is this event in that room? It's too small. It's too big. Oy veyzmear, It's hot again. Now, it's cold! Call someone will ya?

I have answers. In a way, I am powerful. As soon as the glass doors spit members into the hollow foyer, I am responsible for reshaping how they feel. I am polite. I smile and say hello; seem genuinely interested in how his/her day is going. I try my best to send these people on their way with an energized faith in the power of kindness to strangers.

I guess when you boil off all of the shallow, little annoyances, my job is precious. Considering I have been gluttonously absorbing Jewish support for years. The community raised me, nourished me (literally, that's some good ass food), sent me to college, gave me a job--two. Now, I should return the good vibes. At the very least, I should be someone people can rely on. If that's all I walk away with (and a little more Yiddish, Hebrew, and Russian), I will be happy.