Thursday, March 31, 2005


Any day that starts off with a call from a government agency is never a good day. I've "worked" for the government before and I was hesitant to "work" for the government again. My problem is is that I'm not really employed by the government, I some how get into these "programs". Life in "programs" is different than life as we currently know it in the working world. Agencies get to make up there own rules. In a perfect utopia, these agencies that run the "programs" would be bound to the same laws as every other corporation or small company, but there not. It's kind of like how the Boy Scouts can discriminate against gay leaders and scouts, even though they get government grants and use federal camping grounds for free. It's government funded, yet clearly the "program" breaks government discrimination laws.

I feel like Tiger Woods, standing outside the white-only country club, beating my head against the door, possibly throwing my golf clubs. "I'm qualified!!!" I want to yell. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, "My pregnancy doesn't make me a bad person. It doesn't erase my qualifications. I can be a mother and a community development worker."

My "program" called me today because they were concerned about my pregnancy. Concerned because I would have to use my 10 sick days and 10 personal days to give birth to my child. Any other sick time or recovery time that I needed would disqualify me from the "program". After those twenty days, I could not take another single sick day or go on vacation. There is no maternity leave. There are no personal days.

Unfortunately for me, I believe in responsibilities and honor. I believe that once you commit to something, you shouldn't back out unless you absolutely have to. I still believe in the goals of the "program" and the power of grass-roots activism. God help me, I still want to do follow through with what I signed up to do. I must be insane, but I feel so desperate for someone, anyone to give me a chance to work. There must be a group of people out there that is willing to look beyond my gargantan belly and see something more than a prelactating, bare-foot, knocked-up woman.

I promise if you hire me I'll wear shoes to work. Promise.

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