The Experiences of Steven

Old Stress Vs. New Stress

Previously, as a negotiator and shop steward my stress level was at the redline most of the time. I knew that anyone’s misstep, anyone’s challenge to the rules, anyone’s loss of control would instantly fall upon my shoulders to defend. Damage control was only one of my responsibilities. I was also expected to keep the bargaining unit moving in a positive direction regarding working conditions and benefits.

I was in a constant game of David and Goliath. My loyalties were also in conflict; to the bargaining unit, to the City, and to myself and consequently to my family. If I failed to challenge the City I was at odds with the unit. Whatever was achieved was never enough. If I challenged the City I was at odds with my employer. Do too good a job as a steward and perhaps terminating me might seem tempting. I don’t give myself credit enough that the City’s collective mind would consider this, but I am certain that the thought crossed the minds of individual managers time and again. But this was the game. Hit hard enough to get movement. Anger who you must, but do not force them to dig in or no gain will be possible.

I recall waiting outside the City Manager’s office once. I don’t recall what I was to argue over. I only remember thinking, What the hell am I doing? This guy can take my job with the stroke of his pen. He doesn’t need justification or cooperation from anyone. And here I am, about to challenge his authority on behalf of someone else.

That was at the beginning, before the stress really compounded. The problem was that it was never relieved. Every battle led to another whether it was lost or won. I operated on borrowed power from the union and its political allies, always needing to outmaneuver the stronger foe. I never knew if or when my luck would run out, and my personnel file bears the scars to support that. I was a knight, but I stood against kings.

Those who counted me as an enemy knew that the best way to attack me was through someone I represented, someone I protected. Some of them were strong and smart, perhaps more so than I. In fact I must give credit where due and point to them as fellow generals, every bit my peers or better. Others though, were not so strong. But they were often innocent, trusting, caring individuals that would walk right into some trap or torture set up to indirectly punish me for my dissidence. It was an easy feat for a supervisor to divvy jobs in such a way that an innocent would suffer and then be told that it was my insolence that made this happen. Though I was not to blame, it was still an effective way to harm me. Reckonings always followed, but in the meantime innocent persons paid in my place lest my foe should face me. And they were careful not to. What steward who cares for his charges would not suffer an anxiety from such events?

Often times the City would come to me for help. Taxes made the City run. And taxes paid the salaries of my charges. It was a great calamity for me whenever I should ask the union members to help the City campaign for tax increases. They distrusted and disliked the City. Some even seemed to hate it. These were men, some of them at least, that would sink a boat they were in so long as their enemy perished alongside them. Such madness. The City would then, upon successful acquisition of a tax increases, spend their money dubiously, from certain points of view. I would then have to shoulder the culpability of defending the City’s purpose.

Through all of this, I had to constantly play politics. Commit and avoid committing betrayals, both intentional and not. Someone always wanted me gone. I could make no mistakes. The slightest error was documented as if I were a problem employee on the verge of dismissal. I had to monitor my personnel file for covert documents placed there without defense. I had to challenge the slightest loss of ground lest we find ourselves on some slippery slope and lose what accomplishments we had eked over the years. A man might be a friend in one moment and an enemy in the next.

While the stress accompanying all of this was unbelievable, it must be noted that much of it was my own doing. I treated every battle as if it were the most important battle of my life. I fought harder for my friends than I ever would have for myself. Any gain for me was only a side effect of defending another person. Having helped the group, I often helped myself, but the price was always paid.

Panic attacks and general anxiety plagued me. I redlined without faltering when I needed too and then fell apart when battles were over, safe at home. The stress on my family was tangible. I took medication with many side effects, most of which outweighed the benefits over time. The only solution was to alter my environment or find another one. And that was what I endeavored to do.



In time, after what I can only consider Administrative Evolution, I was permitted to transfer to a different division of Public Works, that of Code Enforcement. I had been battling for this transfer for years, but were I in the place of those whose choice it had been, I would have denied me just the same. Legality aside, promoting an aggressive shop steward is counter-productive from a certain perspective. It could be considered a reward for dissidence, and such a thing should never be rewarded.

After many of the generals who had stood against me were lost to retirement and after many walks for tax increases, I appealed to the new administration to ‘treat me fairly,’ and they did. I was promoted to the new position where I currently reside. But this position is not without its own stresses.

I once fought against ‘Big Brother.’ Now it seems I have become him. I patrol for code violations and issue warnings that, if left unheeded, turn into court summons. These summons often spur a sudden interest in correcting the previous warnings, but little can be done at that point. The blow has been dealt. No one may move into a house in the City without seeing the house into compliance and receiving approval from myself or one of my new peers.

Forcing the hands of residents, making them do what they otherwise would not— these are new sources for stress that I am learning to deal with. Submitting warrants to take away illegally stored property; cars, trash, and materials— the invasiveness, though fully legal, puts me in conflict with my decades long desire to unremittingly serve the residents of this city.

Knowing that each person who receives notice from me believes that they are the only person who has ever been called out on said violation, that they believe that every house in the City is in higher violation than theirs, or the notion that I have some evil desire to single them out for whatever reason— this causes stress equal to but different than that caused by my union responsibilities.

Watching someone charge toward the window of my car intent of challenging me in some way— not knowing if they are going to be kind or cruel, if they are sane or mad, exfiltration of photographs of people’s property as evidence in the preparation of court cases, having trials demanded by those who see such as a chance to man the bully pulpit for their cause, fielding a complaint that a green sticker on a door somehow makes a house with an eleven inch tall lawn look less attractive; these are some of the new stresses I must face now.

But what is different is this: Each blow to my psyche that I take, every elevation of stress that I endure, I can be confident of one thing. There is relief. For every elevation of anxiety the level is constantly depleting. Every event is not a part of the greater whole, of some never ending, interrelated, unwinnable battle against some unstoppable force that can crush my career with its thumb.

The difference is: there is relief and for that I am thankful.