I was already on furlough when the shutdown started. The work I do is seasonal, so I was idled just before Halloween and had a tranquil (and financially planned for) two months before work kicked off again. Or was supposed to. Our official return date was Jan. 7; that was canceled, and then we were declared essential and told to come back on Jan. 22.
And come back we did. I got there early enough to get a parking spot in the visitor’s lot, where we had to park until we got our IDs back and could access the main area. The lot filled up, and the overflow lot filled up, and cars were lined up in the lot’s lanes and backed up down the roads leading to our offices. At least half a mile, probably more. Over and over again among the people who like me were coming back to work, I heard worry about the fact that we didn’t know when we would get paid — but also determination to get the work done. This is a new career for me. I’m only one year in. It’s not sexy work, and if I described to you what I do every day it would put you to sleep. But it engages my mind and really is essential, just like the work done by all those other furloughed or work-without-paycheck-security folks who just got stiff-armed and shat on by this shutdown. You don’t really think about the fact the people are doing these tasks, but if they’re delayed or stalled, the impact establishes itself pretty quickly.
We also had newbies showing up, eager to be working, hoping for the stability that’s the selling point for these kinds of jobs. (It sure ain’t the paycheck, which is marginally competitive but is supposed to be, at the very least, reliable.) I heard a whole class of new hires that was supposed to start Jan. 7 was lost, as in canceled, as in they thought they had jobs but now they don’t. Not sure how that’ll be resolved, but we’re already understaffed.
An anecdote: On Friday, before the announcement that this was all over for now, I overheard some women in the next row of cubicles talking. One woman had been complimented on her look that day, and she was joking that she’d actually put on makeup. “Yeah,” said another, “we’ve got to ration our makeup for Fridays.” Quipped another: “That’s right. I’m only putting on makeup if I’m going to the grocery store!”
That’s a grim joke. In a shutdown, civil servants buying groceries is a dress-up-and-look-good hootenanny occasion.
I’d already clocked out by the time the news broke about the shutdown ending, so I don’t know what the reaction was around the campus. Thing is, many if not most of my co-workers are pretty apolitical and don’t necessarily follow the news closely. (Our union president has made a point of urging people to do so, saying, “You can’t think this stuff doesn’t affect you. It does.”) But here’s my promised prediction: If there’s another shutdown, Shit Will Hit The Fan VERY QUICKLY.
This last shutdown caught me off-guard, and I’m not alone in that. “It’ll be figured out by the time I go back to work,” I told myself, and then it wasn’t, and it kept going, and then I was supposed to show up without knowing when, exactly, I was going to be paid for my work, and it was all very scary and confusing but if that shit happens again? I’ll still be scared, but I won’t be confused. Even my milquetoast golly-gee-I-like-my-job-and-don’t-want-to-lose-it ass is ready to say, “Screw you, I ain’t takin’ this crap!”, and if I’m ready to say that, I just know that there are thousands of others who are way ahead of me. We will see important parts of our government and economy grind to a halt. We will see raw reactions from people who thought they were getting back to normal. It will be visceral and swift and unpredictable and I really, really hope it doesn’t go that way.
It could, though. And you know what? If that’s the way it goes, I think we’ll be ready to throw the blame, hurt, and consequences squarely on those who deserve it.