Room for Self-Improvement

By Jayne Bowers, Camden, South Carolina

As appeared in

I stalked across the hallway into my friend Ella’s office. I had to vent about Debbie and what a royal pain she was being—to me, her boss, of all people!

I was in my first year as chair of a technical college’s English and social sciences department. If I’d told Debbie once I’d told her a dozen times that I needed her to rewrite her syllabus to emphasize essay writing rather than grammar rules. Why was she being so stubborn about completing this assignment? It bordered on insubordination!

“I don’t think she’s even started,” I said, slumping into the seat across the desk from Ella, a fellow department chair and one of many people I’d sounded off to about Debbie. By now I didn’t even have to tell her who I was talking about. “It’s been weeks. I don’t know what else I can do.”

Ella looked up from the papers on her desk. “I know, Jayne. You’ve told me.”

“I don’t know what her problem is,” I said. “She just doesn’t listen. She’s worse than my kids the way she defies me.”

Ella looked back down, like she was studying something intently.

“She knows how important it is,” I went on. “The university won’t accept our credits otherwise. Then the other day I heard she was complaining to another instructor about me. As if I’m the problem! She’s totally unprofessional. Now the faculty are taking sides. It’s affecting the whole department.”

Ella shook her head but didn’t look up. She was probably tired of my complaining, but I didn’t know where else to turn. It was all I could think about. Even at home when I tried to concentrate on prayer, my mind filled with frustration and anger. How dare Debbie treat me like this!

I stood up. “I’m going to talk to her again,” I said. “But I doubt it will do any good.” I left and walked slowly down the hallway to Debbie’s office, the last place I wanted to be on a Friday afternoon. What did we have to say to each other that hadn’t already been said?

I’d taught psychology for 15 years. I thought I knew a lot about what makes people tick. But I never dreamed management would be like this. Even my husband, Frankie, who’d managed an auto-service department for years, was no help. I regaled him every night with my latest Debbie story, but I wasn’t sure he could relate. In 17 years of marriage I’d never heard him complain about a problem employee.

The worst part was that before I became department head Debbie and I were close colleagues. She’d been one of the first to congratulate me on my promotion. We had eaten lunch together occasionally, shared our work frustrations and news about our families. I’d tried to be a comfort when she lost her dad to cancer and when her mom became ill. Couldn’t she see that she just needed to get this project out of the way?

I looked in her office. Her lips pressed tight together when she saw me. “Do you have a minute?” I said.

She opened her mouth, as if she were about to say something, then closed it and shrugged. “A minute,” she said, not bothering to put her pen down.

I sat and her eyes fixed on mine. “You know why I’m here,” I said. “I need you to get this assignment done for me. It’s way past due and now the dean’s asking about it. I can’t keep covering for you.”

“I’m working on it,” she said. “I just need a little more time.”