May 11

Good gravy! It’s been a month, hasn’t it?

I’ve been going just about non-stop for the past few weeks. True to form, that pretty much means immersed in geek stuff. I’ll spare you the gory details for now.

I think it’s safe to say that spring has finally arrived on the North Coast. The weather is finally finding a midpoint between April’s bipolar swings. In the past weeks we’ve swung from highs in the low 80s to snow. Two weeks ago, one day the high was 83, then next, it was 38. I thought it interesting how the digits swapped places overnight.

Along the way we’ve had every type of weather imaginable. One day last week I was pelted with pea-sized hail on the way to work. I have rather enjoyed the meteorological variety pack but I’m looking forward to some stability in the forecast… just for the change of pace.

Everything’s been late this spring. Tulips finally bloomed last week and the trees finally reached a consensus on the decision of whether or not to leaf out. The first lawnmowing of the season on our street wasn’t until yesterday.

It’s the first spring in several years where the lilacs haven’t been past peak for the opening of the Lilac Festival. Most have just started the process of getting ready to bloom. I expect they’ll peak after the festival ends next week Sunday.

Still, I’m still holding off on having my winter coat cleaned and putting it away for the season.

The spring has brought with it a surprise or two. Walking home from work one Friday night, I saw a purple martin. I haven’t seen a purple martin since sometime in the mid-60s. I’m amazed that nearly 40 years later, I can still recognize one and tell the difference between it and a starling.

As the weather has improved, it’s become clear to me that my winter depression was both deeper and more insidious than I thought. This shows why I’m an unreliable reporter of these things. What I feel is directly impacted by… er… what I feel—a recursive feedback loop if you will.

A couple of weeks back I was mandated by DSS to go to a job fair at the convention center. I wasn’t anticipating much, given the economy and having attended previous job fairs. I’d didn’t even bother going beyond business casual. I wore a tie, blue oxford shirt and chinos. Never took off my raincoat or hat, and of course, lugged around the ubiquitous backpack.

The fair lived down to my expectations. There were just over 40 employer booths and the vast majority were agencies and telemarketers. Healthcare was also well-represented, which isn’t surprising given the shortage of nursing staff.

Of course, you couldn’t get anywhere near the IT staffing agencies. Geeks were backed-up ten deep. There was no point in pursuing that so I took an alternate strategy. After one pass through the place, I narrowed my focus to three genuine employers.

I waited my turn and when I reached the counter asked, “Do you have anything in IT today?” as if it was the public market and I was shopping for mangoes or something.

Not surprisingly, the first two said no. (Sing it with me, “Yes, we have no bananas… We have no bananas today!”)

At the third, however, the HR person nearly jumped for joy, all but shouting, “Yes, YES!” As I handed her my resume, she said, “We don’t take resumes without an application, but we’ve run out of the white ones.” Apparently they’re color-coded by job category.

“Oh,” I replied. “Where can I get one?”

“We sent someone to get more. They should be back within 20 minutes.”

Another strategy developed in my head. “How about if I drop my your office. Can I fill one out there today?”

“That would be fine,” she replied. “Do you know where it is?”

“Uh, yeah. The number eight stops right in front of the place.”

I scooted out and just as I reached the corner, so did a number eight. Fifteen minutes later I got off with a half-dozen bus drivers and asked one, “Which way to the employment office?”

And I filed an application with Regional Transit. When I got to the part asking if I had reliable transportation to work, I checked the yes box and wrote “The number eight” in the blank next to it.

The HR receptionist was adamant about making sure that I knew they check all previous employers in the past five years and all personal references. “We won’t accept an application with out complete addresses.” I didn’t think to ask where in the process that happens. This week, the forms showed up at all three personal references and at the library.

“Integrity. We’ve heard of it.” For years that was one of the tongue-in-cheek slogans at a British geek news site, The Inquirer.

Even a quick perusal of the early years of this journal shows how far away from integrity I was. So imagine my shock when two of my three personal references shared their letters with me and both used the word.

Says one, “He has an extremely high level of integrity and handles sensitive or confidential information appropriately.”

From the other, “My observation of Bruce as a social acquaintance is that he is honest, friendly and reliable. I might amplify that statement and add that he is scrupulously honest, above gossip and honors his commitments. […] Bruce Wilbur is a man of integrity and intelligence.”

It was satisfying counterpoint to another friend recently expressing anger at what he perceived as my gossiping about him with a mutual friend. Of course, he’d also countered his own argument by citing my “rigorous honesty” as proof that I’m so completely “programmed” by the “cult of AA” that he wondered if because of it, our friendship might deteriorate.

Once upon a time this would have resulted in my lashing out, both personally and in these pages. These days I consider all critique carefully. I’ve found that even when someone contradicts themselves, there’s often at least a small nugget of truth buried inside. Life itself is often contradictory so I don’t discount someone’s feelings if they’re contradictory.

I’m not exactly a linguist, but I have wondered about the origin of the word recovery when used in the context of rebuilding one’s life from drug and alcohol abuse and to a lesser extent, mental illness.

If one subscribes to the disease concept of addiction, then the word is perfectly suited since we frequently speak of someone recovering from the flu or major surgery for example. If someone tells you, “I’m in recovery,” you know that it’s not from the flu.

What stuck in my craw was a second definition. The word didn’t seem quite right because throughout my recovery, it didn’t seem to me that I was recovering anything that I’d once had but lost. Personal gains all seemed to be in new, uncharted territory.

These two sets of circumstances—the recommendations and the complaining friend—brought home of me that yes, once upon a time I had some level of personal integrity, certainly less than I have now, but more than I gave myself credit for. It’s genuinely something that I’m recovering from a former self, in the second sense of the word.

Of course there was at least a decade in there where personal integrity was something I neither possessed nor could comprehend. It was an abstract concept so removed from my daily existence I’m sure everyone I met thought I’d only ever heard of it. Thus, the complaining friend can be excused for thinking this is something new that’s been programmed in by AA. Although I’m reasonably certain that he’ll find that less comforting.

All in all, if I’m never so much as called for an interview at the transit authority, the process has been quite instructive..