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Authors: Eleanor Sullivan
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quickly.
Bart frowned.
Lisa’s chin went up. “I’m not working tonight. I can have anything I want.”
“Sprite for me,” Bart said. “I am going to work tonight,” he said, giving Lisa a sideways glance.
Laura and I ordered beers, and Peggy and Serena asked for Cokes.
“What do you think about the union, Bart?” Laura asked.
Bart kept his eyes on Lisa.
Laura repeated her question.
“I don’t. Think about it,” he said finally, turning toward the group.
“He thinks unions are just for the masses, the ‘worker bees’ as he calls them,” Lisa explained, giving him a too-bright smile.
“I just don’t think it’s very professional, that’s all,” Bart said with a note of defensiveness.
Laura spoke up. “What’s not professional is the way the hospital cuts staff and expects us to make up for it.”
“Yeah,” Serena said, turning to me. “You’re the boss. Why don’t you do something about it?”
How could I make them understand that I didn’t control the hospital budget, I couldn’t hire people when my budget had been cut, and I had next to no influence on administration about anything?
“She’s just middle management, Serena, she just manages on what she’s given,” Peggy said. “The best she can,” Peggy added with a smile to me.
“That’s why we need the union,” Laura said, looking around at each of us. “Then we’ll have some power. Collective power.” Bart snorted. “You’ve been listening to the propaganda. Only you can get yourself ahead.” He tapped a forefinger firmly on the table. “You can’t depend on anyone else to do it for you.”
“Maybe for the rest of you,” Laura said. She’d changed from her scrubs to a sleeveless white blouse and stone-colored pants, her clothes as nondescript as her hair and skin. “You’ve been in nursing for a while, but I’m just starting out. I need to pay off school loans. This job’s got to work out for me!”
“Listen, I know about unions,” I said, knowing I was probably going to say too much. “My dad was in the union all his life. At the brewery.”
“They have to belong, don’t they?” Serena asked. “If they want to work there.”
“That’s true. Everyone eligible has to pay dues.”
“Did they ever go on strike?” Serena asked.
“Once,” I told them. “I was pretty little, but I remember he said they needed the union to protect them from the big guys.”
“That’s why we need one, too,” Laura said.
“What worries me,” Serena said, “is what would happen to the patients if we ever went out on strike?”
“Nurses can’t strike,” Peggy told her. She turned to me. “That’s what I was arguing with Tim about. Why should we be getting in all this trouble when we don’t have the leverage of striking?”
“That’s not exactly true,” I told them reluctantly. “Nurses can strike with notice. They have to give the hospital time to prepare.”
“For what? To fire us?” Laura asked, splotches of red creeping up her pale neck.
“Transfer patients, cancel elective surgery, train supervisors, that sort of thing. They can’t fire anyone.” I had slipped into my administrative role in spite of myself. I was torn between wanting them to know I understood how difficult it was to care for patients when we were understaffed, how afraid we all were that something would go wrong, and knowing that I couldn’t get involved.
A police officer came in, glanced our way, and straddled a stool at the bar.
“Lots of professionals are in unions,” Laura said. “Police.” She nodded toward the man at the bar. “Ball players, pilots.”
“Musicians,” Serena added, looking toward the empty stage. Tonight she wore low-rider jeans and a filmy black short-sleeved blouse open to reveal the scrunchy magenta tube top underneath. A row of gold and colored stud earrings marched up one ear, and a dangly earring of filigreed gold on the other ear swung wildly as she looked around. “Hey’d
Bart frowned.
Lisa’s chin went up. “I’m not working tonight. I can have anything I want.”
“Sprite for me,” Bart said. “I am going to work tonight,” he said, giving Lisa a sideways glance.
Laura and I ordered beers, and Peggy and Serena asked for Cokes.
“What do you think about the union, Bart?” Laura asked.
Bart kept his eyes on Lisa.
Laura repeated her question.
“I don’t. Think about it,” he said finally, turning toward the group.
“He thinks unions are just for the masses, the ‘worker bees’ as he calls them,” Lisa explained, giving him a too-bright smile.
“I just don’t think it’s very professional, that’s all,” Bart said with a note of defensiveness.
Laura spoke up. “What’s not professional is the way the hospital cuts staff and expects us to make up for it.”
“Yeah,” Serena said, turning to me. “You’re the boss. Why don’t you do something about it?”
How could I make them understand that I didn’t control the hospital budget, I couldn’t hire people when my budget had been cut, and I had next to no influence on administration about anything?
“She’s just middle management, Serena, she just manages on what she’s given,” Peggy said. “The best she can,” Peggy added with a smile to me.
“That’s why we need the union,” Laura said, looking around at each of us. “Then we’ll have some power. Collective power.” Bart snorted. “You’ve been listening to the propaganda. Only you can get yourself ahead.” He tapped a forefinger firmly on the table. “You can’t depend on anyone else to do it for you.”
“Maybe for the rest of you,” Laura said. She’d changed from her scrubs to a sleeveless white blouse and stone-colored pants, her clothes as nondescript as her hair and skin. “You’ve been in nursing for a while, but I’m just starting out. I need to pay off school loans. This job’s got to work out for me!”
“Listen, I know about unions,” I said, knowing I was probably going to say too much. “My dad was in the union all his life. At the brewery.”
“They have to belong, don’t they?” Serena asked. “If they want to work there.”
“That’s true. Everyone eligible has to pay dues.”
“Did they ever go on strike?” Serena asked.
“Once,” I told them. “I was pretty little, but I remember he said they needed the union to protect them from the big guys.”
“That’s why we need one, too,” Laura said.
“What worries me,” Serena said, “is what would happen to the patients if we ever went out on strike?”
“Nurses can’t strike,” Peggy told her. She turned to me. “That’s what I was arguing with Tim about. Why should we be getting in all this trouble when we don’t have the leverage of striking?”
“That’s not exactly true,” I told them reluctantly. “Nurses can strike with notice. They have to give the hospital time to prepare.”
“For what? To fire us?” Laura asked, splotches of red creeping up her pale neck.
“Transfer patients, cancel elective surgery, train supervisors, that sort of thing. They can’t fire anyone.” I had slipped into my administrative role in spite of myself. I was torn between wanting them to know I understood how difficult it was to care for patients when we were understaffed, how afraid we all were that something would go wrong, and knowing that I couldn’t get involved.
A police officer came in, glanced our way, and straddled a stool at the bar.
“Lots of professionals are in unions,” Laura said. “Police.” She nodded toward the man at the bar. “Ball players, pilots.”
“Musicians,” Serena added, looking toward the empty stage. Tonight she wore low-rider jeans and a filmy black short-sleeved blouse open to reveal the scrunchy magenta tube top underneath. A row of gold and colored stud earrings marched up one ear, and a dangly earring of filigreed gold on the other ear swung wildly as she looked around. “Hey’d
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