Pandemic Disconnect

Last October, I was hired at Ventura College as an Instructional Lab Technician I, Learning Resources, working only on Saturdays, mostly for CSU Long Beach's Master of Social Work satellite program, which met in the wired classroom on the far side of the B.E.A.C.H computer lab. I want to say that the hours were 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m., with the students in the program attending two classes, with a lunch break in between at 12:15. The only thing I consistently remember now about the classes is that it was my job to make sure the Internet connection, the webcams, and the microphones (for the students to ask the professor questions or participate in the discussions) worked for the entire day. On those rare Saturdays when the classes didn't meet (and I think there were two in that pre-pandemic time), I helped out students in the computer lab, since it was open on Saturdays from 8 a.m. to 1 p.m., far shorter than the rest of the week. 

I remember some of the faces of the CSU students now, not the names. After the pandemic hit, I was assigned to Ventura College's distance education help desk, sitting on my laptop at home every Saturday to field calls via Skype and answer any emails that arrived in the distance education inbox, which was more and more as Ventura College switched completely to online courses. I remember striving to be as dedicated to these students in the CSU program as my late father was for all his students in his teaching career. In fact, I like to think my father had a hand in my being hired for the job. I love campuses, especially college campuses, and it started with him, because he taught at Silver Trail Middle in Pembroke Pines, Florida, where I attended 7th and 8th grade, and I had the run of that campus, especially when the school opened its own campus after winter break one year. During that winter break, my mother, my sister and I were there with him, moving things into his classroom, organizing things, all the while other teachers and administrators were doing the same. It was the only time in his career he got to open a brand-new campus. But it stuck with me, and very likely he knew how hard I'd been trying to get into Ventura College and here was the chance. He saw computers being involved, he knew I had the skills to do it, so here it was. 

But the pandemic brings on this immense feeling of disconnect. Was I really in charge of the tech side of the CSU program? Did I really do all that? Did I spend a few minutes every Saturday morning daisy-chaining a few of the microphones so the students at those particular tables could use them, even though one of the rows of two students had to step over the cords because it was the only way to make it work? Was I really paying attention to some of the coursework, genetic inspiration from my mother's degree in sociology, which had a large presence in these courses? Did I really have my beloved college library one floor above me, and the ability to dash up there during a break in the morning class to return the books I'd finished and check out new ones?

Memory is valuable to a writer, and we can play around with it as we wish, either simply writing an essay about certain memories, or turning them into novels. But the challenge sometimes is trying to recall the exact feelings we had in those moments. I felt pride in the CSU program. I still do whenever I receive the weekly email from the program with the Zoom links for the classes. I'm not physically involved in it right now (and won't be at least through the spring, as CSU Long Beach and Ventura College, among other campuses, are still going to be online-only), but I remember my dedication to it. 

It's hard not having that Saturday to be on campus. When I was with the County of Ventura the first time in that temp job in Elections for the Presidential Primary earlier this year, I couldn't work Saturdays because I had the college. They understood that I'm under contract to the college, and I wouldn't have had it any other way, especially given that I was being paid more by Ventura College on Saturdays. But I miss being able to pivot from government work to the campus. When I returned to Elections in early August for some preliminary work well ahead of the general election (most likely with more to come once ballots in California are mailed out to registered voters), the work day ended on Friday, and then nothing the next day. No campus to go to. Besides that, when I started at Ventura College, there was Alexander Fredell, also known as Rock, who was the nights and weekends attendant there. In the evenings and on the weekends, he was the highest-ranking figure on campus. He had all the keys, he had the golf cart, he had such extensive, deep knowledge of the campus and the college district that I aspire to. 

We got along well because we had the same passion for history, the same wide-ranging interest in art, the same knowledge of pop culture, including Adult Swim. After every single conversation of ours, I just wanted to dash up to the college library and feed my passion for history, which became greater in his presence. And he was, and still is, an enormously talented graphic artist. I knew that every Saturday, with him and I sharing the same office (at least until it was time to set up the CSU classroom---putting out the microphones and plugging them in, testing the webcams, etc), there would be a conversation that I could only dream about the rest of the week. Rock had started out as a student at Ventura College, and ended up working there in so many different capacities. Nights and Weekends Attendant was only the latest. And he was pursuing at least two degrees at CSU Northridge, including a Bachelors in history, still in progress. He was there on what became our last days on the campus before it all shut down because of the pandemic. I kept up my work on the DE student help desk, and he was going for something much bigger. He had always been valuable to the Ventura College campus, including heading up the student help desk from home, and creating modules for students to use to familiarize themselves with the basics of online learning. And then he finally reached what he had wanted for so long: He was promoted to Marketing, Communications and Web Design Coordinator for the entire Ventura County Community College District, even more convenient for him since he lives in Camarillo and the district offices are there, too. There were times when he attended classes at CSU Northridge and then drove to Ventura College for his evening shift as Nights and Weekends Attendant. I don't know how he managed it as he did, without exploding into molecules, but he did, with a lot of energy drinks to further boost his abilities. After all he had done for Ventura College, he deserved it, especially being able to work where he lives. 

I've been trying to think of the word that could describe how I feel about all of this, about not being part of the CSU program in that way, about not having Rock around anymore. What happens to a soul when all that is suddenly lost, for someone like me who has known nothing but change all my life and had hoped this would at least last a little longer (I know that life is nothing but change, but having moved 17 times, I'd like some things to last a little longer)? I'm grateful for the time I had, and may it at least continue in person with CSU Long Beach some day. But I think I found the word: Hollow. It's not only losing all of that so quickly, that regular ability to connect like that, but I like Ventura. I felt that with what I did within the CSU program, I was contributing something good to my town. I wanted to keep building on that. It's kind of a hazy void. I'm glad that Rock reached the pinnacle of his goals, and at least there is the joy in that having happened in the midst of all this desolation. That's another good word for it. Because where do we go next? Do we dare try again? We should, because that's what there is. This is life, no matter the circumstances. We've got to keep trying somehow. 

So here I am, gradually accepting yet more changes yet again. I'm still in touch with Rock here and there, but I know it won't be the same as the intellectual theme park I reveled in every Saturday. When I read the weekly emails from the CSU program, I try to imagine the progress the students must be making. It's not the same as actually being there in front of them, monitoring the webcams and microphones, listening to the questions they have, and the professors' responses. But this is life, even with the pandemic-driven holes still there. So what now? What next? 

I found a bit of consolation recently. My local library system is becoming more advanced in its ways. For one, in the coming months, they plan to eliminate all overdue fines. During this pandemic, when the libraries were able to open back up on a severely limited basis (only available for picking up holds, and then only while standing at the front door at the table set out in front of it), they decided not to charge overdue fines because there was a 5-, and now 6-day quarantine for books dropped off in the book drops. They hold them for 6 days before they check them back in. I guess this got the director of the libraries and assorted staff thinking about whether overdue fines have any value to the system anymore. They found that last fiscal year, the $64,550 in fines collected amounted to less than 1% of the system's operating budget, according to the Ventura County Star. There's not much significant financial value in it. But that wasn't what impressed me, even though it is admirable. 

Ever since my family and I moved to Ventura in 2017, if I wanted a specific edition of a book, say one of the Best American Essays editions that come out every year, I had to go into the old version of the library catalog on the County library website because they had a space to request a specific copy when you put an item on hold. I last tried that two weeks ago, when I wanted the 1997 edition of Best American Essays from the Ojai Library, and they sent me the 2001 edition from the E.P. Foster Library in downtown Ventura. No one even read that part of the request. I'm not sure if the system even has that capability anymore. So it was a most welcome surprise to me (nice to have that in the midst of a pandemic) to find that the regular County library catalog now allows you to reserve specific copies on your own. In the Best American Essays listing, for example, next to the information about each copy is a link that says "Reserve This Copy." You click on it, type your library card number and your PIN number, and then choose the library you want it to be sent to, and that's it! I am reading the 2001 edition of Best American Essays anyway, but once my holds list is below 20 titles again, I'll put the 1997 edition on hold that way. And I found that it works wonderfully, because when I was searching for the complete essays of Montaigne, I found that I had two choices: the Fillmore Library or the Ray D. Prueter Library in Port Hueneme. I chose the Prueter Library and now that specific listing says "Transit Hold." It's on its way to me. 

This is a comfort because I can't see the Ojai Library like I used to, nor wander the historical stacks of the Foster Library (just like the Boulder City Library in Nevada, they don't seem to weed anything, and I'm grateful to them for that), and when I put the 1997 edition of Best American Essays on hold, I know exactly where it is in the Ojai Library. In my mind this way, I can walk around the only library in the system that feels like a wood-paneled reading room without the wood paneling. The Prueter Library in Port Hueneme feels like my spirit library, even though I've never been there, because their holdings are so imaginative and so curious about the world. There's also a naval base in Port Hueneme, which may explain that approach. 

It's nice to have a choice of libraries for holds, although I wonder what that will do for each branch's circulation numbers. Will patrons still just use the general "Request Item" option, which pulls the title from any County library that has it, or are they going to be as specific as I am? I hope it raises the numbers, because it's nice to have an even greater choice like this. And we can support our preferred branches even more this way while waiting for the day to come when we can go inside again. 

That seems to be the only approach. These changes have happened and will happen more and more. All we can do is hang on to the stability we can find. Being able to put books on hold from specific branches is good enough for me.