Thank you to all who entered “Memorable Bosses,” the latest Work Stew writing contest. I was overwhelmed by the quality of the entries I received. Even though I’ve been running Work Stew for more than five years now, your stories gave me a new appreciation of the daily dramas—some quiet, some not—unfolding in workplaces all over the world.

In the end, I needed to select one entry to receive the $200 prize, and I chose “Sticks and Stones” by Karen Good Marable. I imagine we could all draw a Venn diagram, with one circle labeled “Moments That Shook Me Rigid” and the other called “Times I Did the Brave Thing.” The incident that Karen describes sits squarely in the overlap, and I’m honored to share her well-written account of it here.

—Kate Gace Walton, Editor of Work Stew

Sticks and Stones

By Karen Good Marable

Having separated her mail, I walked into the cavernous, lamp-lit office of Josie Shapiro-Stone, a high-ranking editor at Seventeen magazine, and placed the pile on her desk. A mere 5’3” in three-inch heels with long blond hair and wearing a plaid kilt mini-skirt, Josie stood before her inspiration wall and stared through me absentmindedly, as she often did when one interrupted her reverie.

Then: “Karen! I love your hair!”

I beamed. “Thanks, Josie!”

Usually my dreadlocks were covered under a swath of African fabric, but on this day, as spring warmed into summer, I’d chosen to let my light shine. They stood thick and upright on my head like sunrays.

Josie moved closer to me, peering. “What do you call that?” she asked. But before I could answer, she added: “Is that, like, how Buckwheat wore his hair?”

My body reacted first: Hands went cold and clammy, heart raced, and a single bead of sweat trickled from underneath my armpit. I lifted one finger—“Um. Excuse me for a moment”—about-faced and walked the seven steps back to my desk. I just sat there at first, confused, wondering if what had just happened, happened. On the one hand, Josie was notoriously stupid. The type to stop the editor who’d just written an award-winning personal feature about anorexia and offer: “You are so skinny!” But this…this felt callous. Violent.

Did I mention I was the only Black girl on the editorial staff?

I needed to speak to someone, so I picked up the phone and called Beverly, my Howard University classmate-now-colleague who worked at Money magazine.

“This is Beverly.”

“Hi,” I whispered into the receiver. “Okay…so…my boss just asked me if the way I wear my hair is the way Buckwheat wore his hair.”

Incredulous silence.

“I’m calling you because I need someone to tell me not to slap this shit out of her.”

“Whoooo,” Beverly breathed. “Okay.” Pause. “Okay. I know you want to cuss her out, but don’t. Definitely do NOT hit her. Because then you’ll be the angry Black girl and you’ll get fired and you’ll get arrested.”

I bit my lip. “Mmmhmm.”

“This is what you do: Go back into her office and explain why what she said was wrong. And racist. And crazy! Let her know the deal.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t hit her.”

“Okay.”

I rose from my desk and walked back into Josie’s office. “May I speak with you for a minute?”

“Yah! What’s up?” Smiling. Not a care in the world.

“I have to tell you, the comment you just made, asking if the way I wear my hair is the way Buckwheat wore his hair…that was so…disrespectful.” I locked eyes with her and did not blink. She had the nerve to look shocked. Her face and neck flushed red.

“These,” I continued, motioning to my hair, “are called dreadlocks. Like how Bob Marley wore his hair.” Here, my voice trembled. I was suddenly very angry that I had to explain what dreadlocks were to a forty-something, six-figure-making editor of a then-fifty-year-old mainstream magazine for girls. I was angry that, even for the merest moment, I felt ugly and ashamed.

“Buckwheat,” I continued, “represents a sore spot in Black American history. This image of a poor, Black child with torn clothes, bugged eyes and unkempt hair. It’s stereotypical and racist.” I took a breath. “Be glad that you said this to me and not someone else,” I added, my eyes narrowing. “Because someone else might not be so nice.”

At this, Josie’s eyes grew wide. Much, much wider than Buckwheat’s.

Karen Good Marable is a writer, editor, wife and mom who lives in Brooklyn, New York. She is currently an MFA candidate at The Writers Foundry of St. Joseph’s College.

The Prompt
Tell us about the manager who has affected you the most—for better or for worse No real names, please. Just vivid, juicy tales from your work life, past or present.

Deadline
Midnight PST on February 15, 2016

The Prize
$200 for the winner, to be announced on February 22, 2016. The winning entry, and perhaps some other entries, will be published here on Work Stew.

Eligibility and Word Count
Only entries that have not been published elsewhere are eligible. Word limit: 600 words, max.

How to Submit
Email your entry to kate@workstew.com. You will receive a confirmation email within 24 hours of sending in your entry.

Thank you to all who sent in their pearls for the latest Work Stew contest. Your hard-earned wisdom arrived in a variety of formats: aphorisms, short stories, poems. Below are the ten I chose to showcase, with a brief explanation of why (see my note in italics, below each entry).

1. Submitted by Ellen Denton

My father had severe dementia, to the point of being dangerous. When he wasn’t doing something with fire or knives that could get someone killed, he would talk to imaginary people or look around with a puzzled expression on his face.

One day, I dropped some papers on the floor, and he returned to the present, helped pick them up, and had the first normal conversation he’d had in months. If simple work could return even someone in my father’s condition, however briefly, to sanity, imagine what it could do, and is doing, for the rest of us.

Work is so often seen as nothing but an imposition; I love this depiction of work as an activity that can heal.

2. Submitted by Linda Quiroz

I did the job as if my life depended on it. I ate, slept, and drank my work. When weekends came, I hated to leave. Often, I went in on Saturdays. I devoted my waking thoughts, life, and all my dreams to the job. The years passed by, and sometimes, I would get an exceptional review or a certificate. My family languished. I read books and took seminars on juggling my life. The struggle to know when and how to move on was visceral. Finally, I did it. I left my beloved job.

Without a hitch, the job went on.

I especially liked this one in juxtaposition with the first: as important as a job can seem—and be—it rarely needs us as much as we might think.

3. Submitted by Tania Soucie

Trust that you have the ability to meet life’s challenges every 24 hours as they come. In doing so, the pressure of the past and the future disappears. All your energy becomes free for right now.

Anxiety is so debilitating; this just struck me as a wise way to manage one’s energy.

4. Submitted by Daniel Hopewell

It is always better to fail at something you want to do than succeed at something you don’t.

So true! And so hard to live by…

5. Submitted by Simone Pasquini

Some call it the ‘no asshole rule.’ People sometimes forget they have the power to fire their employers…and if they work for themselves, they also have the power to fire their clients. Life is too short.

Indeed it is. This is another one that’s hard to practice 100% of the time—but it’s sound advice nonetheless.

6. Submitted by Anonymous

Care about things that matter and don’t care about things that don’t. It sounds trite, but it is an underlying theme of everything our company does. So long as people are producing high quality results when and how the company needs them, almost nothing else matters. We dress casually—virtually no rules on dress code—because our effort to dictate how people dress does not make a difference in the quality of their work product. Same principle applies to work location (i.e. telecommuting or working from the office) and work hours (i.e. starting early or coming in late).

Agreed, and good news: more and more workplaces, especially those competing for scarce skill sets, understand this and operate in the same way.

7. Submitted by Michael T. Heath

If you’re going to call out the boss,
the principle better be worth it
Be ready to empty your cubicle
Have something else lined up

If you’re speaking truth to power,
think about it twice, first
Make plans for your escape
Maybe you’ll be O.K.

I’ve been there myself:
couldn’t let it slide
Had to say something
Derailed my own train to do it

My soul isn’t very good at barter

I chose this one as a valuable check on the perspective above: of course not *all* workplaces are enlightened and those that aren’t exact a toll. In those cases, wisdom lies in knowing the costs—both of leaving and of staying.

8. Submitted by Charlotte Jackson

Don’t listen only to the words, listen for what is meant.

Yes! This is so hard to do—but those who manage it tend to be enormously effective.

9. Submitted by Rebecca Kerr

Want to get ahead in your career? You’re going to need tentacles. Not the hentai kind (don’t Google that)…helpful tentacles.

One tentacle is offering collateral help to the sales team. Another is helping the product team plan their next launch. Still another is beak-deep in operations, mapping out email drips for overdue invoices.

The more branches of the company you can serve simultaneously, the more invaluable you are to the company as a whole–helpfully filling holes all over the place. So yes, maybe it’s a little like the hentai kind.

Seriously: DON’T google that. Just know that this is eminently practical advice: when job security is a concern (and when isn’t it?), finding multiple ways to be helpful is just plain smart.

10. Submitted by Paula Richey

The one I learned from my dad: “When you start losing your tools, it’s time to take a nap.”

Paula Richey herself provides the best explanation: “My dad has two speeds–full throttle and outta gas. He doesn’t realize he’s tired until he can’t function. Know your self-care signals.”

Work Stew’s seventh writing contest, which kicks off today, isn’t going to involve the usual 600-word entry.

Instead, we’re going to attempt to harness the collective intelligence of the Stew to create a list: Ten Pearls of Hard-Earned, Work-Related Wisdom.

Here’s how to participate:

1. Send me your wisdom. Your pearls can be emailed to me: kate@workstew.com. Subject line: Hard-Earned Wisdom. You will receive a confirmation from me within 24 hours.

Rules: 100 words max, per pearl. No limit on the number of pearls each person can submit. Only entries that have not been published elsewhere are eligible.

Deadline: Midnight PST on November 15, 2015.

2. By November 22, 2015, I will select 10 pearls of wisdom to publish in the form of a list. Each contributor will be cited, unless you choose to remain anonymous.

3. The usual $200 prize will be distributed among the writers of the top three pearls. $100 for Pearl #1. $60 for Pearl #2. $40 for Pearl #3.

To follow along as the contest unfolds, join us on Facebook and Twitter. I’ll provide occasional updates along with the usual work-related tidbits we discuss there.

Note: Thanks to Michael T Heath for inspiring this round’s prompt.

Here’s one more entry to the latest Work Stew writing contest. The prompt was to write about a workplace mistake, real or imagined, and this entrant imagined a whopper. Thanks to Rick Blum for giving me permission to share his story.

–Kate Gace Walton, Work Stew Editor

A Good Day

By Rick Blum

Pulling into the parking garage on a rain-soaked Thursday morning – too late for a covered space – I could taste disaster in the air.

Yesterday’s work day had ended badly, with an exchange between company CEO Sam Boynton and me about the efficacy of my latest research project being the main point of irritation. My insistence on staying the course despite some unexpected findings were met with a cold “We’ll see about that,” from Sam.

Entering the building’s spacious third-floor foyer, I shook out my umbrella over a giant snake plant, then walked past the glass elevators, hiking up the two flights of stairs to the company’s top-floor office suite.

As I rounded the corner to my office, the sight of VP of Human Resources Diane Vollmer was an ominous sign. Perched stiffly in the chair next to my desk, she greeted me brusquely, then motioned for me to sit.

Tossing my briefcase loudly on a cluttered desktop, I turned to Diane, who generally looks fetching, but seemed to exude wickedness this particular morning.

“So did that douche-bag Boynton send you in here?” I coughed out trying to make it sound like a joke.

Ignoring this intemperate remark for the moment, Diane got right to the point: “Peter, you pushed Sam’s button once too often. I’m afraid he wants you gone…now. I’ve got a package all put together for you: two weeks salary and three unused vacation days. And you’ll be off the health plan the end of the month. Sorry I couldn’t get any more out of him, but, you know, Sam’s pretty hard-headed, and you didn’t do much to help yourself, like calling him a douche bag just now, for instance. Anyhow, you need to pack up your personal items asap. Security will usher you out.”

Though her words were not at all unexpected, I still felt too stunned to do much more than grunt acknowledgement and start packing.

After filling a small box with family photos and a few odds and ends (including a talking Dilbert doll that would chirp out Things are looking up whenever dropped on a hard surface), I tossed my briefcase, which the security guard dutifully inspected in case it contained a company-owned paperclip or two, and the box onto the ergonomic chair I’d purchased several years ago to quell a perpetually achy back and headed down the hall.

By the time I reached the front door, which the guard was holding open in case I suddenly forgot how a door handle worked, numbness had morphed into full fury. So when the elevator door directly across the hallway was miraculously open, I gave the chair a shove propelled by six years of built-up anger.

It was then that I remembered that the elevator walls, toward which my chair was now hurdling at warp speed, were made of glass. The next few milliseconds seemed to last hours, until, in dismay, I saw the chair burst through the back wall of the elevator.

Rushing to the railing next to the elevator, I arrived just in time to see the last few feet of the chair’s descent…right onto the head of Sam Boynton, who had been enjoying – perhaps for the last time – his morning latte grande.

As Sam crumpled to the floor to the horrified looks of his sycophantic entourage, I could hear a faint but familiar voice cry out Things are looking up.

“Well,” I thought, “This is turning out to be a pretty good day after all.”

I wanted to share a few more of the entries that were submitted to the latest Work Stew writing contest. Even though Sharmyn McGraw’s “Dilly of a Typo” has already been published as this round’s winner, several other entrants have kindly given me permission to share their stories as well. First up is Iris Madelyn’s “Spider Drop.”

–Kate Gace Walton, Work Stew Editor

Spider Drop

By Iris Madelyn 

“I told you it was too high.”

That’s all I could manage to say before the ambulance arrived. My right ankle lay limp next to my elbow and I could see the awkward bend of my broken shinbone. The sergeant was looking down at me from the roof of the building. Even from here, I could see the oh, shit in his eyes.

I’ve always had a problem keeping my mouth shut. So when I was told that the only way to succeed in the Marine Corps was to run fast and keep my mouth shut, I knew I only had a 50% chance of making it.

It was 1999, before war changed the way we trained and the way we entertained ourselves. We were going to perform a Spider Drop, a tactical technique used to safely jump from about three meters high. But on this occasion, it was sold to us as an ego-charged maneuver whereby a young and strapped marine attempts to scale down the side of a building – pretending it’s under siege – before plummeting to the ground with a tuck-and-roll…from two-stories up.

In hindsight, I can see the value of such an exercise. And as a career military woman, I understand all the rah-rah of jumping from buildings for training. But this January morning, it was just for fun. When Sergeant Tough Guy showed up looking for volunteers to go to the Urban Terrain Training Center on base, I raised my hand. The other option was to stay at my work station and monitor the colonel’s internet speed for the next ten hours.

“Um, I think we’ll use this building,” the sergeant said pointing at an empty cinderblock shell of walls and doorways at the training center. Then there were private meetings with other sergeants and medics. There was more pointing and looking up and returning to the leadership huddle.

“Do they even know what the hell they’re doing?” I asked the young medic standing next to me. He’d been excluded from the planning huddle because of his low rank.

“Don’t start,” he said.

I waited in line with the medic and everyone else pending further instructions. Further instructions never came. We were all just shepherded up to the roof of the two-story structure. One by one, we were told how to Spider Drop then made to jump.

I voiced my concerns more than once but didn’t get much support. I wasn’t known for my blind obedience to orders.

“Sergeant, this building is too high.”

“Devil-dawg! Do you think you’re smarter than me? Always running your mouth. Get back in line.” The sergeant’s voice dissipated over the top of the building as he shook his head and walked away.

After four other marines had been injured during their attempts, I looked to the young medic again for support.

“Doc. For real, though. Doesn’t this shit seem too high? I mean, is this building made for jumping like this? It doesn’t make sense.”

“You expect things to make sense. That’s your real problem,” he chuckled. “You’ll be fine. Besides, sergeant’s not gonna be happy ’til we’ve all jumped and he’s got his kicks in for the day.”

I looked over at the sergeant and watched his wicked smiled as he yelled at the most recent victim over the building’s ledge. “Awe, c’mon! It’s just a little sprained ankle, devil-dawg. Rub some dirt on it.”

I knew for certain that he was insane. I wanted him to ask me again if I thought I was smarter than him.

Thank you for a particularly entertaining batch of contest entries. Your tales of mistakes made on the job made for good reading, and I hope to share (with each writer’s permission) a few more of them in the coming days. In the meantime, though, here’s the winning entry, which the writer says is “all true” and which I chose largely because it delivered a much-needed laugh. Congratulations, Sharmyn McGraw, and thank you for the chuckle!

–Kate Gace Walton, Work Stew Editor

A Dilly of a Typo

By Sharmyn McGraw

It was time for me to write and publish our bi-monthly newsletter for our Pituitary Brain Tumor Support Group. Nine hundred fliers were printed and snail-mailed to our patients. Plus, a copy of the newsletter was posted on all of our social media sites and patient advocates’ websites. The biggest news in the flier was the invitation to our patients to join us for a fancy awards dinner for one of the leading neurosurgeons in his field: Daniel F. Kelly. Dr. Kelly was being honored with the “Gentle Giant” award at a dinner where his family, colleagues, and patients would join him.

Just moments after the newsletter was posted on the internet, and all nine hundred fliers were mailed, I got an email from a patient who had just read the flier posted on Facebook: “Please tell Dr. Kelly congrats. I wasn’t aware they gave out such an award, so bravo, Dr. Kelly.” I thought, Hmm? Wonder what he meant by that. But it wasn’t until I got a voicemail from one of Dr. Kelly’s colleagues that I started to panic. “Sharmyn, I just wanted to make sure you caught the typo before your fliers go out in the mail.” Again, I was not sure what she was referring to but that’s when I noticed in the flier that I had written, Please Join Us To Honor Dr. Daniel Kelly with the “Genital Giant” award…I almost threw up. There was no way I could break into nine hundred people’s mail boxes to retrieve them…but I had to get it off the internet ASAP, and hope no one actually reads the newsletter. Well, the good news is, people do read the newsletter. The bad news is, the flier soon spread like wildfire.

I knew I needed protection when I broke the news of my mistake, so I emailed Dr. Kelly and I included a few of the other docs he works closely with because I knew they would think the typo was hilarious. “Dear Dr. Kelly, I mailed out the fliers to all of our patients and invited them to the awards dinner. However, instead of you getting the Gentle Giant award, I announced you were getting the Genital Giant award…so, you’re welcome.” Howard, one of the other docs, asked, “Where would one purchase such a plaque? I’d sure like to see the trophy…” There started the endless commentary from the peanut gallery. Everyone was laughing, even Dr. Kelly. But I couldn’t laugh quite yet; I still felt sick to my stomach.

Dr. Kelly said, “Oh, now that makes sense. A patient sent me an email and said, “I hope you get a standing ovation but I didn’t know what she meant so I wrote back, Thank You.”

I’m still not sure the bigwigs at the hospital found it funny, but the night of the gala, I proudly stood at the podium before the crowd and talked about this great man, who I have worked side-by-side with for the past 15 years helping patients with pituitary brain tumors. I let the crowd know, he may only be receiving the Gentle Giant award this evening but there was always next year for the Genital Giant award…the crowd laughed and applauded and as I presented Dr. Kelly with his award, I could finally laugh with him as he graciously accepted his honor.

The Prompt
Describe a moment on the job, real or imagined, when you realized you made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

Deadline
Midnight PST on August 15, 2015

The Prize
$200 for the winner, to be announced on August 22, 2015. The winning entry, and perhaps some other entries, will be published here on Work Stew.

Eligibility and Word Count
Only entries that have not been published elsewhere are eligible. Word limit: 600 words, max.

How to Submit
Email your entry to kate@workstew.com. You will receive a confirmation email within 24 hours of sending in your entry.

Image credit: Wikipedia

Work Stew in the News…

“Random Acts of Business,” the essay I wrote to launch Work Stew back in 2011, was re-published in The Huffington Post. It’s located in a section called ‘The Third Metric,’ which focuses on “redefining success beyond money and power.”

Also, Ashley Gross of KPLU (Seattle’s NPR station) talked to me about why I started the site, why I keep at it, and what I’ve learned.

Many Work Stew contributors came along for the ride: photographer Meg Heimovics Kumin and flight attendant-turned-gorilla caretaker John Safkow were featured in the radio version of the story (click the blue ‘listen’ button to hear it).

Devo founder Gerald Casale, python hunter Ruben Ramirez, high-rise window washer David Schmidt, lice remover Lisa Weisberg, former corporate lawyer Kevin McHargue, and carpenter Samantha Cole all made appearances in the accompanying print piece.

Stewing on Stage: A Brief Story Slam Round-Up

I love swapping stories here at Work Stew. I think of it as a virtual water cooler where someone is always around with a tale to tell.

But there’s also something to be said for telling a story live—on stage, with no notes, to a crowd of people whose faces you can see.

I’ve done that three times now, at the Bainbridge Island Story Slam, and it’s really, really fun. If your community is currently slam-free, perhaps you should get one going? Feel free to reach out via Facebook or email (kate@workstew.com) and I’ll explain the logistics, which are gloriously simple.

In the meantime, for a taste of the tales you might hear at such an event, here’s my latest. The theme was ‘Dating: the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly’—but, as you’ll see, my story has a small connection to work as well.

My other slam tales, which focused more centrally on work, were about the summer job I had at Yellowstone National Park and my most memorable night shift.

Thank you to everyone who submitted an entry to the latest Work Stew writing contest. This was the prompt: Describe a moment on the job, real or imagined, when you knew you had to make a change.

From a diverse set of submissions (poems! fiction! non-fiction! non-fiction poems!), I chose as the winner this entry by Tanya Ward Goodman. Over on Facebook, I’ll explain what I liked most, but first have a read yourself.

Exit Here

By Tanya Ward Goodman

The best thing about my job is that the restroom is a single hole operation with a locking door. That level of privacy means that whenever my eyeballs are about to roll right out of my head, I can entrust my phone to my fellow assistant and pop off to the loo. Sometimes I pee. Sometimes I masturbate. Either way, I’m back to my desk in five minutes.

My desk faces a wall painted industrial beige. Just above eye level is a lighted green exit sign. On most days, the wall is my central metaphor. The sign, when I see it, taunts me with the simplicity of its message. “Exit,” it says. “As if.” I’m stuck. I’ve hit that wall. This job is the latest gig where I answer phones and file papers for someone big and important. These big, important people often tell me I’m smart. They often ask if I have a “plan.” If I had a “plan,” I wouldn’t be here.

“Here” is the offices of a reality television production company. “Reality” is what they are putting on the T.V. The reality of the office is that Tuesdays are always “Taco Tuesdays,” the pretty blonde assistant speaks without irony about “getting her MRS. Degree” and I’m one of two members on the “support team” who believes in evolution. “You’re not telling me you think we came from monkeys?” the pretty blonde asks. Her eyes are wide. Her floral perfume mixes with the aroma of packaged taco spice.

I am here because there is a steady wage, a 401k and health insurance. These things seem like the trappings of an adult “reality” that, at thirty, I have yet to achieve. I want these things. I should want these things?

I work for two executives. We’ll call them Joe and Maxine. Maxine is often in a state of emergency. An “Emergency” is finding out that her credit card is over the limit or waiting too long for the delivery of rented cocktail tables. Joe is about ten feet tall. For him, “Emergency” might be a cold egg white omelet. He is mostly kind. He tells me I can write at my desk when I don’t have anything better to do. He never asks me to take in his dry cleaning or wash his car. This is good because in the past, I’ve spilled a full Venti latte on the cream colored floor of a brand new Ford Explorer and piloted a Jaguar into a cement post. I’m a little wary of driving.

One day, Maxine says, “I need you to do something really important.” I grab my notepad and pen. I am trying to be ready. “I need a better parking space,” she says. She tells me it’s hard to make the turn into her current space. She drives an SUV the size of an Airstream trailer. “Fix it,” she says. I dutifully call the Parking Office and they tell me they can’t change out her space because the guy next to her also drives a huge SUV and if they move one huge SUV they are going to have to move them all. I relay this to Maxine. And she says, “Jesus, can you get a spine?” And I say, “I’m happy to get a spine for something that fucking matters.” I walk back to my desk and the Exit sign is glowing so green, it’s all I can see. The wall has disappeared and I’m running free, emerald grass under my feet, the world a fragrant reality of my own making.

The Prompt
Describe a moment on the job, real or imagined, when you knew you had to make a change.

Link to photo credit.

Prompt credit: thank you to two Work Stew readers, Stephanie Kaye Turner and Elisabeth Robson, whose Facebook suggestions helped shape this prompt.

Deadline
Midnight PST on May 15, 2015

The Prize
$200 for the winner, to be announced on May 22, 2015. The winning entry, and perhaps some other entries, will be published here on Work Stew.

Eligibility and Word Count
Only entries that have not been published elsewhere are eligible. Word limit: 600 words, max.

How to Submit
Email your entry to kate@workstew.com. You will receive a confirmation email within 24 hours of sending in your entry.

Work Stew in the News…

“Random Acts of Business,” the essay I wrote to launch Work Stew back in 2011, was re-published in The Huffington Post. It’s located in a section called ‘The Third Metric,’ which focuses on “redefining success beyond money and power.”

Also, Ashley Gross of KPLU (Seattle’s NPR station) talked to me about why I started the site, why I keep at it, and what I’ve learned.

Many Work Stew contributors came along for the ride: photographer Meg Heimovics Kumin and flight attendant-turned-gorilla caretaker John Safkow were featured in the radio version of the story (click the blue ‘listen’ button to hear it).

Devo founder Gerald Casale, python hunter Ruben Ramirez, high-rise window washer David Schmidt, lice remover Lisa Weisberg, former corporate lawyer Kevin McHargue, and carpenter Samantha Cole all made appearances in the accompanying print piece.

Work Stew went to the woods: I was honored to present at Islandwood’s tenth annual Circle of Friends event, where Cheryl Strayed, best-selling author of WILD and TINY BEAUTIFUL THINGS, served as the keynote speaker.

My session, which wrapped up a weekend-long retreat, focused on writing as a tool for personal development. In my talk, I got to highlight the essays of several Work Stew contributors. Thank you, as always, for letting me share your stories.

Stewing on Stage: A Brief Story Slam Round-Up

I love swapping stories here at Work Stew. I think of it as a virtual water cooler where someone is always around with a tale to tell.

But there’s also something to be said for telling a story live—on stage, with no notes, to a crowd of people whose faces you can see.

I’ve done that three times now, at the Bainbridge Island Story Slam, and it’s really, really fun. If your community is currently slam-free, perhaps you should get one going? Feel free to reach out via Facebook or email (kate@workstew.com) and I’ll explain the logistics, which are gloriously simple.

In the meantime, for a taste of the tales you might hear at such an event, here’s my latest. The theme was ‘Dating: the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly’—but, as you’ll see, my story has a small connection to work as well.

My other slam tales, which focused more centrally on work, were about the summer job I had at Yellowstone National Park and my most memorable night shift.