The Real Nitty-Gritty

My education continued

My second "tea" with the legendary Mrs. Phagun was different than the first. It was much more relaxed – I guess, a decision about me had been made, but just under the surface lay an unyielding resistance to change. No one I had ever met could avoid change like Mrs. Phagun.

As she often told me, "If it has worked for all these years, why change it?"

I came to understand that this meant that the subject was closed unless I could come up with a very good reason. At the end of this statement, I received a stare that indicated an unacceptable response was anticipated.

At first, I attempted to convince her that a particular ‘change’ was needed after the statement and that ‘look’. I soon discovered that further pursuit of that change at that time would not only be fruitless but also would harden her resolve against it. I found that somehow change must be gradual, and she had to own every bit of it. After all, to her, I was a kid, and even though she liked me well enough, I was still just a kid. If she hadn’t liked me, I would be yesterday's news and a fading memory.

By the end of our second ‘tea’, I understood some things about doing business with Mrs. Phagun. I had to be completely ‘there’ and my feelings about the issues with which we were dealing had better be honest. I needed to demonstrate that I was as committed as she was to ‘the house’. She knew if I were unsure, she would snap me up, taking me to account on the spot. Once I had been caught a few times, I made the needed adjustments to avoid this situation.

Our teas became structured and segmented - nice talk to business to winding up. At all times, appropriate language was used, but with a substructure of verbal guerrilla warfare. During the business section of our meetings, anything could happen, and when there was disagreement, I came to know that surprises were no surprise.

Mrs. Phagun and I would be at loggerheads when she would say, “Let me tell you a story.

I learned that those words usually spelled out my doom. She would begin a story that appeared to have nothing to do with what we had been talking about, and that seemed endless. These stories meandered all over the map, and after several minutes, I would be so confused that I had trouble remembering the point about which we were disagreeing. With inevitably perfect timing, Mrs. Phagun would end the story in a way that demonstrated irretrievably that I was wrong and she was right.

Once lost in one of these stories, I knew the game was over, and there was nothing to be done except surrender with as much grace as I could muster. On the upside, the stories were almost always wonderful; they spoke of times long past, introducing me to a world that I would have never known otherwise. Winning an argument with Mrs. Phagun was not worth missing an opportunity to hear one of these stories. Deep down, I knew, instinctively, that the stories were as important as or more important than the ‘work’. Mrs. Phagun was pouring out her life along with the tea, and I became a grateful consumer of both.

The strange thing was that the "work" got done anyway, and a bond of understanding formed between Mrs. Phagun and me that grew into a friendship that lasted the rest of her life. Even though she died years ago, she is still my friend and a part of me.

Negotiation was always the order of the day in our "working teas"; nothing would happen otherwise. As we understood each other's motives and styles better and better, things went more smoothly. Knowing more about her and her times, I was able to speak to Mrs. Phagun in the language of her times and her in mine. This removed many of the misunderstandings that were the real barriers to progress. We became co-conspirators plotting to meet the basic requirements of State licensing without damaging the home that Mrs. Phagun had made for the Ladies, Maggie, and herself. Our meetings were very different after that turning point, we agreed, and "the stories" moved to the personal section of the teas.

After a few months, I had become a fixture at the house on Friday afternoons. I ended my workweek there, a part of the "family". The "Ladies" were comfortable with me, and they expected a new joke or at least some funny behavior from me each week. Time was added to my schedule at the house to ensure that no time would be lost in my meeting with Mrs. Phagun.

Oh yes, Maggie now ‘took tea’ with us each week. She constantly flirted with me, and I joined in this playful fun. She would say, "I'll roll my eyes at you and get my own way as I did in the state school.

I would look at her and say, "I bet you did, all the time.

She would then say, "Don't get sassy with me or I'll hit you in the arm.

"I'll call the Police, I'd say.

"I'll tell them you fell against the wall, Maggie would say.

It was like this week after week in nearly the same words, and yet neither of us tired of our game.

The preparation for licensing went on and on, and our time was almost up as the deadline drew near. There were still some sticking points, but most of the details had been dealt with. I was now clearly part of the house and viewed as an ally, no longer a suspicious character. In fact, I was less suspicious of myself; I really wanted Mrs. Phagun to succeed for her sake, not mine.

As the day of the inspection approached, I think I was more nervous than Mrs. Phagun. She was, as she said, "calm as a cat."
. I later thought - calm outside, jumpy on the inside. But nervous or not, no one could tell. I thought about her life, and her poker face made perfect sense to me. The house sailed on during all of this like a great ship in calm waters.

Inspection day arrived like an unwelcome visitor at Mrs. Phagun's front door, personified by a man named Richard from the Quality Assurance Dept. I could see Richard was more nervous than either Mrs. Phagun or me. He certainly did not want to find fault with a human services icon or, worse than that, end up having to close her house. So he proceeded carefully and very politely.

However, Mrs. Phagun would not be wooed and was all business, almost to the point of being unfriendly. Her eyes sparkled with defiance as she pointed out things to him that had not been fixed yet.

I cringed at each of those statements; we had, after all, prepared for this visit and talked about how she should let him find any problems.

She had said to me, "I won't lie, you know.

I said that not telling the inspector about something that he had not asked about was not lying.

I got a thoughtful look, and after a few moments, she said, "But, pretty darn close.

Richard rushed through the inspection of the physical plant - the house's state of repair and appearance, sitting in the living room, began the paper review of the residential program. He seemed much more relaxed and was flying through his checklist in response to Mrs. Phagun's answers to his questions.

Richard asked, "You don't censor the client's mail, right?"

"Oh yes, Mrs. Phagun replied happily, "all the time.

Richard's pen froze. "No. I meant, open their mail, read it, and decide whether or not to give it to them," he said in an almost pleading voice.

"Yes, that is what I do, said Mrs. Phagun

Richard, now perspiring heavily, protested, "But that is illegal."

Mrs. Phagun made a wave of disdain with her left hand and said, "I have to, or all dickens breaks loose, let me tell you a story so you'll see what I mean."

Leaving Richard to sweat, Mrs. Phagun launched into a long, rambling story about misunderstandings caused by letters going directly to the Ladies and their unmonitored responses. This story went on and on, and Richard sank lower and lower in his chair. Clearly, he despaired of his chances to ‘pass’ the house

For my part, I watched and wondered how to save this situation. I knew the story would not work this time - the law was the law. Then it came to me.

At the next turn of the story, I interrupted and asked, "Don't the Ladies ask you to read their mail and help them understand it?"

While she searched my eyes, Mrs. Phagun said, "Of course, they ask me to read their mail; I've been doing that for them for years.

At that, Richard almost broke his pen making a check on his checklist. "That is fine, he said and indicated the inspection was done.

Mrs. Phagun looked him in the eye and said, "Well, did I pass?"

With a breathless voice, Richard said she had and rose to leave.

"Well, that is good," said Mrs. Phagun, "You will take tea?"

Richard, still sweating, offered his regrets but said he had to return to his office right away. I don't remember him leaving, but all of a sudden, he was gone.

A few minutes later at tea, I said to Mrs. Phagun, “Why did you do that?"

She replied, “I'm going to sit in my own house while some young whippersnapper questions me about how I run a house? I have run for fifty years. And then he will decide if I can continue to run it. Maybe he can do that, but I wasn't going to make it a good time for him.”

I looked at her and said, "You are bad."

She just smiled at me and poured us another cup of tea