I’ve given a lot of thought to Go Cards. Contemplated the recent subtle redesign. Judged the aesthetics of the RA sticker. Considered the longevity of the magnetic strip and the odd timing of the expiration date. Weighed the pros and cons of the pre-sent picture versus the first-day-of-college special. But mostly, I’ve thought about the way students hand them over to be swiped.
My preoccupation comes not from some odd identification card fetish, but rather as an occupational hazard. For the past three years, I’ve worked at the front desk of Yates, simultaneously swiping thousands of cards and observing the mannerisms of the swipees. And what I’ve noticed most of all is that Georgetown students tend to shift into an almost Pavlovian response when they see someone in a uniform, sitting behind a counter, waiting to perform a service. Most are polite and friendly, asking how I am or saying thank you, but it has a cursory quality to it, understandably—it is, after all, a quick checkpoint on their way to doing something else, and I appreciate the small courtesies I’m shown.
But there are also plenty of people who pitch their cards on the counter, studiously avoiding any eye contact, even when asking a question about tennis courts or exercise classes. These same people would treat me with respect me in class or in a social situation, simply by dint of my being a fellow student, but behind the counter, the situation has become asymmetrical. I’m no longer a peer first and foremost. The most interesting part of this dynamic is that people’s behavior towards me completely shifts when I perform the other half of my Yates duties: life guarding at the pool. I’m wearing the exact same uniform, but in that context people are deferential to my authority—I’m no longer an unskilled laborer. I’m plying a country-club sort of trade.
I’m not really offended by this. My job is, in all honesty, pretty cushy, and there’s never a shift where friends don’t stop by on their way to a workout to chat. In fact, most people probably realize on some level that I’m a student, and treat me with a little extra courtesy than they ordinarily would to someone behind a counter. Even if I occasionally get a little miffed at someone’s rude behavior, my job takes up just a small sliver of my day. When a girl talking on a cell phone tosses a huge jangly mess of keys on the counter at me without even an acknowledgment that I am a sentient life form, I’ll probably give them a surly toss back. I can be a bratty Georgetown girl, too. But it’s a lot easier to bristle at a rude customer when all that’s riding on your job security is spring break. There are plenty of people on this campus for whom similar jobs subsidize their livelihood and that of their children, and take up the majority of their week.
A swipe into the cafeteria takes just an instant, and the interaction probably never even gets a second thought from most of us, but you can bet that the workers swiping you in are adding up the sum total of people who can’t be bothered to look them in the eye when handing over their card. They aren’t given the chance that I am to interact with Georgetown students on a structurally level playing field.
Not everyone considers manners to be a universal moral imperative. Many choose to reserve their best for people they think matter—after all, we all came to Georgetown to take the first steps towards a position of unfettered power, right? If that’s you, then consider that the road to the top is full of plenty of people behind the counter—secretaries, receptionists, interns—all of whom have a strong sense of self, and are closely observing the way you treat them, and all of whom are gatekeepers, and probably curry influence with the very same bosses you are trying to impress. Habits you form at the gym, at the Wisey’s counter or at the library will follow you through life.
Most students on this campus probably sympathize with what the Living Wage Coalition continues to work for. Requesting to be treated with common courtesy by a group of 6,000 undergraduates is not exactly something one can write into a contract, but most campus workers probably wish that it could be. This is something we can change without a stamp of approval from the administration.
I’m no saint on this front either. I cringe when I think of all the times when I’ve not bothered to stop a conversation for a quick thank you after a swipe, even after all the swiping hours I’ve logged, but maybe that cringe of awareness is the first step.
