Monthly Archives: September 2012

Note to self: this IS how your life is supposed to go.

Okay, so I was apparently worked up into a hurricane-ous tizzy with that last post. I think that I am probably the just-right amount of nervous, balanced with a healthy dose of very-excite! (Borat voice*). I mean, I have an entire week of not-doing-my-job-just-getting-trained-how-to-do-it to go through yet. And already I’m worried about the inconsequential stuff. Welcome to the inside of my head.

I also forget that the hiring process itself was pretty intense. Several weeks of interviews and assessments later, here I am. We were told the very first day that we were chosen for good reasons, and I am afflicted with a sort of transient amnesia when it comes to that fact. If they thought I couldn’t hack it, they would not have thought twice about saying “Sorry, not interested.” (And I am not that good of a bullshitter – if I had tried to pass myself off as better than I was…they would have seen right through me during the million-and-one interviews). Also, happening upon this job opportunity was so incredibly random and out of left field that I can’t help but think (warning: sappiness ahead) that this is where I am meant to be. At least for now, of course.

Do you ever think about that? Where you’re meant to be? With my last job (well, technically my current job, as I still have a few more days of two-job overlap), I went through long periods of time where I thought I was somehow wasting my time / life / formal education doing NOT the thing I assumed I should be doing (never mind the fact that I didn’t know what that thing was then, either). But (warning: nostalgia ahead) when I think back on the last three years I realize that – HOLY SMOKES – I have learned a hell of a lot and met a hell of a lot of awesome people.

Life has a funny way of figuring itself out like that. It’s just hard to remember, because sometimes that mental Post-it Note gets covered up by a lot of other extraneous junk.

*Say what you will about that movie, but I’m a sucker for fake ridiculous accents.

This is a janitor’s closet? I thought it was the break room.

One of the worst things about starting a new job is figuring out how things work. And by “things” I mean “everything.” Your ID card. The time clock. The lunch breaks. The cafeteria. The coffee machine. The supervisor. The coworkers.

Competing with my need to want to just already know how it all works, damn it! is my desire to blend in and not be the Glaringly New Girl: the one who can’t get her ID card to open the door, who can’t figure out the time clock, who awkwardly sits alone at lunch, who enters the cafeteria line from the wrong side, who won’t drink coffee when she knows she’ll be finishing the pot because she can’t figure out how to make more, who bothers her supervisor with a million questions, and who laughs way too loudly at her coworker’s jokes except the coworker wasn’t actually making a joke. Weirdo.

And on top of that is the whole learning-a-whole-new-job thing, so to say that I have been (and will continue to be for at least a few weeks) a gigantic festering ball of anxiety is an understatement. I honestly feel like I might explode with nervousness at any given moment.

But then I’ll be that Glaringly New Girl who exploded all over the office and Jesus, was that a bitch to clean up! 

Oh, girl. I need a Xanax the size of a fucking hockey puck.


Before I could “officially” be offered my new job, I had to be screened for drugs. I’ve never had to have this done before, and I was told they would be taking a hair sample. I also assumed that I would be peeing in a cup, because – I don’t know? Isn’t that what you do? Nervous that I wouldn’t be able to provide a sample on-demand, I purposely drank a bottle of water in addition to my morning coffee…and then held it until I got to the testing facility.


I got lost on the way there. According to Google Maps, the facility was located in a McDonald’s in a neighboring town. I am not making this up. So I call up the place, and turns out it’s on the campus of a hospital I’ve never been to before. And by “campus” I mean my undergraduate campus is probably smaller. And the buildings weren’t numbered, and blah blah blah.

Still really had to pee.

Once I found the building, I couldn’t find the suite INSIDE the building. I LITERALLY walked in a complete circle through the entire first floor. Like, I was heading down a hallway thinking “Ok, it should be the next door on the right,” when I get to a door and it takes me back outside. Where I started.

I finally ask for directions from probably the nicest old woman on the Earth, and turns out I passed the office not ONCE, but TWICE.

This was a walk-in type of thing, and when I arrived, there were three other people in the waiting room ahead of me. And so I wait.

For about a half hour.

My name is called, and I go into an exam room where a nurse cuts out three BIG CHUNKS of hair from different places on my head. She then very deliberately puts them in the sample pouch, explaining what she’s doing the entire time: “Now I’m going to place the seal that you initialed on the envelope…blah blah blah.” I know this is for legal purposes, but I can’t really hear her, on account of the whole about-to-wet-myself thing.

Then she tells me “Okay, you’re good to go!” Wait, what? “That’s all you need?” “Yup.” “No other… samples?” “Hmmm?” “Never mind.”
I look at my watch. I am now almost 45 minutes late for work. Well, shit.

So I arrive at work, almost literally running at this point. My boss thinks I am racing in because of my lateness. I know otherwise.

I realize that I have my belt unbuckled and my pants almost unbuttoned BEFORE I enter the stall. But I do not care. Desperate times call for desperate measures. My boss is lucky I wasn’t doing this as I walked through the door.

Lesson learned: never assume you’ll have to pee in a cup.

Nose tackle? Seriously? Surely you’re making this up.

In anticipation of the soul-crushing void left in my soul once baseball season ends (not to mention this potential NHL lockout, boo), I’m contemplating giving this football thing a go.

It  seems like it’s pretty popular, no? A lot of folks seem to be into it. I assume based on its pervasiveness that it offers some kind of entertainment value. So, yeah! Why the hell not?

I mean, I’m not completely football-ignorant. I’ve participated in a family football pool for as long as I can remember, I can name all of the teams, know many of the players, know that a field goal is three points and a touchdown six. I think a safety is two. But don’t ask me what a safety actually is, because I thought it was a position on the team.

Let’s just say I have a long ways to go before I can actually follow a game properly. Stay tuned, I guess?

EVERYONE! PROCEED TO THE EXITS! Table 41, you have to stay. Sorry.

While dining at an upscale* barbecue establishment recently, I encountered this laminated Evacuation Plan posted on the wall near our table:

It’s unclear whether this is posted due to some kind of Building Code (have you ever seen one of these before, hotel room doors notwithstanding? Me neither, which is why I snapped a pic), or because it’s something the restaurant purveyor expects guests to read and study.

I mean, it’s a nice idea – theoretically. But as I took a closer look, I realized that tables 30 and 31, and 40 and 41 are, essentially, screwed. Absolutely no evac route for you. Guess you’ll have to stay and enjoy your pulled pork.

Something to keep in mind the next time I dine there.



*In this case, “upscale” means a roll of paper towels on each table and all the sweet tea my little bladder can handle.