This morning, after I drove over some seriously storm-torn roads, I signed my paperwork for my new job. I had to bring so much stuff with me- Wait a sec, BRB. . .
[leaves to get Social Security card out of wallet and put back into safe place. That is not something one should carry around on one's person.]
. . . where was I? Right. I had to bring so much stuff with me that I got a bit shaky on the way there, worried that I had forgotten something, or that what I had brought wasn't sufficient. I already knew that my official transcripts wouldn't be there, because my undergrad was taking its sweet time and not responding to my inquiries--although thankfully Mom recalled that she'd put the copy I'd received right after graduation into the safe deposit box (yay!) so at least I had one they could view and copy. I paid to have an official transcript from my master's program expedited there, but the mail hadn't arrived yet at that time of the morning.
So they gave me the Barry Bonds treatment on my agreement. Yup, there was an asterisk next to my pay, pending proof that I actually do have my master's degree. (Well, heck, I could've brought the darn thing in but the frame is huge.)
Doesn't it naturally follow that a couple hours later, I got a phone call from the HR office letting me know that my graduate transcript had arrived? Sheesh.
While one of the nice HR people was photocopying the stack of papers I brought in (physical, TB test results, criminal clearances except of course the one that will show up in the mail tomorrow, driver's license, address change to license, etc., do you get that I'm not exaggerating when I say "stack"?), I watched a video about sexual harrassment.
Or should I say video that gave me flashbacks to my high school days. Not because of the content. (I avoided that whole route by going to an all-girls' school, silly.) No, it was the clothing and hairstyles (typified on this show). Dark lipstick, Fly Girl outfits (one girl was a teenage version of Ms. Lopez), square-neck floral-print tops, broomstick skirts, babydoll dresses--I swear the one student (the one who had rumors spread about her by this guy she refused to date even though he'd cornered the poor dear several times) had on an outfit almost exactly the same as one I wore my freshman year of college. That just tickled me so much I almost had a hard time paying attention to the message of the video. (Sexual harrassment is bad, m'kay?)
So I think they're excited to have me aboard. I'm excited, too. A living wage, benefits, a nice facility. . . doing what I've been studying and planning and working hard to do.
Pinch me, please.