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Working'll kill ya

Actually, I like my new job. So far.

We haven't done any work yet, but anyway …

We're in training. Eight months of training! The Princess elbows her husband and says, "Yeah, honey, they get training! Imagine that." She has started a job with no training whatsoever and is hating it. The husband says, "You know how to be a project manager." The problem is no one will give her any information about these projects.

I, on the other hand, am being swamped with information. I am having to trust The System. They will give me all the information I need. The information will be sufficient. I will retain enough of it to do my job. I will not crash and burn.

We'll all just keep our fingers crossed, won't we?

What else can I say without betraying too much?

My training group is fun. A bunch of people are fresh out of college. They are so cute! They don't know how to sign up for health benefits and are going to consult their moms. A few of us are older. We are totally down with the benefits because we have been self-employed and this is our big fantasy. Health insurance! That we hardly have to pay for! And paid days off. Baby, we are getting Columbus Day! Off! But yet we still get paid! It's like a dream.

This training system is like being in school again. While there is no formal homework, I feel the need to study and review the plethora of information outside the office. Some of it is starting to make sense.

I have three Smart Cards to get me to work (commuter pass), into the building (key card), and into the office (employee badge). We have noticed that the badges must be scanned to get into the office each time we step out into the hallway to use the bathroom. I feel the need to point this out to the younger, less paranoid ones. "Watch that toilet time, people."

I have discovered that a large part of this job involves denying people Things They Want and, in fact, involves saying "No!" with toddler-like frequency. I find this strangely empowering. I notice that life has yet to squash the urge to be compliant out of the younger ones, who have yet to re-enter the "No!" stage, having only left it about fifteen years ago. I find myself at the advantage. Heh.

Weekend trips home: Getting on that train Sunday evening is not easy.

On reflection

North 11th and East Marshall Streets

An unexpected pleasure in Court End and the MCV area, which is somewhat short on pleasure because when I'm there I'm usually getting jabbed by a phlebotomist, is walking south on 11th Street and suddenly seeing the rippling reflection of the nineteenth century townhouses in this twentieth century mirrored building. I always seem to forget this spot so every time it's almost a surprise. This I shot from Oz's car on our way home from dinner last night.

I haven't been doing much photography this summer. It's been hot and nasty out and I have to hide from the sun. I've also been more or less totally occupied by my impending move and foray into "real job" territory.

This is my last night at home for the next week. Monday is the day I join the ranks of the employed. I think I'm okay with it, as long as I cling to the idea that I'm simply gathering material. I'm a Spy in the House of Work. I don't have to be a proper grownup employed person, I just have to pass for one.

Hillbilly luggage

"What? No update?" Oz looks over from his computer, where he's just made his daily visit to this blog.

"Hah."

I haven't dropped off the face of the earth. I've been shopping.

Actually, that's rather like descending to one of the outer circles of hell, so maybe I have.

We carried a load of stuff up to the apartment in Alexandria yesterday. I've been unpacking and cleaning. Oz has been helping. Through the magic of random button-pushing, he even washed a load of dishes (the apartment has a dishwasher other than me). The cats have been … not actively destroying anything, so that's like helping. For them.

Moving without moving is still moving. There's just more shopping involved and the list grows ever longer. For example, I took our old coffee grinder up to the apartment. This morning when I ground up some coffee, I heard the gears slipping. "Oh, that's why we replaced this machine." So now I need to get another coffee grinder, lest I be reduced some morning to chewing on the whole beans in an attempt to get my RDA of caffeine. That would probably be more efficient than drinking coffee, but the time savings would be eaten up by picking black bits from my teeth.

But even with all the stress, we still like the apartment and the neighborhood. We walked the two blocks over to the commercial area for lunch (walking down the middle of the street and saying "Hi" to the people we passed, marking ourselves as obviously from somewhere else). At the café bakery where we ate, the lady asked if it was our first time there. Oz said, "Yes, we're just moving into the neighborhood." And she gave us a loaf of ciabatta as a welcome gift.

Amazingly enough, Del Ray manages to be a densely populated residential area with commercial development down a principal street, including several restaurants which do not have parking lots. And yet, there is no parking problem. Richmond city council, take note. In Del Ray, I can walk two blocks to a Cuban sandwich. In Church Hill, I cannot. Please explain.