The Job (Getting into routine)

Things are settling in somewhat. Three days of actual work, although a good-sized chunk of it has been spent training with the visiting reps from one of our partner companies (a polite name for the one of the companies whose stuff we take orders for). Confidentiality prevents me from naming names, but they're HUGE. If I dropped the name, you'd know it, trust me. (You'd think that they'd give us some nice discounts, being so damn big, but no. Alledgedly, they have a quarterly sale, at which time they give us 20% off. Cheap bastards.)

I'm getting somewhat more confident with the multiple systems we have to work in. I don't have it down to a routine yet, obviously, but I'm dithering less. (Tuesday, which was my first actual day on the phones, was completely dreadful.) Tonight wasn't too bad. I had fewer off-the-wall calls---OMG, the questions people come up with! And there was a guy who was on the verge of placing a monster order when he realized the promotional discount he was counting on isn't going to be effective until next week---ouch!

My schedule tonight was off-kilter because of training---I got out at 8:30, and instead of trying to drive like a maniac to get home in time for SPN, I hung out in the breakroom and commandeered one of the 3 TVs. (Which had issues---I managed to miss the first few minutes; I got there at the point of, "That wasn't a black dog, it was a hell hound!" or something to that effect. And it didn't joss my WIP, so I'm happy.)

Adjusting to the new schedule---after today, I'm on 3 til 11:30---isn't taking too much getting used to, and the traffic is *tremendously* less stressful. (Good car-ma and warm fuzzies to the individual in the SUV who followed me down US1 through that dark stretch of north of the Patrick causeway with their big honkin' halogen lights on---I'm not being snide, it really helped. South of the causeway, they have beautiful lights at regular intervals. North of the causeway, it's the Black Hole of Rockledge.) The afternoon drive isn't bad---there's nothing like a couple weeks of balls-to-the-wall rush hour traffic to put things into perspective!

Okay, I think I'm ready to go to bed now....

The Job (Getting into routine)

Things are settling in somewhat. Three days of actual work, although a good-sized chunk of it has been spent training with the visiting reps from one of our partner companies (a polite name for the one of the companies whose stuff we take orders for). Confidentiality prevents me from naming names, but they're HUGE. If I dropped the name, you'd know it, trust me. (You'd think that they'd give us some nice discounts, being so damn big, but no. Alledgedly, they have a quarterly sale, at which time they give us 20% off. Cheap bastards.)

I'm getting somewhat more confident with the multiple systems we have to work in. I don't have it down to a routine yet, obviously, but I'm dithering less. (Tuesday, which was my first actual day on the phones, was completely dreadful.) Tonight wasn't too bad. I had fewer off-the-wall calls---OMG, the questions people come up with! And there was a guy who was on the verge of placing a monster order when he realized the promotional discount he was counting on isn't going to be effective until next week---ouch!

My schedule tonight was off-kilter because of training---I got out at 8:30, and instead of trying to drive like a maniac to get home in time for SPN, I hung out in the breakroom and commandeered one of the 3 TVs. (Which had issues---I managed to miss the first few minutes; I got there at the point of, "That wasn't a black dog, it was a hell hound!" or something to that effect. And it didn't joss my WIP, so I'm happy.)

Adjusting to the new schedule---after today, I'm on 3 til 11:30---isn't taking too much getting used to, and the traffic is *tremendously* less stressful. (Good car-ma and warm fuzzies to the individual in the SUV who followed me down US1 through that dark stretch of north of the Patrick causeway with their big honkin' halogen lights on---I'm not being snide, it really helped. South of the causeway, they have beautiful lights at regular intervals. North of the causeway, it's the Black Hole of Rockledge.) The afternoon drive isn't bad---there's nothing like a couple weeks of balls-to-the-wall rush hour traffic to put things into perspective!

Okay, I think I'm ready to go to bed now....

WTF? Routine?!

Warning: snark ahead.

So, today is supposed to be my first payday. Yay, yippie, huzzah---right? Well, despite the fact that I turned in my info for direct deposit back on Day One which was three whole weeks ago, it hasn't gone through YET, and the gal from HR informs me that it can take up to five pay periods for it to kick in. *snarling and gnashing of teeth*

This fucks things up rather handily, since I am accrusing overdraft fees (an error of $1.16 has already cost me about $50), I need to make a couple of PayPal payments so the seller will ship the dress I'm planning to wear to the wedding next weekend, and I'll have to drive down an hour earlier this afternoon to pick up said check, run across town to the nearest branch of my bank and drop it off and BEG my manager to let me take care of bidness before my shift or on break.

Grrr. This, too, shall pass....

WTF? Routine?!

Warning: snark ahead.

So, today is supposed to be my first payday. Yay, yippie, huzzah---right? Well, despite the fact that I turned in my info for direct deposit back on Day One which was three whole weeks ago, it hasn't gone through YET, and the gal from HR informs me that it can take up to five pay periods for it to kick in. *snarling and gnashing of teeth*

This fucks things up rather handily, since I am accrusing overdraft fees (an error of $1.16 has already cost me about $50), I need to make a couple of PayPal payments so the seller will ship the dress I'm planning to wear to the wedding next weekend, and I'll have to drive down an hour earlier this afternoon to pick up said check, run across town to the nearest branch of my bank and drop it off and BEG my manager to let me take care of bidness before my shift or on break.

Grrr. This, too, shall pass....

Mini NoNoWriMo -- 430 words

It's barely December, and her mail carrier has just handed Nancy a box wrapped in brown paper. She wasn't expecting anything, and she regards it with some bemusement. The postmark is smudged: Somewhere, Wisconsin. It's about the size of a shoebox, weight at least ten pounds, and dense. Nothing rattles. The address was inked with a thick-tipped black pen...that's John's writing, although the return address is T. E. Ford...she chuckles. Once in a while, Big John shows a fine sense of humor.

Carrying it into the kitchen, she wields a pair of scissors against an overkill of packing tape. Inside is---a shoebox. Even before opening it, she knows it no longer contains a pair of black athletic shoes, size 11 1/2 wide. There's a folded sheet of ruled notebook paper on top when she lifts the lid, the left edge still confetti where it was torn loose from its binding. The unsigned note reads, "Merry Christmas. Keep practicing."

The contents are wrapped in newspaper and cushioned with plastic grocery bags. The fine hairs on the back of Nancy's neck are prickling, and she's very careful as she unrolls the papers. Knives. Her own set of throwing knives. She shakes her head. Some men buy their girlfriends slutty lingerie. Or jewelry. Or home appliances. Hers favors deadly weapons. Lucky her. It's the thought that counts, she reminds herself. Looks at her gift. Sighs.

The wrapping is interesting---there are three separate sheets, not all from the same newspaper. One's from Indiana, the second from Ohio, the third from Minnesota. There are articles circled, probably what John's been doing lately. She rolls her eyes at his method of updating her. Some people send out holiday newsletters. Of course, this is John Winchester, so forget trying to peg him alongside Average Joe.

He may be driven and cryptic and the least sentimental man on the planet---at least it seems so at moments like this!---but Nancy recognizes this as John's version of a good, practical gift. This is what he believes she needs, and when she handles one of the streamlined projectiles, she acknowledges the craftmanship behind it. Some guy named Melvin or Myron...hand-forged...quid pro quo for whatever John settled for him....

Not that she's ever tried to contact him, but she could always send a present care of that preacher he's mentioned. Nancy grins, and wonders if a fifty-pound bag of rock salt would be an appropriate Christmas gift. What the heck, if nothing else, they can always use it to salt the church sidewalk when it snows.

Mini NoNoWriMo -- 430 words

It's barely December, and her mail carrier has just handed Nancy a box wrapped in brown paper. She wasn't expecting anything, and she regards it with some bemusement. The postmark is smudged: Somewhere, Wisconsin. It's about the size of a shoebox, weight at least ten pounds, and dense. Nothing rattles. The address was inked with a thick-tipped black pen...that's John's writing, although the return address is T. E. Ford...she chuckles. Once in a while, Big John shows a fine sense of humor.

Carrying it into the kitchen, she wields a pair of scissors against an overkill of packing tape. Inside is---a shoebox. Even before opening it, she knows it no longer contains a pair of black athletic shoes, size 11 1/2 wide. There's a folded sheet of ruled notebook paper on top when she lifts the lid, the left edge still confetti where it was torn loose from its binding. The unsigned note reads, "Merry Christmas. Keep practicing."

The contents are wrapped in newspaper and cushioned with plastic grocery bags. The fine hairs on the back of Nancy's neck are prickling, and she's very careful as she unrolls the papers. Knives. Her own set of throwing knives. She shakes her head. Some men buy their girlfriends slutty lingerie. Or jewelry. Or home appliances. Hers favors deadly weapons. Lucky her. It's the thought that counts, she reminds herself. Looks at her gift. Sighs.

The wrapping is interesting---there are three separate sheets, not all from the same newspaper. One's from Indiana, the second from Ohio, the third from Minnesota. There are articles circled, probably what John's been doing lately. She rolls her eyes at his method of updating her. Some people send out holiday newsletters. Of course, this is John Winchester, so forget trying to peg him alongside Average Joe.

He may be driven and cryptic and the least sentimental man on the planet---at least it seems so at moments like this!---but Nancy recognizes this as John's version of a good, practical gift. This is what he believes she needs, and when she handles one of the streamlined projectiles, she acknowledges the craftmanship behind it. Some guy named Melvin or Myron...hand-forged...quid pro quo for whatever John settled for him....

Not that she's ever tried to contact him, but she could always send a present care of that preacher he's mentioned. Nancy grins, and wonders if a fifty-pound bag of rock salt would be an appropriate Christmas gift. What the heck, if nothing else, they can always use it to salt the church sidewalk when it snows.