postal
I don't know why they even bother making you fill out 15 pages of job history and education when in the end they seemed to hire anyone who passed the drug test, health exam and background check, and survived the four hour interview process. Yup. FOUR HOURS. Even more for me because they seem to have misplaced my file during the last step. How nice.
So I show up on Saturday afternoon and am herded along with about 200 other people into a conference room on the third floor of the main post office. But first we had to queue to show our IDs. Then we had to queue again for the photocopier to make copies of our IDs. Then we had to queue again to collect our files. Then were were separated into two groups - those of us who had already submitted our applications and filled out our health forms, and those of us who had not. We all took seats in different sections at desks set up in pairs. Of course I end up seated next to possibly the most annoying person in the room, an older man who spends half the time complaining and the other half filling me in on the details of his wife's various disgusting maladies.
They make us fill out even more forms. Then we have to be fingerprinted, and go for our health screening. All of this should have taken about 20 minutes, tops. But of course there are 200 of us, and the people running the show are hopelessly disorganised. Regardless, things seem to be going along quite smoothly. The first row of about 30 people are moving right along, out of there within three hours. As soon as they finish their health screenings, they queue up at a desk and are handed out jobs like candy. They're offered one of two positions, and are presented with a long list of available shifts, from which they get to choose which they prefer. First come, first serve, it seems. Hardly fair, really, considering they were getting the pick of the lot simply because they happened to get seated in the right row. There was no consideration being made for experience or job history or any of that. Hmmm.
Of course, you can tell where this is going. I was one of the last people out of there... even those buffoons who showed up after me, having not even completed their applications, got jobs before I did. And what shifts were left? Yup. I ended up with the 12.30am shift. Grrr...
After all that, I walked away knowing hardly anything about the job in hand, except that it paid $12 an hour and started on Tuesday, after a four-hour orientation on Monday. I didn't even know the schedule. Does the shift end at 8am? 8:30? What days of the week will I be working? Will I be sorting the mail? What do I wear? Surely these essentials should have been covered in those 4.5 hours.
Turns out, I'll be working as many hours as they want me to, depending on the bulk of the mail. Could be six hours, could be 12. Yep. Twelve. And it's six days a week! Or, could be seven! Lordy. Seems there's no limit to the amount of hours, in fact, which is good for me because I need as many hours as I can get. And because anything over 40 hours is paid at time and a half, which will amount to $20 an hour. Plus, I forgot the time differential, which means I'll be making an extra buck an hour. I could be raking in $800 a week! Woo hoo!
I learned all this at orientation yesterday, which, as I suspected, was a joke. But at least I was getting paid for wasting my time. We spent about 60% of the time watching horrid safety videos - one, a poor videotape of an inspirational speaker, lasted a full hour! - and the rest filling out even more paperwork. I also had to take the oath of office, promising to do my duty to protect the mail. It was all I could do to stop from laughing. I think I also promised to adhere to the constitution of the United States or something as well. Scary.
Luckily, this time I got to sit with a fun little group, none of whom are actually scheduled for my shift, unfortunately. We spent the entire time laughing and sniggering at the second most annoying man in the room - an older guy who sat right at the front and asked the stupidest questions over and over and over again. He also related many personal tales of safety. My god it was awful. And of course, he's on my shift. Heaven help me if I end up working next to him one night.
Technically I was supposed to start last night, as 12.30am is Tuesday, but they realised during orientation that by law we wouldn't be able to, as there is a minimum eight-hour break between shifts, and the orientation ended at 6pm.
Thank goodness I didn't work, as I could barely keep my eyes open past 11pm. My grand plan to adjust my sleep schedule has failed miserably, you see. I started out great! I managed to stay awake until 5am on Sunday, and that was after not getting much sleep and waking up hungover previously. But then I only made it until midnight the following evening, and 11pm last night. Hmmm. I think my new plan of action is to take a little nap in the evening, directly before starting the shift. Of course, the excitement of the job and the experience of getting to know all my new workmates will surely keep me awake, right? Ha!
Speaking of excitement, this weekend was, once again, distinctly lacking in it. I had high hopes on Friday, as my sister was finally taking me out on the town. I met her and her best friend Sabrina at her apartment and we had Chinese takeaway before heading off to the reopening of the art gallery where Sandy used to work. There we ran into her former boss - obviously - and some of her former workmates and friends. Only one of them seemed the least bit interesting, her friend Jesse, who she actually met while I was with her at a bat two years ago. Afterwards we trudged through the cold to the apartment of one of her workmates, the one I liked least. There, we stood around awkwardly for awhile, before finally nipping off to a bar across the street with Jesse and his brother. That was okay. The bar was dark and moody, the drinks were cheap, and Jesse was good company. At one point he started on a rant against marriage, pausing to apologize to me as I was engaged, and asked about my fiance. Engaged! Fiance! I laughed at the use of the terms and told him it wasn't really like that, which set my sister off. She doesn't approve of this whole thing, as you've probably gathered. Blech.
Afterwards, Jesse and his brother left and the three of us continued on to one of my sister's regular bars. I had been once, on a week night, but hardly remembered it, and was looking forward to seeing it again in all its weekend glory. I was also interested to see what sort of classy establishments my sister has moved on to, after the cheesy dives we used to frequent.
It was horrible. Just your typical terrible bar, filled with typical terrible people. Seriously, I could see no redeeming qualities. It was too crowded, too expensive, too... blah. Bad music. I think the bartenders were from Ireland, but I couldn't tell as I couldn't actually get to the bar. We stood around, staring at people, for ages. Eventually, a table happened to open up nearby and we swooped on it. We chatted a bit, and conversation turned to sex, as it often does in my sister's company, and she proceeded to once again give intimate details of her sex life. No surprise. But then she turned to me and tried to elicit similar details from me. I don't think so little sister. I refused to tell her anything, not even the most general information. What happens between Richard and I stays between Richard and I, I told her. It's not just a privacy thing, either. I feel the need to protect him against my sister; it's hard to explain.
But she would not accept that. In fact, she ended up on the verge of tears. "But I tell you EVERYTHING!" she cried. Um... have I ever asked? No. "We used to be BEST FRIENDS! Now we're nothing! But then you're moving to Scotland anyway so what do you care."
Yeah. Fun. After that she demanded we leave, and Sabrina drove us home in silence. Great. Sandy was seriously pissed. But what the fuck! If she knows me as well as she claims, then she should know I'm not one to share such things anyway. I think she envisaged us taking our relationship to the next level, that of true adult girlfriends, but I'm not ready for that, with her. Besides, she is not the most trustworthy of people. Her eerily close relationship with my mother is just as strong, if not stronger, than ours, and she has no qualms about turning around and sharing some of what I've said. At one especially morifying point, she alluded to deviant sexual acts in her bathroom while Richard and I were staying with her last year. In front of both my mother AND father. You just don't do that! I was so tempted to share some of Sandy's sexual secrets then, but I did not. I've got discretion, see. You can trust me. I don't think I can trust her. But god forbid I ever say something like that, or she'll never speak to me again.
Regardless, her comments still bothered
me, and I had problems sleeping, worrying that our relationship was falling apart. It didn't help that I had just finished one of the trashy novels she had lent me, involving two sisters. She ended up calling first thing in the morning to apologize, and we hung out later that day and all was well again. Still... I guess it is a bit sad that we seem to have grown apart a bit. Maybe when she's in a real relationship, she'll curb her enthusiasm for salicious gossip a bit too. I hope she gets there soon. She deserves a good man for a change.
In somewhat related news, I have two days to decide how I'm going to tell the rest of my extended family about my impending nuptials. Ack! Evil grandma and an aunt and uncle are coming round for Thanksgiving and my mother has warned me that I had better figure out what I'm going to say by then. I feel a bit guilty because I already paid a visit to EG and failed to mention it to her then; she'll probably feel hurt that I withheld such monumental news. But because of the nature of the thing, I'm hesitant to make a big deal about it, which is the inevitable result once I spill the news. Do I play along, and act the excited, blushing bride-to-be? Will that make it easier? Avoid the uncomfortable questions? I just don't know. And my mother has once again shared her disapproval. "If you're getting married just to stay in the country then you shouldn't be doing it at all." Ack!
Oh gosh, I completely forgot to tell you about the psycho bookstore bitch... but this entry has gone on long enough already. Maybe next time. If I don't update until then, happy turkey day. Gobble gobble.
