A few quick notes from the past few days that basically sum up why I love and despise my field:
- I got an email yesterday morning from the agency I’ve wanted to work for since I was, oh, say three. They’d read over one of my many thousands of applications and that my application had made it to the second tier for consideration. I’d be instructed as to when my interview would be shortly. The very best part? Not only was it exactly what I want to be doing, it was in Pittsburgh. Now, as I’ve said before, I would never move anywhere for a guy, no matter how perfect he is. But if my dream job was the main platter and a sexy guy was the dessert? In a heartbeat.
Now don’t get too excited, as I did yesterday, dancing around the office with my boss and squealing. And possibly calling everyone close to me in my phone book. Because when I got home from the office, there was another email. In summation: “Oops, we made a mistake and didn’t mean to send you a congratulatory email. You’re actually under qualified (Ed. note: I’m not!) and we messed up. Sorry for that.” So, in essence, I was on the verge of tears all yesterday evening.
- This morning I had the pleasure of sitting jury on a mock trial for a high school internship program. For the most part, I was surprised at how well the kids acted in the situation; one of the defense attorneys even took to cocking her neck and pursing her lips every time the prosecution’s witness stuttered over a fact. The kids tried hard with the legalese and courtroom manners, but the highlight of it all was when one of the kids representing the prosecution kept asking the defense’s witness the same question regarding guns. One of the defense attorneys stood up and shouted, “Objection! You can’t do that… can you?” at which the courtroom burst into laughter. Her co-attorney tried to remedy the situation by shouting, “Ob-JECT-shunnn! She all badgering the witness!”
- After a long afternoon back over in the unit, I schlepped the six blocks over to the train station to go home. I eyed three guys walking towards me, noted the fact that all of their blood-shot eyes looked like they were falling out of their sockets. Everything in my experience told me that they were crack addicts. As I passed them, the man in the middle threw himself at my feet. “Marry me!” he shouted, grabbing my ankle. I noticed with desperation that no one in the near vicinity seemed to take this as unusual. “Marry me and make me the happiest Michael* around!” I shook him off, mumbled something about how I have a boyfriend, and half-ran-half-skipped the rest of the block.