I’d just asked for the dessert menu when a woman collapsed across our table.The after work crowd densely packed into Brennan’s faux Irish Pub (as a demonstration of authenticity, I’d had a jerk chicken sandwich while Chaz enjoyed spicy beef enchiladas.) Happy hour was in full swing. At first, I thought she was drunk. She came from the bar area, stumbled once, then fell to the floor at Chaz’s feet. Suddenly, he was on the ground with a stranger draped across him and overturned chairs everywhere. Someone at the adjacent table shouted, “She’s having a seizure!” The news made him look like he might have one of his own.
She didn’t twitch. Her eyes didn’t roll up into her head. She lay half in his lap, half on the floor, breathing hard and not answering any questions. The diagnosis was delivered with such certainty I assumed the people at the next table must’ve recognized her condition from experience. After all, in my ignorance I thought she’d drunk herself into a stupor. They sounded like they knew better. The staff was flustered. They kept asking if we wanted to take her home. I tried telling them we didn’t even know her, but they couldn’t hear me over Bono singing, “Where the Streets Have No Name.”
It took about ten minutes for those of us at the surrounding tables to figure out we all thought someone else had called 911. After all, someone came over to snap a cellphone photo. I thought they were emailing it to friends or family of the woman on the ground - not playing tourist. Around then, I realized the armchair diagnosis was the guess of a stranger, not a statement based on experience with this woman.
By the time Chaz disentangled himself from her our table had been shoved up against two others to make room on the floor. I felt like an ass, but it seemed like a good time to ask for the check. The waitress asked if we still wanted pie. A manager elbowed her way to us and shouted over Bono, “How much has she had to drink tonight!” I mimed, “Don’t know. Never met her.” The manger rolled her eyes. I was obviously lying.
We managed to worm our way out of the restaurant just as EMS arrived. I still don’t know whether the woman fell down drunk or fell down from a seizure. Either way, they carried her out.
I suppose the only thing more mortifying than calling in sick your third day of work would be calling in sick on the first. I’ve had vitamins, probiotics, juice, and a fistfull of over the counter drugs. By tomorrow, I damn well better be the perkiest, spiffiest, gosh darned best employee EVER. Or at least someone who can fake all that while on a dose of DayQuil.
An ominous throat tickle woke me in the night. I tossed and turned in a haze of fever induced denial combined with first day jitters. There was no way I was missing my first day of work.
Yesterday, blissfully healthy and adorned in shiny new suiting, I attended a seminar offered to our clients. It was a good way to learn what kind of services our customers are likely to want from us. This morning started with an internal meeting that was essentially the flip side of the same material. I wasn’t too surprised when the presenter, a dignified man in his 50’s, recommended half a dozen podcasts. I was startled only one of my coworkers knew what a podcast was and he didn’t subscribe to any. This is going to be a different environment.
One of the owners kindly treated me to lunch. In discussion, it turned out she’d particularly wanted to bring me on because of my tech experience. She’d like someone who can sell to the Generation Y/Millenials (I’m technically Gen X.) Most of the staff is older, male, and not terribly tech savvy. Once I have my feet wet, she’s excited by the idea of me starting a company blog. When I’m get some training at Corporate (probably August) she’d like me to pitch starting a company wide Facebook presence to the marketing people up there. They have plenty of people who can talk to the Boomers, but the Boomer’s kids are literally twice the size of my generation. (Generation X: The Most Aborted Generation In History!)
Then I got to “play with some product.” I would’ve been a lot more excited by the prospect of life sized leggos if I wasn’t running a 100 degree fever. I suspect the crisis worked out well for me. No one noticed I was a little fuzzy, although the scent of Ricola might’ve cued them in if they were paying attention.
After that, it was time for more tour, a big stack of product brochures to memorize, and a little vague discussion about finding nontraditional clients. This amused me since I still don’t know much about their traditional clients. However, I do know management is looking for people who are willing to do something unusual. Hiya.
They kindly offered to let me go half an hour early rather than start a new chunk of training at the end of the day. Well, mostly they needed to get back to the crisis du jour. My bed cried out to me. I went outside, eager to beat rush hour traffic, only to discover my car battery completely drained. Y’see, I have a small electrical problem. The car refuses to turn the fog lamps off unless I have the right turn signal on. I forgot to perform the magic ritual upon parking and thus was punished. I wasn’t about to go upstairs and ask one of my bosses for a jump.
Luckily, my brother-in-law generously sent a minion to my rescue. Thank you, JJ! Getting my car jumped was a bit of an adventure, but hey, isn’t it always? A little game of parking lot bumper cars while in neutral and some adventures in finding where the hell they hid the negative post on a PT Cruiser later and zoom, I was off to a walk-in clinic.
Since my throat is swelling closed, the doctor swabbed me for strep. The good news is the test came back negative. The bad news is that probably means this is something viral so just tough it out. I now have “viscous lidocaine” to gargle in order to numb the pain and a work release note from the doctor. Oh, hell no. It’s my second day. I’m going in. Now, if they decide to send me home in order to cut back on their exposure to whatever the hell I might have, that’s their decision, but I’m not calling in sick my second day of work. DayQuil and I can tough it out.
Technically tomorrow is my first day of work, but I was at the office today for an educational seminar aimed at clients.
I’m really glad I was lucky enough to get a gentle break-in like this. I feel like I have a much better grasp on the client’s concerns and ambitions. I think knowing more about their side before I learn all the ropes of ours will be invaluable for me in sales.
On a completely shallow level … I have my own office. With a door. Gosh. Back in Colorado, I held office hours in a six by six windowless concrete basement cell that left my students asking what the hell I’d done to deserve this. I am elated with a happy shiny office that doesn’t have a single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling and a drain built into the center of the floor. I could get used to working at for-profit companies!
I dressed as a flight attendant for Snakes on a Plane, a Pirate for two Caribbean movies, and am going to be an improbably plump Wasp for Iron Man in a couple of weeks. I’m completely comfortable in business suits well, but suiting leaves me feeling strangely costumed.
Perhaps it’s the salmon jacket and grey trousers. I’m normally an 8 color crayon box kind of woman. Perhaps it’s the missing nose ring (My face! What happened to my face!) Or it could be simple nervousness about starting my first day at a new job. Nah…surely not. It has to be the nose ring.
I’m holding a shiny review copy of a new kosher cookbook. Gosh. I feel like I gained a level. It’s like my opinion carries some sort of credibility.