Have I always been such a stressball? Don’t answer that. Okay, so I had to finish an essay for Friday, and I got all of two hours sleep last night, but I think this program is not only making me lazy, but paranoid. Not a good combination. Lazy, because a relative lack of work all semester/year has made me too lazy to even open any books regarding my thesis. Paranoid because, well, I’m not sure why. I’m starting to feel like Ireland is some sort of purgatory/halfway house for Girls Like Me: women over 25 who have already worked and realized they don’t like it, but want to further themselves in some way and/or avoid reality. I know there are a lot of us out there.
So I got a temp job this last week at the Irish Food Board and got to answer phones for 7.5 hours a day. I should have stolen the phone list just as a relic of Irish Names: Orlagh, Padragh, Niamh, Caotrina, Brefny and Aoife just to name a few. If you think answering the phone is difficult, try it when the person on the other end is speaking Middle English. Oh, but I cannot tell a lie, the Irish are growing on me. With their wacky sayings: “Grand!” “Thanks a million!” “Tell us about it!” “And then your man said. . .” I’ve even started to read The Irish Times and have tried to catch up on the whole drama about reinstating college fees. I learned that deaths by drowning are up 62% this year, and that Ireland does not have a state-funded Consumer Awareness agency, which affects competition in various markets. I have also learned that there are no “competitive markets” in Ireland, and that people have succumbed to the high prices to the point that it has driven inflation. So, that’s happy news.
I don’t mind the office work as long as the people I work with are over the age of 30, I’m a happy camper. This is probably why I am at the spot I’m at in my life (aimlessly adrift in post-graduate study and hiding in Ireland)—I never “network” with the right people. I don’t like middle-management types, mid-20s women in marketing, or old white men. In an office environment. But where else can I go? My fall-back “skilled” labor trade is answering phones and typing fast. Sure, it would be romantic to work in a pub, but as the other, older, wiser, and Irish-er secretary said to me, “Do you really want to be spendin’ your nights with young guys passed out at the bar?” I’d have to say No to that one.
This is where my new career idea comes in: Office Jester.
What is an Office Jester, you may ask? Well, an OJ is a person who mingles freely within the office staff and entertains with funny anecdotes, general cheer or cynicism and pointless conversational meanderings (basically, me in any office situation). No uniform required, however a hearty disdain for “work” must be second-nature. Think of how handy the OJ would be during those tense lunchroom/breakroom moments, or when you are stuck staring at the internet between the no-man’s land hours of 1-3pm? I also think the OJ should wear bells on his/her shoes to announce their arrival.
I want my gossip! - 2005-08-17
Goodbye, BGT! - 2005-08-08
hell hath no fury like a awriting workshop - 2005-08-01
My Love Don't Cost a Thing - 2005-07-14
Kiss My Grits! - 2005-07-06
