Slam Jam

I got off the bus today and walked home. Again.

They say that this winter might be colder and snowi(er?) Than it has been in a few years. I hardly notice the cold, though, and I refuse to put on my mittens. An elderly woman dressed in a sari and head shawl swaps the bitter wind away from her chin. But I just bite the current, and make my way down the busy street regardless of what my skin tells me.

I went to the HR office in Medford with a hopeful heart about the future. I showed up early, promptly dressed and pruned for the occasion, and I carried my head high. I expected nothing but a positive, albeit lengthy, afternoon.

Deb McGavern was friendly and adequately distant in her adminstrative presence. She sat me down, gave me the paperwork and CORI questions, and assisted me with the staff quiz I had to complete. I was centered and able and for the most part expecting smooth sails through the entire thing.

What I got instead was a fast ball.

Before I could be left alone to fill out the pages of endless questions, Deb decided that she didn’t have all the information she needed. Glancing over my application, she casually ignored the fact that my references had been left out of the pile, and simply stated, “These are references, right?” I looked up to see her finger pointing towards my Work Experience list, and in particular, to the most current place of employment, Community Work Services.

Inside my head screamed NO. On the outside, though, I explained that I had presented my list of references to Toni when I arrived at the interview. The most proper list of reference names would be found in that document, I told her. I’d asked them NOT to contact CWS, but Deb seemed to think it was a good idea to speak to my Supervisor. I eventually found myself explaining my current litigation status once more, without showing my upset at the sudden change of events. Apparently Jim did not pay attention on the phone that day when I told him about my termination, and Toni was not really in her office when she was telling me about my offer letter going into the mail a few days ago. I’d been congratulated twice already about earning this position but Deb in her haste was asking me for the name of my Supervisor.

I gave it to her. And I gave her the name of another manager who’d also witnessed my hard work.

The rest of the day is a blur. It somehow took me forever to fill out what were exact replicas of the documents my former participants filled out, time and time again, when they came to work at my agency. I was having a hard time with the quiz because a sock was cuddling my brain and in between pages I was sending frantic text messages to anyone who’d answer me. My tear ducts wanted to get busy and I was avoiding looking at the rest of the room, or at my watch. I made it to my physical 15 minutes after schedule and learned, to my consternation, that the fact that I was on medications would delay analysis of my contribution and push my physical exam back at least until next week.