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I got stuck on the duty of just watching people on Monday and Tuesday, and am going to have to do it again today. I hate hate hate it. Just to let you know. Yes, I've told my Supervisor who schedules me that I can't stand it, but I won't say another word at this point because I know he's hard up for people to schedule there as most of our people who are trained for watching are away training other people for watching, now that the program is going national. It's kind of in that 'somebody's got to do it, and I suppose that somebody has to be me' category. But it's so damned boring this time of year.
The only good point about having to stand out there next to the ticket checkers is that they're pretty nice and friendly. Tuesday I talked most of the day with the sweet Muslim girl, who told me about her language, writing out the Arabic alphabet for me and explaining the sounds that are in it and not in the English alphabet, and vice-versa. She tells me I should be an English teacher, which I thought was pretty funny considering it was her who was teaching me. :)
Also, today, I have to attend a class in dealing with 'persons with disabilities such as autism,' as the manager trailed off, rather uncomfortably. What's the correct term, now - developmental disabilities? I can't believe they picked me for this class, and I have to wonder if that's because I'm going to have to mentor other people in this, too. I know I'm fairly good with dealing with such, because my father was in adult protective services when I was a kid (of course back then we called people 'retarded,' and that was the proper term), but I've always been uncomfortable with it.
*has huge struggle with self to not go back and delete most of that last paragraph* I'm not as insensitive as I sound, I promise. I just have old scarring from a mentally retarded guy (of the drooling and wearing a helmet sort) insisting on playing his 45 of "How much is that doggie in the window" over and over for me. Over and over and over. I hated "How much is that doggie in the window" even before that happened. I was... how old? Young. I'm not sure. The drooling and his taste in music were both pretty appalling, but when I asked my father later why the helmet and he explained that the guy would not stop beating his head against a wall... I think that bothered me even more. I think I'd already heard the joke; "Hey, kid, why are you beating your head on the wall?" "Because it feels so good when I stop." Some people really did that?
I'm trying to tell myself that discomfort is normal, I'm not evil, and that what's important is being able to deal with them such that they can get through the screening process - and I know I can do that.
Tonight's the Christmas party. I'd better go wrap my gift for the Yankee swap. Good thing I'd already bought a bunch of things to go in packages for Mom and my brothers - I'll just take one of the English puddings, wrap that up for the swap, and buy another later. They have coins on them! An old sixpence on each one. :) One of my co-workers (KT) tells me that older sixpences are made of pure silver, but I can't imagine they'd put pure silver coins on the puddings. They must be replicas, or else just not quite that old. 1948 is the oldest date I've seen so far.
The only good point about having to stand out there next to the ticket checkers is that they're pretty nice and friendly. Tuesday I talked most of the day with the sweet Muslim girl, who told me about her language, writing out the Arabic alphabet for me and explaining the sounds that are in it and not in the English alphabet, and vice-versa. She tells me I should be an English teacher, which I thought was pretty funny considering it was her who was teaching me. :)
Also, today, I have to attend a class in dealing with 'persons with disabilities such as autism,' as the manager trailed off, rather uncomfortably. What's the correct term, now - developmental disabilities? I can't believe they picked me for this class, and I have to wonder if that's because I'm going to have to mentor other people in this, too. I know I'm fairly good with dealing with such, because my father was in adult protective services when I was a kid (of course back then we called people 'retarded,' and that was the proper term), but I've always been uncomfortable with it.
*has huge struggle with self to not go back and delete most of that last paragraph* I'm not as insensitive as I sound, I promise. I just have old scarring from a mentally retarded guy (of the drooling and wearing a helmet sort) insisting on playing his 45 of "How much is that doggie in the window" over and over for me. Over and over and over. I hated "How much is that doggie in the window" even before that happened. I was... how old? Young. I'm not sure. The drooling and his taste in music were both pretty appalling, but when I asked my father later why the helmet and he explained that the guy would not stop beating his head against a wall... I think that bothered me even more. I think I'd already heard the joke; "Hey, kid, why are you beating your head on the wall?" "Because it feels so good when I stop." Some people really did that?
I'm trying to tell myself that discomfort is normal, I'm not evil, and that what's important is being able to deal with them such that they can get through the screening process - and I know I can do that.
Tonight's the Christmas party. I'd better go wrap my gift for the Yankee swap. Good thing I'd already bought a bunch of things to go in packages for Mom and my brothers - I'll just take one of the English puddings, wrap that up for the swap, and buy another later. They have coins on them! An old sixpence on each one. :) One of my co-workers (KT) tells me that older sixpences are made of pure silver, but I can't imagine they'd put pure silver coins on the puddings. They must be replicas, or else just not quite that old. 1948 is the oldest date I've seen so far.