I hear you. I so hear you. I'm half Scotch-Irish and half Finnish, and the elves were out in force today. They were even out at work, and usually they avoid that place like the plague. But no, there I was, having to ask permission to enter the bathroom, the break room, and forget about the copy room. At least the wings didn't break through until *after* the Corporate visitors were gone. Ah well.cadhla expressed her sympathies, but I decided to look on the bright side:
It wasn't all bad. I was able to marshal some semblance of orderly behaviour out of the sort of punks, freaks, misfits, old ladies, and college students you get in a call center, while a good third of the Irish-descended had their wings just popped, about to pop, and in the process of popping, and Corporate was reasonably impressed.Work, minus the fantasy-fun, does like me, because I am well-organized and I work very hard -- and I have an evil laugh that proves that I'm twisted enough to fit in. (I think Pink Shirt Guy was a little worried about my compatibility with the rest of the crew after-hours, because I always seem so stiff and professional. Heh.)
Some of the more excitable interviewers have this habit of starting to hover mid-call, especially if the person on the other end of the line's being difficult, and evidently anyone who can keep the majority of the call center grounded when there's chaos flying randomly and red-hats accosting people at the threshold of the lunch room and hitting them up for their change is on the fast track to management.