If you can spare some time to send some positive vibes in the
direction of Florida in the next few days, I'd be mighty appreciative.
Sweet
Girl has a lead on a job that's actually A) in the field she trained in
with the Navy; and B) related to the degree she's working toward.
I
haven't talked a lot about it because it's too painful (and I didn't
want to embarrass her), but Sweet Girl is out of the Navy. Not by her
own choice either. She missed the cut-off score on her promotion exam by
half a point. Half. A. Point. So the Navy said (politely, I'm sure)
they didn't need her services anymore, and they turned her loose.
We
could talk all day about the fact that Sweet Girl bears some of the
responsibility herself that she's no longer in the Navy, but the bottom
line is that she spent eight years in service, did two tours in the
Persian Gulf aboard an aircraft carrier, volunteered to help in rescue
efforts in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, which meant she worked
some 18-hour days, and now she can't even get them to finish her
evaluation (started last April) so she can find out if she's eligible
for the Reserves.
Exasperating.
She's
sort of stuck. Not even "sort of." She's just stuck. On the good side,
she's going to school on the G.I. Bill, and the V.A. is still giving her
a housing allowance. As long as she remains a FULL TIME STUDENT. You
know how hard it is to get a full-time job if you're a full-time
student? (You know how hard it is to get a full-time job PERIOD?) I
guess she could take a job in fast food or something like that, but she
would have to give up her full-time student status to accommodate a
working schedule, and ... I'm just guessing here ... I doubt the fast
food industry would pay her enough to make up for the housing allowance
she would lose.
Add to that the fact that Sweet Girl
bought her condo just BEFORE the housing market (and the rest of the
economy) went bust. She bought the condo in September of 2007 and left
on a not-pleasure cruise to the Persian Gulf two months later. By the
time her ship got TO the Persian Gulf, her condo wasn't even worth what
she had paid for it. Even if she DID want to swallow her pride and come
home (she doesn't), she is stuck with this condo that she can (almost)
pay for but can't sell. Meanwhile the units all around her are being
sold or abandoned, so I'm guessing the value of her condo is going to
continue to drop.
So she's searching for jobs, taking
more courses than she has to, reluctantly drawing unemployment, pinching
pennies, and holding her breath every day. What she's NOT doing is
sitting in a park somewhere protesting.
Her job options
are somewhat limited in that she can't relocate, going back to the whole
condo situation. I think she's burned out on the whole home ownership
concept, and I don't blame her. She kicks herself for having bought the
condo, but her only fault in that is not having been able to see into
the future. She isn't one of those who bought far beyond her means or
bought a handful of houses just because she could. She thought she was
going to have a career in the Navy, and she had every right to believe
her condo would be nearly paid for by the time she left.
Sigh.
So
I'm keeping my fingers crossed. She had a telephone interview on Friday
with a man from an aviation company close to her, and he said he
"might" call her back tomorrow for an in-person interview.
I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I
hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope I hope.
If
you could send her some good thoughts, she (and I) would appreciate it.
We will even consider incantations and voodoo. We're desperate here.
Showing posts with label jobs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jobs. Show all posts
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Saturday, May 29, 2010
My First Job at the Vet School......
In the interest of full disclosure, I'm not really here tonight. Hubby and I are on a cruise to the Bahamas, along with Nurse Jane and Pilot Brian and probably a couple other thousand folks.
Because I'm egotistical enough to think someone will actually MISS me, I created this post ahead of time and scheduled it to publish while we were gone.
Because I learned last time how expensive it is to use the internet on a cruise ship, I created this post ahead of time and scheduled it to publish while we were gone.
---------------
When I graduated from college, I immediately put my degree to work making $4.08 as a "clerk" of some sort at the University of Georgia. It was the same job I had as a student, only they turned it into a full-time job with benefits.
Then I decided to move up to a slightly better-paying job (probably around $4.15 or so). I became a medical transcriptionist at the College of Veterinary Medicine.
The only skill required was typing, and I was (am) pretty good at it. I went to some sort of competition for typing in high school, but I have completely blocked it out of my memory because I didn't win.
When I went for my interview, the two ladies in the medical transcription department (one of them was leaving) explained the dictation machine to me, along with the fancy typewriter. This was in the days before computers, obviously. I was in awe of the typewriter because it stored data on a magnetic card. You could type type type type type type, save it to the card, then when it became necessary to edit the document, you simply had to put the magnetic card (about the same size as a business envelope) back in the typewriter and retrieve the data. I was still marveling at the self-correcting typewriter, so the mag-card was magical to me.
For my interview, they set up the dictation machine with an actual letter that had been dictated by one of the veterinarians on staff. I think they gave me that one because it had the word Pseudomonas in it. I was allowed to use a dictionary or a medical dictionary, and I was smart enough to know that Pesudomonas began with a "P". I'm no dummy.
I did get stumped by a different word, however. I backed up the tape and listened again. And again. And again. And again. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't get it. There was a weird pause in the man's voice right before this word, and I just couldn't understand it. I finally looked up helplessly.
"Do you need some help?" one of the ladies asked.
"Yes," I said, blushing furiously, "I can't make out this word."
She listened to it. Backed up and listened to it again. She looked at me, puzzled.
"Do you mean the word 'dog'?"
I'm thinking perhaps Pseudomonas saved me, because I still got the job.
In some ways it was the perfect job for me. Veterinarians from both Small Animal and Large Animal Medicine called in their referral letters and surgery reports on a machine that held five or six cassette tapes. When each tape was full, it ejected automatically and loaded a new one. We took turns getting the tapes out of the machine.
Like many government jobs, there was no overlap among departments. If we got caught up on our transcription, we did NOT take on work from other departments. That would have caused the world to tilt on its axis.
Our little world was isolated from most of the rest of the building. We were on the ground floor, just down the hall from the **reverential bow here** Dean's office. The floor above us held the various departments: Pathology, Large Animal Medicine, Small Animal Medicine. The floor below us held the teaching hospital.
We had to go downstairs to the teaching hospital only to pick up our paychecks. The first time I had to pick mine up, naturally my office-mate went with me to show me the way. She had no way of knowing that it would take many trips before I knew where I was going. The first time I went alone, I got my check without incident, but I couldn't find my way back. I just kept walking around and around, searching fruitlessly for the exit. I kept passing the same operating room, and every time I went past, every person in there looked up at me. Poor dog....his owners probably wondered why he died. Just kidding.
I was going around and around because I am a rule follower. I kept coming to a door that said "Authorized Personnel Only." What I needed was a sign that said, "Idiot, this is the door you came through to GET here, so it's okay to go through it again."
Because we didn't take on work from other departments, if we were caught up on our transcription, it was okay for us to read a book, cross stitch, or talk on the phone. This was in the days before the Internet, or I'm sure it would have been fine to surf the 'Net.
That is the job that inspired me to type so fast. The faster I typed, the more free time I had. Granted I had to be there, sitting in that little office that didn't even have windows, but I didn't always have work to do. I soon learned that I could ALMOST type as fast as some of the veterinarians talked, because backing the tape up only made it take longer.
I applied for a different job on campus one time, and they asked me to take a typing test. They put me in a room with a timer and a looooooooooooooooooooooong sheet of paper that the woman fed into a typewriter. She gave me the signal to start and then left the room.
I ran out of paper.
When the timer went off, the lady came back in and found me sitting there with my hands folded in my lap and the entire sheet of paper filled with words. She gave me a quizzical look and disappeared.
When she came back, she said, "Can I keep this?"
"Umm....sure." You're the one in charge here, lady.
She said, "I've never had anyone do this well on a typing test."
I tell that story not to brag (because that's NOT where the title of my blog originated) but to demonstrate how inspired I was to type fast in my job as a medical transcriptionist.
Other than going to the teaching hospital to pick up paychecks, the only other time we even had to leave our office was to deliver typed documents to the mailboxes of the veterinarians up on the third floor. I'm guessing these days the reports and letters are emailed. We didn't have to interact with anyone if we didn't want to. I'm not sure why we even dressed up for that job, but we did.
Sometimes I miss that job.
Because I'm egotistical enough to think someone will actually MISS me, I created this post ahead of time and scheduled it to publish while we were gone.
Because I learned last time how expensive it is to use the internet on a cruise ship, I created this post ahead of time and scheduled it to publish while we were gone.
---------------
When I graduated from college, I immediately put my degree to work making $4.08 as a "clerk" of some sort at the University of Georgia. It was the same job I had as a student, only they turned it into a full-time job with benefits.
Then I decided to move up to a slightly better-paying job (probably around $4.15 or so). I became a medical transcriptionist at the College of Veterinary Medicine.
The only skill required was typing, and I was (am) pretty good at it. I went to some sort of competition for typing in high school, but I have completely blocked it out of my memory because I didn't win.
When I went for my interview, the two ladies in the medical transcription department (one of them was leaving) explained the dictation machine to me, along with the fancy typewriter. This was in the days before computers, obviously. I was in awe of the typewriter because it stored data on a magnetic card. You could type type type type type type, save it to the card, then when it became necessary to edit the document, you simply had to put the magnetic card (about the same size as a business envelope) back in the typewriter and retrieve the data. I was still marveling at the self-correcting typewriter, so the mag-card was magical to me.
For my interview, they set up the dictation machine with an actual letter that had been dictated by one of the veterinarians on staff. I think they gave me that one because it had the word Pseudomonas in it. I was allowed to use a dictionary or a medical dictionary, and I was smart enough to know that Pesudomonas began with a "P". I'm no dummy.
I did get stumped by a different word, however. I backed up the tape and listened again. And again. And again. And again. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't get it. There was a weird pause in the man's voice right before this word, and I just couldn't understand it. I finally looked up helplessly.
"Do you need some help?" one of the ladies asked.
"Yes," I said, blushing furiously, "I can't make out this word."
She listened to it. Backed up and listened to it again. She looked at me, puzzled.
"Do you mean the word 'dog'?"
I'm thinking perhaps Pseudomonas saved me, because I still got the job.
In some ways it was the perfect job for me. Veterinarians from both Small Animal and Large Animal Medicine called in their referral letters and surgery reports on a machine that held five or six cassette tapes. When each tape was full, it ejected automatically and loaded a new one. We took turns getting the tapes out of the machine.
Like many government jobs, there was no overlap among departments. If we got caught up on our transcription, we did NOT take on work from other departments. That would have caused the world to tilt on its axis.
Our little world was isolated from most of the rest of the building. We were on the ground floor, just down the hall from the **reverential bow here** Dean's office. The floor above us held the various departments: Pathology, Large Animal Medicine, Small Animal Medicine. The floor below us held the teaching hospital.
We had to go downstairs to the teaching hospital only to pick up our paychecks. The first time I had to pick mine up, naturally my office-mate went with me to show me the way. She had no way of knowing that it would take many trips before I knew where I was going. The first time I went alone, I got my check without incident, but I couldn't find my way back. I just kept walking around and around, searching fruitlessly for the exit. I kept passing the same operating room, and every time I went past, every person in there looked up at me. Poor dog....his owners probably wondered why he died. Just kidding.
I was going around and around because I am a rule follower. I kept coming to a door that said "Authorized Personnel Only." What I needed was a sign that said, "Idiot, this is the door you came through to GET here, so it's okay to go through it again."
Because we didn't take on work from other departments, if we were caught up on our transcription, it was okay for us to read a book, cross stitch, or talk on the phone. This was in the days before the Internet, or I'm sure it would have been fine to surf the 'Net.
That is the job that inspired me to type so fast. The faster I typed, the more free time I had. Granted I had to be there, sitting in that little office that didn't even have windows, but I didn't always have work to do. I soon learned that I could ALMOST type as fast as some of the veterinarians talked, because backing the tape up only made it take longer.
I applied for a different job on campus one time, and they asked me to take a typing test. They put me in a room with a timer and a looooooooooooooooooooooong sheet of paper that the woman fed into a typewriter. She gave me the signal to start and then left the room.
I ran out of paper.
When the timer went off, the lady came back in and found me sitting there with my hands folded in my lap and the entire sheet of paper filled with words. She gave me a quizzical look and disappeared.
When she came back, she said, "Can I keep this?"
"Umm....sure." You're the one in charge here, lady.
She said, "I've never had anyone do this well on a typing test."
I tell that story not to brag (because that's NOT where the title of my blog originated) but to demonstrate how inspired I was to type fast in my job as a medical transcriptionist.
Other than going to the teaching hospital to pick up paychecks, the only other time we even had to leave our office was to deliver typed documents to the mailboxes of the veterinarians up on the third floor. I'm guessing these days the reports and letters are emailed. We didn't have to interact with anyone if we didn't want to. I'm not sure why we even dressed up for that job, but we did.
Sometimes I miss that job.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Jobs I Didn't Wind Up With.....
When I was an undergrad, I said there were two things I would never do: 1) I would never be a teacher; and 2) I would never go to grad school.
I graduated from college and made about $5.00 an hour as a medical transcriptionist at the college veterinary school. What a great way to put my degree to work!
My bachelors degree was in English. Not education, because I was never going to be a teacher, but just English. You know, the degree you can get just for reading a bunch of books, sitting around discussing said books (if you actually read them), and writing some papers.
What, pray tell, does one do with an English degree? Besides the obvious career path of medical transcriptionist, I mean.
I started college with the idea that I was going to go to medical school and be a pediatrician. That's a goal of most middle-school students, but they usually grow out of it and start thinking of something they are really suited for. Not me. I carried that baby all the way to college, into the Honors Program.
I had just turned 17 two months before, and I started college 10 days after my high school graduation. I had a diploma but no sense.
When I met the esteemed Mr. College Calculus, my ideas about medical school were pretty much over. As was my brief tenure in the Honors Program. Even if I had survived calculus (whatever the hell it is, anyway) and college chemistry (the periodic table still makes no sense to me) and a Friday afternoon chemistry lab from 3:30 - 6:30 (weren't they aware of my busy social life?), I never would have survived medical school. I didn't have the drive, the ambition, the cut-throat nature of that kind of competition. Oh I could do it now......I would THRIVE in that environment now. But not then.
I toyed briefly with the idea of a journalism major, because I enjoyed writing and my high school teacher told me I was good at it. One of my first English professors told me I sucked at it and I might want to think about a different major and maybe even a different university in a different state. Not really, but he really hurt my feelings.
I thought I would major in journalism with a focus on magazines and move to New York City and become some editor-type person and continue my busy social life. It's still not out of the question, although I'm going to have to find some New York City bars where I can find a lot of partying action before 8:00 PM. I've still got to adhere to my bedtime.
The one career that I still hold out hope for, however, is a writer. I have this book in my head that I think about every night (almost) before I go to sleep. I develop the characters, keep the plot moving, work out some conflicts. It's changed a lot over the past 10 years or so, and I'm always sure it will sell. Maybe even be developed into a movie. And they'll ask me to consult on the screenplay, and I'll be there at the Oscars, thanking Roger Bailey (my high school English teacher) and telling that college professor to go to hell.
The problem is that I can only "work" on this novel while I'm lying in bed in the dark. And I can't figure out how to type like that. Sitting up, in the light of day, it's gone.
Maybe I should just file that one with the pediatrician and the magazine editor.
I graduated from college and made about $5.00 an hour as a medical transcriptionist at the college veterinary school. What a great way to put my degree to work!
My bachelors degree was in English. Not education, because I was never going to be a teacher, but just English. You know, the degree you can get just for reading a bunch of books, sitting around discussing said books (if you actually read them), and writing some papers.
What, pray tell, does one do with an English degree? Besides the obvious career path of medical transcriptionist, I mean.
I started college with the idea that I was going to go to medical school and be a pediatrician. That's a goal of most middle-school students, but they usually grow out of it and start thinking of something they are really suited for. Not me. I carried that baby all the way to college, into the Honors Program.
I had just turned 17 two months before, and I started college 10 days after my high school graduation. I had a diploma but no sense.
When I met the esteemed Mr. College Calculus, my ideas about medical school were pretty much over. As was my brief tenure in the Honors Program. Even if I had survived calculus (whatever the hell it is, anyway) and college chemistry (the periodic table still makes no sense to me) and a Friday afternoon chemistry lab from 3:30 - 6:30 (weren't they aware of my busy social life?), I never would have survived medical school. I didn't have the drive, the ambition, the cut-throat nature of that kind of competition. Oh I could do it now......I would THRIVE in that environment now. But not then.
I toyed briefly with the idea of a journalism major, because I enjoyed writing and my high school teacher told me I was good at it. One of my first English professors told me I sucked at it and I might want to think about a different major and maybe even a different university in a different state. Not really, but he really hurt my feelings.
I thought I would major in journalism with a focus on magazines and move to New York City and become some editor-type person and continue my busy social life. It's still not out of the question, although I'm going to have to find some New York City bars where I can find a lot of partying action before 8:00 PM. I've still got to adhere to my bedtime.
The one career that I still hold out hope for, however, is a writer. I have this book in my head that I think about every night (almost) before I go to sleep. I develop the characters, keep the plot moving, work out some conflicts. It's changed a lot over the past 10 years or so, and I'm always sure it will sell. Maybe even be developed into a movie. And they'll ask me to consult on the screenplay, and I'll be there at the Oscars, thanking Roger Bailey (my high school English teacher) and telling that college professor to go to hell.
The problem is that I can only "work" on this novel while I'm lying in bed in the dark. And I can't figure out how to type like that. Sitting up, in the light of day, it's gone.
Maybe I should just file that one with the pediatrician and the magazine editor.
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