hamsterwork--workin' man!

"If drinking starts to interfere with your work, you're probably a heavy drinker. If work starts to interfere with your drinking, you're probably an alcoholic." -Anonymous

So, I started at my new job today. I'm now officially beginning the role of a working man, although I still have a very small bit to go on the whole "Bachelor's degree" thing.

Unfortunately, I forgot to take my digital camera with me to work, so instead I will illustrate this story with my highly expert, police sketch artist-esque computer drawing abilities.

The last time I woke up at 7:15 a.m., my roommate came into my room and told me the house was on fire. But that was actually a ploy to get me out of bed so I could get him my set of jumper cables.

Today, however, there was a reason for getting up so early. It was the first job at my first (actually paying) reporter job!

I enthusiastically took my shower, and ever remembered to brush my teeth afterwards. I noted to make a fitting sacrifice to the halitosis gods later by eating six large bags of Funyons.

I grabbed my can of energy drink and drove to work.

I then showed up at the newspaper office.

Settling into my old desk, I soon learn two things. First, my computer access wasn't working. Second, my phone didn't work. Both these problems wound up being fixed the same way: plug them in.

I was familiar with a few things, since I interned here during the summer. That helped. I started working on three stories: a toy drive, AAA's new program to help people find places to fuel alternative fuel vehicles, and a weekly feature where one of the subscribers has a feature done on them.

It was then that problem one occurred: The HR guy told me until my background check and drug test clears, I was supposed to sign up with a temp agency that would pay my salary. But the editor (who had gone on vacation) neglected to tell me anything about that. So it was now in doubt whether I would be able to finish working that day. Which, when you're right in the middle of three stories, is not a good thing.

So a call was made to the temp agency. As long as I went there first thing in the morning, I could finish working the day and get paid. Of course, I was warned "don't get hurt."

Hearing that, of course, made me plot about showing up the next day with crutches, a cast and my arm in a sling, where I'd then proceed to tell him, "Dude, you're not going to believe what happened when I was making corrections after you left for the day..."

But, I didn't do that.

The hardest thing was the weekly reader feature. I stopped counting after 15 failed calls, but if I had to make a guess, I'd say I struck out with 22 straight readers. It panned out to roughly 10 calls where nobody answered, 10 "no thank yous", one busy signal, and one where the subscriber had died, which is a guaranteed way to make you feel like an ass.

Mercy then was shown, so we called one of better-known folks. Which I was happy about, because the handset of the phone was starting to hurt my ear.

I finished all three stories, filled in all the weather box information, and found three wire stories and placed them in Quark, which is the software they use to lay out the paper. I then wanted to leave the office, only to find the front office doors were now locked. So I had to go back into the editorial office and have somebody lock the door behind me. In all, I worked 9 1/2 hours.

That was day one. Of the rest of my life. Overall, I loved it. The people in the newspaper office rock. They're serious about work, but have fun doing it.