I'm Not Dead!
Apr. 25th, 2004 12:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chrystallineSay I'm not fooling anyone, and I have one word for you - "Ni!"
It's been eons since I updated, but hopefully you'll understand (and forgive) when you hear about all the stuff I've been doing. Many/most of you know about my long term goals regarding the film industry and my desire to create a viable organization to counter the MPAA's assault on the Christian moral code. I have come to the conclusion that I must learn how the business is run, so that I can teach others. Of the dozen or so film students with whom I studied, I do not know of any who are working in film outside of our alma mater. I see this as part of the problem; if we train to make films, should we not end up making films? There aren't enough Christian filmmakers to hire new grads (most Christian film companies can't afford to pay anyone, let alone hire new people, and the average Christian film is horrible, to boot), so students need to learn how to start their own companies. "United we stand, divided we fall" applies to any group struggling to achieve a goal. The upshot of all of this is, I decided I needed to get a job working as an assistant to a Hollywood producer.
I know, I know, I can hear the horrified shrieks already;) I lost count of the number of times I heard, "We don't want our students to go to Hollywood," when I was in school, but I also remember Dr. Stenholm's stories of visiting Hollywood sets to learn how to make films. I know this is my mission in life, and I'm going to find a way to do it.
I couldn't get even an interview with a film company, since most of them wanted resumes listing a minimum of 2 years assistant experience, so I turned my attention to general administrative assistant positions. I was still sending numerous applications to film jobs (do you know how discouraging it is to send 15-30 resumes a day for weeks on end and get nothing in reply?), but I started looking for the other as well. On Feb. 11, 2004, I came across a new posting on CareerBuilder titled, "Administrative Assistants Galore." It had a link to apply on their website, so I filled it in. The site recommended calling as well, just to follow up, and when I called, the lady was so excited to hear that I was interested in the position, she scheduled me for an interview on Monday, Feb. 16, 2004. (It's a mark of what's important to me that I remember the date of my flight by the fact that my interview was President's Day rather than the fact that I flew the day after Valentine's Day;)
So, I flew to Los Angeles on Sunday, and had the interview Monday morning. That being President's Day, the building was locked, so I walked halfway around the building trying to find a way in. While I was wandering, I found another temp agency on the side. I found a way into the right building, though, and I took all their little aptitude tests (scoring better on the "Advanced" features of MS Office than the "Intermediate" ones, oddly enough) only to be told that they wouldn't submit me for these administrative assistant positions because I didn't have the "experience" that the client wanted. Same problem as before. I mentioned seeing the other temp agency, and the lady said it was a good idea to apply at all the temp agencies I could find; better chance of actually getting work. So, with nothing very promising at the original place, I went to the other. By this point, it was lunchtime. I handed them a copy of my resume and asked about applying. They wanted a web form filled out, and when I explain that web access was difficult at the time, they allowed me to use their computers to fill it out. I made an appointment to interview and take their aptitude tests the next morning, and then I went to find some lunch. That was around 2 pm, so I was pretty hungry. I asked the waiter at Denny's how much he usually earned, since they had "help wanted" signs on the windows, and picked up an application. I had to put off filling it out, though, because the second temp agency called; they had an emergency they needed filled, and would I be willing to report to work the very next day? I said yes (duh!) and went over to the agency for details (the phone connection was very staticky for some reason, and hard to understand). I got over there and filled out a few more forms, and headed back to my hotel absolutely delighted. A job in one day!
My new job started at 8:30 the next morning. I wanted to make a good impression, so I was a half hour early. You'll see the irony later. When the other receptionist (yes, it was a receptionist position, not an administrative assistant position) started showing me the job, it initially seemed simple enough. Showing me how to make coffee and stock the break room really could have waited until another day, but what can I say - I wasn't in charge of new employee training. There were approximately 60 names and numbers on that floor, and frankly, if I'd had the other receptionist with me the entire time, it would have been fine. Unfortunately, she had to relieve yet another receptionist on another floor for her lunch break, and so I was alone at lunch, when the phones suddenly got a lot busier. No one person can answer a dozen calls in a minute. Not humanly possible. If I'd had the names and numbers memorized, I might've had a chance. To make things worse, there were two phones, not just one, so even when the phone I was using was full (all eight lines occupied) the other would continue to ring. People would get fed up with being on hold and would hang up and call back, which made things still worse as the line would not automatically clear just because the person on the other end hung up. I would have a half-dozen empty lines when I finally got a chance to get to them. One of the lawyers in the office got so tired of it that he sent someone else's assistant (a former receptionist) to help me. Different people stopped by and told me a little about the situation; I heard some very interesting stories. The regular receptionist was on maternity leave, but apparently they'd had a temp that did the job well and could handle even the deluge by herself. She was dismissed suddenly the Friday before (another temp tried on President's Day, but she wasn't any better than I was), but the reasons I got varied. According to the other receptionist, the previous temp had been abusing the freedom of the position by taking abnormally long breaks and cheating on her timecard about it. According to someone else on the floor, this receptionist was jealous of the temp and got her fired maliciously. By midafternoon I was informed that I was being dismissed. On the one hand, the place was so horrid that it would be a relief not to have to set foot in the place ever again, but on the other hand, I desperately needed a job, and I'm not accustomed to *failing* at a task I choose to undertake. It was a horrible bruise to my pride, and I vowed to tell the agency what nonsense was going on there.
Now, I've always heard that California is sunny and warm, and I figured I wouldn't need an umbrella. I was wrong. It was cold and wet most of the first week and a half, and I had to resort to the flimsiest of shields from the rain: some paper from a newsstand. Easy enough to come by, since there are newsstands on almost every corner, grouped in clusters and offering all sorts of things. For the rain, I grabbed the thickest one I could find, which, embarrassingly enough, turned out to be an x-rated classified paper. I was glad I had my leather jacket and gloves; there was plenty of cold wind along with that rain.
So, Wednesday, Feb. 18, 2004, I went trudging through the rain to both temp agencies to let them know that if I didn't have a position by the end of the week, I was going to have to fly back to Alabama. They both told me they understood and wished me luck. I used the rest of the day to switch hotels (Mom found me a cheaper one just a little further away from where I'd been staying) and exploring a particular street which the second agency had recommended as a good place to find apartments. The next morning, I got a call; I had an interview for a temp-to-perm receptionist position, and the office was right in the area I'd been exploring the day before! I went early for the interview, which consisted mostly of filling out yet another application form and meeting people. The company owner told me to go home and think it over and decide if I was really interested. I went exploring Santa Monica, and found a McDonald's. It seems very strange to me, but the normal fast food places are harder to find around here. It was such a relief to see a familiar place, I stopped there for supper and called the temp agency. I told her it sounded like it went well, and she called the office to check. She called me back to say that the office was waiting to find out if I was really interested; I said "yes," obviously. So, in one week I went from unemployed in Alabama to employed in California.
On Friday I found an apartment. I'd called and talked to the leasing agent about pricing and availability earlier (maybe Thursday?) so all I had to do was go look at it. I filled out the application and put a deposit on a studio apartment that would be ready for me to move in on the following Wednesday.
Up to that point, I'd been driving a rental car. I had been nervous, initially, because I knew LA was enormous compared to Greenville, Huntsville, Birmingham, and Atlanta (to list them in size order;) and I have always hated the latter two precisely because of their size. I was pleasantly surprised by traffic in LA; yes, it was busier, but in LA, people let you MERGE! I'm used to not signaling until the last possible moment because people speed up to cut you off. When I commented on this, people were shocked that any place would be crazy enough to cut off merges. I'll say this; there are too many cars for the roads that are here, but this area knows how to drive. The southeast could stand a few lessons about merging.
Nevertheless, I couldn't afford to keep a rental car forever. I returned it on Saturday, knowing I would have to take the bus to my new job on Monday morning. I took the buses to get back to the hotel after dropping off my car, and since I'd originally planned to return it Friday, I had gotten the bus route from the rental office's computer (LA metro is online) and I found a sympathetic lady at the bus stop who guided me. She happened to be going on the same two buses I was, so she made sure I got to the right stops and on the right buses. Wish I'd had that kind of help on Monday...
I called the metro's 800 number because 1) I was unfamiliar with anything in the area, and 2) I didn't have any way of knowing what the routes were. I told the lady on the phone that I was a total newbie and needed very specific directions. Unfortunately, somehow the wires got crossed anyway. Monday morning, I got to the first bus stop without any problem and caught the right bus. I asked the driver to call out my stop because I was new, and I got off on the right corner. Now, the lady on the phone had said to stay on the same corner, and when I asked if she meant the same stop, she said yes. So, I waited, but the bus I was looking for never appeared. I finally asked a girl at the stop about it, and she told me the bus that was just then approaching was the one I needed. I looked at it; the number was wrong, but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't call the 800 number from my cell phone because they blocked non-LA area codes. So, I got on and asked the bus driver if she was going to my intersection. Problem number 2: she was so busy talking on her cell phone that she really didn't hear what I asked, and she just nodded. I gave her my transfer ticket and sat down, fretting all the while. When it got to be time I was supposed to be at work, I called the temp agency to let them know I was having some trouble with the bus system but that I was trying. I wound up riding the bus along the beachfront, which might've been quite pleasant if it weren't for the fact that I knew I was supposed to be elsewhere at that moment. When we reached the end of the line and everyone else got off, I asked the bus driver for help (again). I figured it wouldn't help anything if I reminded her that I'd asked her about that intersection when I got on. She made me get off and walk around the corner to get back on, and gave me another transfer. She told me which bus I needed, and called out the stop for me. I finally got on the right bus, and got to work about an hour late. My first day. Fun, huh?
The bus ride back to the hotel was much easier, even if I did get hit on by a crazy old guy. Get this: he boarded the bus at the VA hospital (big clue that he's loony, right there!) and first thing he says? "You're beautiful! Are you a movie star?" I had to laugh. Yeah, movie stars ride the bus all the time...suuuuuuuurrrrreeee. He asked if he could sit next to me; I didn't care. Then he says, "My daddy was a movie star. Have you ever seen any of his movies?" I reply that I don't know, since I don't know who his father was. His response? "Clark Gable." I didn't laugh in his face, but really. He was too old to be Clark Gable's son. I acted suitably impressed, and commented on my favorite Gable movie (It Happened One Night), and before long the driver called out my stop. I waved and got off, and didn't see him again.
I moved into my apartment on Wed, Feb. 26, and I spent several nights sleeping on the floor, since my bed had not arrived yet. The assistant manager of the complex apparently to a shine to me, though. I came to get my key Wednesday evening after work, because there was no way I was going to be able to get to the hotel and back before the apartment office closed. It was raining hard by the time I got there, so I was seriously considering taking a taxi to the hotel, rather than the bus. I mentioned that aloud, and he offered to drive me himself. I figured he was just being nice (he had already told me he was my upstairs neighbor and apologized ahead of time if he should make too much noise). After we picked up my stuff from the hotel office, he asked me if I had everything I needed, bearing in mind that some of the things the hotel had provided would not be included in the apartment...like toilet paper. I'd forgotten about that, and didn't know Mom had sent some in the box with the air mattress and towels, so we went to the store. While I was at it, I got a few other things, including things I *never* get when I'm in male company. When we got to the register, I remembered that I hadn't found an umbrella, and went off to look for one. By the time I came back, he'd already paid for the rest of the stuff for me. I'll admit, I may be a bit dense when it comes to figuring out when a guy is interested in me, but that right there, knowing what was in that basket, was a disconcertingly blunt announcement. Add to that the fact that the store clerk called him "your man" and I was a bit weirded out. What's more, Mom and Dad were unable to find the airpump that went with the mattress, and nobody had one that I could use that first night, so he also lent me some fold-up cushions he had. I'll admit, I still don't know if I have sufficiently clarified my opinion to him; he's nice, and I like nice guys, but I'm not interested. He's so very much not my type, and I have a career priority.
My computer arrived the next week, and I got my cable internet connected ASAP. The people at work couldn't seem to grasp the fact that I didn't care about not having TV at my apartment, it was the computer, the cat, and the car that I was missing. I tried checking email at the library, and picked up a couple of Mark Twain books to pass the time. An empty apartment can be rather boring after work;) I set the computer up on the floor, on the flattened cardboard box from my new daybed's spring. So, at that point I had a not-yet-assembled bed and a computer. Dad had been sent out by his company to do testing, so he happened to be available to help put the bed together; a good thing, since assembly required at least two, and preferably three people. We ended up asking my upstairs neighbor for tools, since the tools that came with the bedframe didn't actually fit the connectors, and my toolbox had not yet arrived. He stayed and helped, and gifted my dad with 7 pocket knives. He gave me 7 pocket knives and a steak knife/fork set. I kept telling him he should sell them on eBay, but he insisted we keep them. Dad ended up staying with me for a while after the company testing was done; he was a huge help when the moving company arrived and started being a major pain. Mom had to finish packing most of my stuff by herself because Dad and I were both in LA. My brother was going to come help the weekend I came to get Boo, but his car blew a head gasket. Mom went and got him later, and he ended up with my car, which has a laundry list of failings of its own. The movers had initially said the remainder of the moving charge was to be paid in a certified check/money order, but they called on the Friday before they arrived to tell us the amount and they insisted on cash. Frustrating, but do-able. I went to the bank and withdrew more cash than I ever carry in person. Monday, Dad had originally planned to be gone, but he had decided to stay and help. He called me because the movers were insisting on another couple of hundred dollars because the door of my apartment was too far from the truck. I didn't have that much money in the bank, and we arranged for a frantic, last minute wire transfer from Mom to me, when Dad decided to go get a cash advance on his credit card. I'd put posty notes on the walls indicating what I wanted where (and the new computer desks and bookcases had been put in place earlier) so everything was put in the right place. Most of my stuff was rather scratched/dented before it got packed, but they really battered my things. Mom packed stuff pretty well, but they managed to break a sheet of glass that was thoroughly wrapped in newspaper in the middle of a box full of assorted stuff, much of which was clothing/towels. A lot of my stuff has extra scratches and dings that didn't used to be there, but there's nothing bad enough to complain to the BBB about. Except the customer service issues; that business about the cash instead of certified check was ridiculous and petty. If he had a legitimate reason for insisting on cash, he would have been better off explaining it. Jerking people around for the fun of it ticks people off. I'm just glad that's over; the next time I have stuff moved from one end of the country to the other, I'll have to be able to afford a full-service mover that won't pull stunts like that.
The job is at an escrow company, there are beautiful furnishings and artworks in every room, and the owner has orchids growing in her office. I made it quite clear from the beginning that I wanted to work my way up to an assistant position; being a receptionist was a good start, but it didn't pay enough to live on. My attempts to find a night/weekend job all failed, which I found rather odd. I've never had trouble getting foodservice/cashier jobs before, and the one place I managed to interview, they had a policy requiring three 6-hour days of classroom training for new hires. I could work nights, but I would first have to take three days off from the office for training. That wouldn't fly. More on this later. There are only about a dozen people in the office, almost every one female. It's like having an all-girls club for a workplace, though I'm the only one who doesn't swear like a sailor. No wonder Hollywood thought the Blair Witch Project was clever; they really talk like that out here. Swear words are such a matter of course that they just don't mean anything anymore.
I have also learned that California is every bit as crazy as we always thought it was. Most of the people I meet think I'm fresh out of high school, so they ask me if I came here to go to school. Mind you, I'm planning to apply to USC for the PhD program in Critical Studies (film) after I establish my residency, but that's not what people are thinking when they ask me about school. I could do without the whistles and kissy noises from the traffic while I walk by on the sidewalk, too. Reminds me of the time we went to the grocery store in Greenville and made it all the way inside before we realized the guy standing outside had been trying to whistle at us; wolf whistles are tasteless, but failed attempts at them are pathetically hilarious. I've gotten some of the failed attempts, here, too. And the car horns! LA drivers love the sound of their own horns; they use them all the time. I actually saw a woman lean on her horn because she was mad at having to wait behind a guy who was (get this!) stopped at a red light. The only respite from her horn was while I was walking in the crosswalk in front of his car; I was tempted to stand there and wave back at her, but I figured it probably wasn't a good idea. It was an amusing thought, though. But seriously, I can understand honking the horn to alert a driver who has failed to notice the light turning green, or honking at someone who is doing something dangerous, but really! They'll honk at someone who looks like they might-perhaps-maybe get in their way. I think it's overkill. On the other hand, I have also come to the conclusion that a lot of the things California is known for pushing on the rest of the country are necessary here. The water is nasty; of course they buy filters and bottled water. There are ridiculous numbers of people in this area, and a corresponding number of cars; the roads are too crowded, the housing situation is not good, so of course they're going to see a need for carpooling, pollution regulations, rent restrictions, etc. Thing is, LA is stuck between a rock and a wet place: mountains on one side and ocean on the other leaves LA with no room to spread out. The population keeps growing, and with no room to go "out," they have to go "up." Most of the rest of the country has room to spread out, and these issues take care of themselves.
On Easter, I had dinner with my Dad's cousin. I'd never met her; she'd last seen me when I was an infant. It was very awkward; she seemed frustrated when she offered me a drink, and the first thing I requested was water. When she pressed, I told her I don't drink alcohol, so she gave me sparkling cider. The condo just goes up and up and up, and from the top-most balcony, they can see the sea. I don't know how many millions that condo is worth, but I know it's millions. They've got all the newest gadgets and gizmos for their home entertainment; he's even got a karaoke attachment for his harmonica. The first of the other guests to arrive brought deviled eggs...with caviar. They insisted I try one. I didn't think it would help to point out that I don't like deviled eggs, but I did mention that I'd never had caviar before. They said something about it being an acquired taste, and cut the deviled egg in half. I tried one bite, and put the rest down as subtly as I knew how. As the others arrived, the focus became "mixing unique alcoholic beverages." I got some odd looks because I don't drink. (When I told my parents about it later, Mom pointed out the incongruity of these people; I earned strange looks because I don't drink, but when another individual who wasn't present was mentioned, they spoke of him in glowing terms as a "former alcoholic." So to them, apparently, it's better to go off the deep end and fight your way back to sobriety than never to start in the first place.) At any rate, the evening only got more uncomfortable. The cousin asked me to taste the asparagus and tell her if it was done; I hate vegetables, and I have no clue what "done" asparagus tastes like. I tasted it anyway; being on the receiving end of a half dozen expectant stares, I didn't want to admit I don't eat asparagus. I only took a little bite, and gave the rest to her, since I had no idea how to answer the question, "Is it done?" One of the other guests brought cranberry bread, and there was homemade Caesar salad at every place. Anyone who has eaten with me knows I don't eat salad, either. I nibbled at it. Fortunately, the main course was self serve; I took some ham and herbed potatoes, leaving the cranberry bread and asparagus alone. Dinner conversation turned to both taboo topics (politics and religion), and it became abundantly obvious that here, words are defined differently. Conservative here is Liberal in the southeast; Christian here is New Age in the southeast. There was literally no one there with whom I agreed on an entire topic. I could find tiny bits of some of their arguments with which I could agree, but on the whole, it was too much work trying to find a common bond. Then it was time for dessert: strawberry shortcake. I think she even gave me one of the plates with the most strawberries; I'm sure she meant it well, but, oh, what a frustrating night! I don't like fruit any better than vegetables. I nibbled around the corners on that, too. Then coffee, which I don't drink (though my office mates have gotten me to like the ice blended mocha at the coffee shop on the corner), and more conversation about spiritualism and film. When I mentioned that I know this (what I described above) is my mission in life, I literally stopped all other conversation in the room. The cousin's husband actually got down on one knee and pretended to bow to me. I have to admit, I considered that a pretty strange reaction to what I said. Basically, I know what I'm here to do, and that's absolutely astonishing to them. Uncomfortable conversation continued for hours before I was presented with: two wrapped slices of cranberry bread to take home with me. The cousin's husband drove me home, and I got to bed around midnight. All in all, I felt like I really didn't belong with any of them, and I felt ridiculous in the face of so many foods I can't stand. There are many normal foods I like, but the upper class gourmet typically shuns those sort of things. I so totally did not belong, relative or not.
The wonders never cease, though. I figured I would have to be a temp for 90 days before I would get a chance to become permanent, and I figured it would be longer than that before I could become an assistant. At the end of March/beginning of April, I got the chance to go permanent, with the intention of making me an assistant when one of the others goes on her maternity leave sometime in May/June, possibly as late as July. I negotiated with the owner on salary; I got an immediate raise for the month of April (half again as much as I was making as a temp) and when I get to be an assistant, I will get a raise to the level I requested, even though I didn't expect it. It's enough to live on, even if it won't make me rich, and that means I don't have to panic about the failure of my attempts to find a night/weekend job. I still kind of wonder; a second job would give me the added income I need to pay down debts. I have a lot of those, and I've never really had a "high-paying job." For that matter, this is the first job I've ever had that really includes "benefits." Others have had insurance plans I could buy at a slight discount, but I was still paying my own premiums. It'll be 90 days before the insurance is effective, but it's real insurance, and there's a 401k thing that the office manager said he'll explain to me later. It wasn't a good moment to be standing around talking, but I genuinely don't know what all the benefits they have *are.*
Had a really rough day this past Tuesday. I finally got to work early, like I'd been intending to do for days, and things went kerblooie on me. I had to type up a form as part of the hiring process - yes, using an actual typewriter - and we sent it off last week. Since one of my predecessors at the receptionist's desk had the bright idea of running sticker labels the wrong way through the typewriter, I'd had to use someone else's typewriter. I was horribly slow at it, since I've never actually learned to use a mundane typewriter (c'mon, we've had PCs in the house as long as I can remember...Dad made me code a 'hello world' in Basic on the Commodore when I was 10), and when I'm away from my desk, the others have to interrupt their regular work to answer the phones. They don't like that. On Monday the touchy forms people sent it back with a shorter copy of the same form: the larger one is obsolete, do it over. I'd gotten *most* of the stickers out of the typewriter, but not all, and I had asked the office manager if there was anything he could do with it. He took the typewriter away, and I didn't see him again pretty much all day. This is normal; unless someone asks for him, I usually don't see or speak to him - he stays in his office and rarely comes out. Anyway, Tuesday morning, he's irritated because I don't have the form typed and turned in to him. I asked if the typewriter was fixed, and he brought it back to me. He couldn't get the last sticker out either, but he said I could put the paper in crooked, release the pressure plate, and position the paper manually. It came out a horrible mess, and I got in trouble again. No, I didn't copy it first; I sort of figured he would have made copies so he would have them on hand the next time he had to process a new hire. There was a major computer glitch in the banking system that afternoon, too, and he blew up. Fortunately for me, the more experienced lady took over when trouble showed up, so he wasn't yelling at me. It wasn't her fault, either, but I was just glad it wasn't mine. Wednesday & Thursday were much better. Wednesday morning the office manager gave me a new set of forms (turns out they're on the net...big surprise there) and I commented that it was too bad I didn't have Acrobat on my computer, as I could just type in it the computer and print it out that way. He laughed and said something about, "You're probably one of those people who think you should start a fire by lighting something, instead of rubbing two stones together." I laughed with him, thinking, 'well, *yeah* duh.' I ended up using someone else's typewriter, which did much to repair my wounded pride; having a stop on the side so the paper goes in straight does *wonders* for turning out legible documents, and condenses the amount of time it takes by a factor of four.
A lot of the trouble I have stems from the fact that the majority of the people in the office are technophobes, and the equipment is archaic. Give me a full license version of Adobe Acrobat and I can do all of those forms on the computer. Give me Excel and Access, and I can replace that DOS-based whatever-it-is that all the files use. I have never learned to use an ordinary electronic typewriter because the computer can do all of the same things faster and better. I'm not familiar with adding machines (but those haven't given me as much trouble as the typewriter). Two of the girls in the office (I'm the youngest one there, but I pretty much refer to them all as girls anyway) have concluded that any technical problem can be brought to me, because I know how to do stuff like that. "My mouse won't move left or right!" I tried cleaning the ball, still didn't work, needed to get back to the switchboard: simple solution. I showed her how to get from one shortcut to another on the desktop using the ARROW KEYS! I was a hero. Another time, her screen went blank; I rebooted it. I was a hero. Those two remind me of college, when the other girls in the dorm would come to me with the same kind of problems. The two whose desks are closest to the front, though, seem to think that I shouldn't try to fix anything because I can't possibly know if something I do might break whatever I'm trying to fix. It's vaguely insulting; yes, I *do* know that I wouldn't do anything to break it, because I know the limits of my knowledge! Playing around in the dark with a DOS-based program is deadly; playing around in Windows is like opening cupboards in the kitchen - you can look to see what's there without disturbing things. They gave me a lecture Wednesday afternoon about "not messing with things." The company owner seems to be glad that I'm tech-literate, but it's obvious she isn't. She told me about this horrible rigamarole she had to go through to send faxes by email, and when she showed me, it seemed very simple. She just didn't understand what each step was actually doing, and when I tried to explain it to her, she waved me off. She didn't really want to understand it, she just wanted it made simpler. The situation screams for modernization, but I don't have any clout because I'm the newbie and the only geek in the lot. I have to learn the old technologies along with the procedures and principles of escrow assisting, and maybe when I become good at that I can convince them to modernize. It would do wonders with productivity, I am certain.
On another interesting note, while our office only does real estate escrow, someone called one day to ask about rates because she was a filmmaker and needed escrow for her actors. That caught my attention! Add to that the fact that our office does real estate transactions for people in major film production studios; see the opportunities? Oh, and I get The Hollywood Reporter for free now: my apartment complex has a subscription, and one day when I asked for paper and pen to copy something out of the classified section in the back, the manager and assistant manager both told me that "No one ever reads those! Just take it with you!" So, every week after it's been there for a couple of days, I can just pick up the latest copy of the weekly HR. Cool, huh? That's a $175 subscription I'm getting to use for free.
[HEADDESK] Friday...oh, my. I am so definitely *not* used to being surrounded by such technical ignorance. My boss seems to be convinced that PDF=email attachment. I was dropping off a note for her before I left, and she asked me, "How do I change something on this PDF?" My first thought was, 'You don't.' She has the full version of Acrobat, but she doesn't know the difference between that and Acrobat Reader, and I wasn't about to try to explain it until I had a look at what she was trying to do. I came around the desk to see the screen, and she had MS Word open. "Um, that's a Word document; all you have to do is type over it." She clicked where she wanted her cursor and started deleting the unwanted word, and exclaimed, "Oh, my!" Then she asked me how to save it. I checked to see if she wanted to keep the original file as it was when she downloaded the attachment, and being assured she didn't care about that, saved myself the trouble of explaining the difference between "save" and "save as." "Click that disk up there." I find this absolutely incredible. I have *never* encountered this level before; even my friends who claim to know nothing about computers know that much, at least. I have to admit, I never thought there were actually people that...out of it. And somehow, I need to find a way to persuade them to come into the modern era. The 90s, at least, would be nice. The monstrosity on my desk sounds like it's preparing to take off every time I turn it on, it's running Win98, and the only software I can use on it without bringing the entire network to a screeching halt is a DOS-shell. Well, I can use the ordinary Windows stuff like calc and WordPad, but if I want to print anything out I have to use the DOS-shell database program. Wordpad puts an error message on every computer in the network if I print. Talk about a wonky setup, but they have their "computer guy" who comes in every so often, and they're not about to listen to me on the subject. I'm new, I'm a girl, and I have trouble with the simplest of things (typewriter, adding machine, obscure real estate documents) so what do I know? Of course, these people also told me not to worry about it when the virus software on my computer said there were two viruses present, and claimed that if I dust the monitor, the fan will stop making such a horrible racket.
Ah, me. I guess I just have to look at it as another challenge to overcome, just like transportation. Not having a car is driving me nuts. I don't go far, because I have to walk (or get a ride with someone who has a car) wherever I go. While this reminds me of college, the benefit of having like-minded people around is decidedly lacking. I miss my friends, but somehow I doubt I can persuade you all to come out here and join me. Also, there's no one here I know well enough (and trust) to drive me around much. Let's face it, the dependency is making me crazy. I hate it with a passion, and I have got to find a way to afford a car. I don't know how, yet, but I'm thinking about it. I'm open to suggestions, but I'm not planning to leave my day job, and I refuse to do anything indecent.
I've been thinking about (trying my hand at) online comics, since I've found several of them to be truly hilarious. I've listed them in no particular order:
ADVENTURERS
BC
Dilbert
Foxtrot
Glenn McCoy
Mallard Fillmore
MegaTokyo
Nuklear Power
PvPonline.com
Real Life
Sluggy Freelance
User Friendly the Comic Strip
Wayne Stayskal
Wizard of Id
[rpg world]
Unfortunately, it seems like every idea I've come with is already being done. I don't want to be a copy-cat, even without the ethical copyright issues. I'm still thinking on this one, and I know that even if I do come up with a workable idea, the chances of making it as popular as the above-listed comics are pretty slim. It's not likely to bring in much revenue, if any at all. Nevertheless, I feel I have to try *something,* and it seems to me like comics are easier than full fledged films. I think scripting is easier, but I have to figure out a gimmick that isn't being used. While this can at least partially be attributed to "there is nothing new under the sun," I don't want to be *too* similar to someone else. I'm also debating 3D animations, sort of like a mini-series on the web, but that's a lot harder to do.
Anyway, I'm doing okay, I'm on a real-life adventure, and I'll let you know when something else interesting happens, 'kay?
It's been eons since I updated, but hopefully you'll understand (and forgive) when you hear about all the stuff I've been doing. Many/most of you know about my long term goals regarding the film industry and my desire to create a viable organization to counter the MPAA's assault on the Christian moral code. I have come to the conclusion that I must learn how the business is run, so that I can teach others. Of the dozen or so film students with whom I studied, I do not know of any who are working in film outside of our alma mater. I see this as part of the problem; if we train to make films, should we not end up making films? There aren't enough Christian filmmakers to hire new grads (most Christian film companies can't afford to pay anyone, let alone hire new people, and the average Christian film is horrible, to boot), so students need to learn how to start their own companies. "United we stand, divided we fall" applies to any group struggling to achieve a goal. The upshot of all of this is, I decided I needed to get a job working as an assistant to a Hollywood producer.
I know, I know, I can hear the horrified shrieks already;) I lost count of the number of times I heard, "We don't want our students to go to Hollywood," when I was in school, but I also remember Dr. Stenholm's stories of visiting Hollywood sets to learn how to make films. I know this is my mission in life, and I'm going to find a way to do it.
I couldn't get even an interview with a film company, since most of them wanted resumes listing a minimum of 2 years assistant experience, so I turned my attention to general administrative assistant positions. I was still sending numerous applications to film jobs (do you know how discouraging it is to send 15-30 resumes a day for weeks on end and get nothing in reply?), but I started looking for the other as well. On Feb. 11, 2004, I came across a new posting on CareerBuilder titled, "Administrative Assistants Galore." It had a link to apply on their website, so I filled it in. The site recommended calling as well, just to follow up, and when I called, the lady was so excited to hear that I was interested in the position, she scheduled me for an interview on Monday, Feb. 16, 2004. (It's a mark of what's important to me that I remember the date of my flight by the fact that my interview was President's Day rather than the fact that I flew the day after Valentine's Day;)
So, I flew to Los Angeles on Sunday, and had the interview Monday morning. That being President's Day, the building was locked, so I walked halfway around the building trying to find a way in. While I was wandering, I found another temp agency on the side. I found a way into the right building, though, and I took all their little aptitude tests (scoring better on the "Advanced" features of MS Office than the "Intermediate" ones, oddly enough) only to be told that they wouldn't submit me for these administrative assistant positions because I didn't have the "experience" that the client wanted. Same problem as before. I mentioned seeing the other temp agency, and the lady said it was a good idea to apply at all the temp agencies I could find; better chance of actually getting work. So, with nothing very promising at the original place, I went to the other. By this point, it was lunchtime. I handed them a copy of my resume and asked about applying. They wanted a web form filled out, and when I explain that web access was difficult at the time, they allowed me to use their computers to fill it out. I made an appointment to interview and take their aptitude tests the next morning, and then I went to find some lunch. That was around 2 pm, so I was pretty hungry. I asked the waiter at Denny's how much he usually earned, since they had "help wanted" signs on the windows, and picked up an application. I had to put off filling it out, though, because the second temp agency called; they had an emergency they needed filled, and would I be willing to report to work the very next day? I said yes (duh!) and went over to the agency for details (the phone connection was very staticky for some reason, and hard to understand). I got over there and filled out a few more forms, and headed back to my hotel absolutely delighted. A job in one day!
My new job started at 8:30 the next morning. I wanted to make a good impression, so I was a half hour early. You'll see the irony later. When the other receptionist (yes, it was a receptionist position, not an administrative assistant position) started showing me the job, it initially seemed simple enough. Showing me how to make coffee and stock the break room really could have waited until another day, but what can I say - I wasn't in charge of new employee training. There were approximately 60 names and numbers on that floor, and frankly, if I'd had the other receptionist with me the entire time, it would have been fine. Unfortunately, she had to relieve yet another receptionist on another floor for her lunch break, and so I was alone at lunch, when the phones suddenly got a lot busier. No one person can answer a dozen calls in a minute. Not humanly possible. If I'd had the names and numbers memorized, I might've had a chance. To make things worse, there were two phones, not just one, so even when the phone I was using was full (all eight lines occupied) the other would continue to ring. People would get fed up with being on hold and would hang up and call back, which made things still worse as the line would not automatically clear just because the person on the other end hung up. I would have a half-dozen empty lines when I finally got a chance to get to them. One of the lawyers in the office got so tired of it that he sent someone else's assistant (a former receptionist) to help me. Different people stopped by and told me a little about the situation; I heard some very interesting stories. The regular receptionist was on maternity leave, but apparently they'd had a temp that did the job well and could handle even the deluge by herself. She was dismissed suddenly the Friday before (another temp tried on President's Day, but she wasn't any better than I was), but the reasons I got varied. According to the other receptionist, the previous temp had been abusing the freedom of the position by taking abnormally long breaks and cheating on her timecard about it. According to someone else on the floor, this receptionist was jealous of the temp and got her fired maliciously. By midafternoon I was informed that I was being dismissed. On the one hand, the place was so horrid that it would be a relief not to have to set foot in the place ever again, but on the other hand, I desperately needed a job, and I'm not accustomed to *failing* at a task I choose to undertake. It was a horrible bruise to my pride, and I vowed to tell the agency what nonsense was going on there.
Now, I've always heard that California is sunny and warm, and I figured I wouldn't need an umbrella. I was wrong. It was cold and wet most of the first week and a half, and I had to resort to the flimsiest of shields from the rain: some paper from a newsstand. Easy enough to come by, since there are newsstands on almost every corner, grouped in clusters and offering all sorts of things. For the rain, I grabbed the thickest one I could find, which, embarrassingly enough, turned out to be an x-rated classified paper. I was glad I had my leather jacket and gloves; there was plenty of cold wind along with that rain.
So, Wednesday, Feb. 18, 2004, I went trudging through the rain to both temp agencies to let them know that if I didn't have a position by the end of the week, I was going to have to fly back to Alabama. They both told me they understood and wished me luck. I used the rest of the day to switch hotels (Mom found me a cheaper one just a little further away from where I'd been staying) and exploring a particular street which the second agency had recommended as a good place to find apartments. The next morning, I got a call; I had an interview for a temp-to-perm receptionist position, and the office was right in the area I'd been exploring the day before! I went early for the interview, which consisted mostly of filling out yet another application form and meeting people. The company owner told me to go home and think it over and decide if I was really interested. I went exploring Santa Monica, and found a McDonald's. It seems very strange to me, but the normal fast food places are harder to find around here. It was such a relief to see a familiar place, I stopped there for supper and called the temp agency. I told her it sounded like it went well, and she called the office to check. She called me back to say that the office was waiting to find out if I was really interested; I said "yes," obviously. So, in one week I went from unemployed in Alabama to employed in California.
On Friday I found an apartment. I'd called and talked to the leasing agent about pricing and availability earlier (maybe Thursday?) so all I had to do was go look at it. I filled out the application and put a deposit on a studio apartment that would be ready for me to move in on the following Wednesday.
Up to that point, I'd been driving a rental car. I had been nervous, initially, because I knew LA was enormous compared to Greenville, Huntsville, Birmingham, and Atlanta (to list them in size order;) and I have always hated the latter two precisely because of their size. I was pleasantly surprised by traffic in LA; yes, it was busier, but in LA, people let you MERGE! I'm used to not signaling until the last possible moment because people speed up to cut you off. When I commented on this, people were shocked that any place would be crazy enough to cut off merges. I'll say this; there are too many cars for the roads that are here, but this area knows how to drive. The southeast could stand a few lessons about merging.
Nevertheless, I couldn't afford to keep a rental car forever. I returned it on Saturday, knowing I would have to take the bus to my new job on Monday morning. I took the buses to get back to the hotel after dropping off my car, and since I'd originally planned to return it Friday, I had gotten the bus route from the rental office's computer (LA metro is online) and I found a sympathetic lady at the bus stop who guided me. She happened to be going on the same two buses I was, so she made sure I got to the right stops and on the right buses. Wish I'd had that kind of help on Monday...
I called the metro's 800 number because 1) I was unfamiliar with anything in the area, and 2) I didn't have any way of knowing what the routes were. I told the lady on the phone that I was a total newbie and needed very specific directions. Unfortunately, somehow the wires got crossed anyway. Monday morning, I got to the first bus stop without any problem and caught the right bus. I asked the driver to call out my stop because I was new, and I got off on the right corner. Now, the lady on the phone had said to stay on the same corner, and when I asked if she meant the same stop, she said yes. So, I waited, but the bus I was looking for never appeared. I finally asked a girl at the stop about it, and she told me the bus that was just then approaching was the one I needed. I looked at it; the number was wrong, but I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't call the 800 number from my cell phone because they blocked non-LA area codes. So, I got on and asked the bus driver if she was going to my intersection. Problem number 2: she was so busy talking on her cell phone that she really didn't hear what I asked, and she just nodded. I gave her my transfer ticket and sat down, fretting all the while. When it got to be time I was supposed to be at work, I called the temp agency to let them know I was having some trouble with the bus system but that I was trying. I wound up riding the bus along the beachfront, which might've been quite pleasant if it weren't for the fact that I knew I was supposed to be elsewhere at that moment. When we reached the end of the line and everyone else got off, I asked the bus driver for help (again). I figured it wouldn't help anything if I reminded her that I'd asked her about that intersection when I got on. She made me get off and walk around the corner to get back on, and gave me another transfer. She told me which bus I needed, and called out the stop for me. I finally got on the right bus, and got to work about an hour late. My first day. Fun, huh?
The bus ride back to the hotel was much easier, even if I did get hit on by a crazy old guy. Get this: he boarded the bus at the VA hospital (big clue that he's loony, right there!) and first thing he says? "You're beautiful! Are you a movie star?" I had to laugh. Yeah, movie stars ride the bus all the time...suuuuuuuurrrrreeee. He asked if he could sit next to me; I didn't care. Then he says, "My daddy was a movie star. Have you ever seen any of his movies?" I reply that I don't know, since I don't know who his father was. His response? "Clark Gable." I didn't laugh in his face, but really. He was too old to be Clark Gable's son. I acted suitably impressed, and commented on my favorite Gable movie (It Happened One Night), and before long the driver called out my stop. I waved and got off, and didn't see him again.
I moved into my apartment on Wed, Feb. 26, and I spent several nights sleeping on the floor, since my bed had not arrived yet. The assistant manager of the complex apparently to a shine to me, though. I came to get my key Wednesday evening after work, because there was no way I was going to be able to get to the hotel and back before the apartment office closed. It was raining hard by the time I got there, so I was seriously considering taking a taxi to the hotel, rather than the bus. I mentioned that aloud, and he offered to drive me himself. I figured he was just being nice (he had already told me he was my upstairs neighbor and apologized ahead of time if he should make too much noise). After we picked up my stuff from the hotel office, he asked me if I had everything I needed, bearing in mind that some of the things the hotel had provided would not be included in the apartment...like toilet paper. I'd forgotten about that, and didn't know Mom had sent some in the box with the air mattress and towels, so we went to the store. While I was at it, I got a few other things, including things I *never* get when I'm in male company. When we got to the register, I remembered that I hadn't found an umbrella, and went off to look for one. By the time I came back, he'd already paid for the rest of the stuff for me. I'll admit, I may be a bit dense when it comes to figuring out when a guy is interested in me, but that right there, knowing what was in that basket, was a disconcertingly blunt announcement. Add to that the fact that the store clerk called him "your man" and I was a bit weirded out. What's more, Mom and Dad were unable to find the airpump that went with the mattress, and nobody had one that I could use that first night, so he also lent me some fold-up cushions he had. I'll admit, I still don't know if I have sufficiently clarified my opinion to him; he's nice, and I like nice guys, but I'm not interested. He's so very much not my type, and I have a career priority.
My computer arrived the next week, and I got my cable internet connected ASAP. The people at work couldn't seem to grasp the fact that I didn't care about not having TV at my apartment, it was the computer, the cat, and the car that I was missing. I tried checking email at the library, and picked up a couple of Mark Twain books to pass the time. An empty apartment can be rather boring after work;) I set the computer up on the floor, on the flattened cardboard box from my new daybed's spring. So, at that point I had a not-yet-assembled bed and a computer. Dad had been sent out by his company to do testing, so he happened to be available to help put the bed together; a good thing, since assembly required at least two, and preferably three people. We ended up asking my upstairs neighbor for tools, since the tools that came with the bedframe didn't actually fit the connectors, and my toolbox had not yet arrived. He stayed and helped, and gifted my dad with 7 pocket knives. He gave me 7 pocket knives and a steak knife/fork set. I kept telling him he should sell them on eBay, but he insisted we keep them. Dad ended up staying with me for a while after the company testing was done; he was a huge help when the moving company arrived and started being a major pain. Mom had to finish packing most of my stuff by herself because Dad and I were both in LA. My brother was going to come help the weekend I came to get Boo, but his car blew a head gasket. Mom went and got him later, and he ended up with my car, which has a laundry list of failings of its own. The movers had initially said the remainder of the moving charge was to be paid in a certified check/money order, but they called on the Friday before they arrived to tell us the amount and they insisted on cash. Frustrating, but do-able. I went to the bank and withdrew more cash than I ever carry in person. Monday, Dad had originally planned to be gone, but he had decided to stay and help. He called me because the movers were insisting on another couple of hundred dollars because the door of my apartment was too far from the truck. I didn't have that much money in the bank, and we arranged for a frantic, last minute wire transfer from Mom to me, when Dad decided to go get a cash advance on his credit card. I'd put posty notes on the walls indicating what I wanted where (and the new computer desks and bookcases had been put in place earlier) so everything was put in the right place. Most of my stuff was rather scratched/dented before it got packed, but they really battered my things. Mom packed stuff pretty well, but they managed to break a sheet of glass that was thoroughly wrapped in newspaper in the middle of a box full of assorted stuff, much of which was clothing/towels. A lot of my stuff has extra scratches and dings that didn't used to be there, but there's nothing bad enough to complain to the BBB about. Except the customer service issues; that business about the cash instead of certified check was ridiculous and petty. If he had a legitimate reason for insisting on cash, he would have been better off explaining it. Jerking people around for the fun of it ticks people off. I'm just glad that's over; the next time I have stuff moved from one end of the country to the other, I'll have to be able to afford a full-service mover that won't pull stunts like that.
The job is at an escrow company, there are beautiful furnishings and artworks in every room, and the owner has orchids growing in her office. I made it quite clear from the beginning that I wanted to work my way up to an assistant position; being a receptionist was a good start, but it didn't pay enough to live on. My attempts to find a night/weekend job all failed, which I found rather odd. I've never had trouble getting foodservice/cashier jobs before, and the one place I managed to interview, they had a policy requiring three 6-hour days of classroom training for new hires. I could work nights, but I would first have to take three days off from the office for training. That wouldn't fly. More on this later. There are only about a dozen people in the office, almost every one female. It's like having an all-girls club for a workplace, though I'm the only one who doesn't swear like a sailor. No wonder Hollywood thought the Blair Witch Project was clever; they really talk like that out here. Swear words are such a matter of course that they just don't mean anything anymore.
I have also learned that California is every bit as crazy as we always thought it was. Most of the people I meet think I'm fresh out of high school, so they ask me if I came here to go to school. Mind you, I'm planning to apply to USC for the PhD program in Critical Studies (film) after I establish my residency, but that's not what people are thinking when they ask me about school. I could do without the whistles and kissy noises from the traffic while I walk by on the sidewalk, too. Reminds me of the time we went to the grocery store in Greenville and made it all the way inside before we realized the guy standing outside had been trying to whistle at us; wolf whistles are tasteless, but failed attempts at them are pathetically hilarious. I've gotten some of the failed attempts, here, too. And the car horns! LA drivers love the sound of their own horns; they use them all the time. I actually saw a woman lean on her horn because she was mad at having to wait behind a guy who was (get this!) stopped at a red light. The only respite from her horn was while I was walking in the crosswalk in front of his car; I was tempted to stand there and wave back at her, but I figured it probably wasn't a good idea. It was an amusing thought, though. But seriously, I can understand honking the horn to alert a driver who has failed to notice the light turning green, or honking at someone who is doing something dangerous, but really! They'll honk at someone who looks like they might-perhaps-maybe get in their way. I think it's overkill. On the other hand, I have also come to the conclusion that a lot of the things California is known for pushing on the rest of the country are necessary here. The water is nasty; of course they buy filters and bottled water. There are ridiculous numbers of people in this area, and a corresponding number of cars; the roads are too crowded, the housing situation is not good, so of course they're going to see a need for carpooling, pollution regulations, rent restrictions, etc. Thing is, LA is stuck between a rock and a wet place: mountains on one side and ocean on the other leaves LA with no room to spread out. The population keeps growing, and with no room to go "out," they have to go "up." Most of the rest of the country has room to spread out, and these issues take care of themselves.
On Easter, I had dinner with my Dad's cousin. I'd never met her; she'd last seen me when I was an infant. It was very awkward; she seemed frustrated when she offered me a drink, and the first thing I requested was water. When she pressed, I told her I don't drink alcohol, so she gave me sparkling cider. The condo just goes up and up and up, and from the top-most balcony, they can see the sea. I don't know how many millions that condo is worth, but I know it's millions. They've got all the newest gadgets and gizmos for their home entertainment; he's even got a karaoke attachment for his harmonica. The first of the other guests to arrive brought deviled eggs...with caviar. They insisted I try one. I didn't think it would help to point out that I don't like deviled eggs, but I did mention that I'd never had caviar before. They said something about it being an acquired taste, and cut the deviled egg in half. I tried one bite, and put the rest down as subtly as I knew how. As the others arrived, the focus became "mixing unique alcoholic beverages." I got some odd looks because I don't drink. (When I told my parents about it later, Mom pointed out the incongruity of these people; I earned strange looks because I don't drink, but when another individual who wasn't present was mentioned, they spoke of him in glowing terms as a "former alcoholic." So to them, apparently, it's better to go off the deep end and fight your way back to sobriety than never to start in the first place.) At any rate, the evening only got more uncomfortable. The cousin asked me to taste the asparagus and tell her if it was done; I hate vegetables, and I have no clue what "done" asparagus tastes like. I tasted it anyway; being on the receiving end of a half dozen expectant stares, I didn't want to admit I don't eat asparagus. I only took a little bite, and gave the rest to her, since I had no idea how to answer the question, "Is it done?" One of the other guests brought cranberry bread, and there was homemade Caesar salad at every place. Anyone who has eaten with me knows I don't eat salad, either. I nibbled at it. Fortunately, the main course was self serve; I took some ham and herbed potatoes, leaving the cranberry bread and asparagus alone. Dinner conversation turned to both taboo topics (politics and religion), and it became abundantly obvious that here, words are defined differently. Conservative here is Liberal in the southeast; Christian here is New Age in the southeast. There was literally no one there with whom I agreed on an entire topic. I could find tiny bits of some of their arguments with which I could agree, but on the whole, it was too much work trying to find a common bond. Then it was time for dessert: strawberry shortcake. I think she even gave me one of the plates with the most strawberries; I'm sure she meant it well, but, oh, what a frustrating night! I don't like fruit any better than vegetables. I nibbled around the corners on that, too. Then coffee, which I don't drink (though my office mates have gotten me to like the ice blended mocha at the coffee shop on the corner), and more conversation about spiritualism and film. When I mentioned that I know this (what I described above) is my mission in life, I literally stopped all other conversation in the room. The cousin's husband actually got down on one knee and pretended to bow to me. I have to admit, I considered that a pretty strange reaction to what I said. Basically, I know what I'm here to do, and that's absolutely astonishing to them. Uncomfortable conversation continued for hours before I was presented with: two wrapped slices of cranberry bread to take home with me. The cousin's husband drove me home, and I got to bed around midnight. All in all, I felt like I really didn't belong with any of them, and I felt ridiculous in the face of so many foods I can't stand. There are many normal foods I like, but the upper class gourmet typically shuns those sort of things. I so totally did not belong, relative or not.
The wonders never cease, though. I figured I would have to be a temp for 90 days before I would get a chance to become permanent, and I figured it would be longer than that before I could become an assistant. At the end of March/beginning of April, I got the chance to go permanent, with the intention of making me an assistant when one of the others goes on her maternity leave sometime in May/June, possibly as late as July. I negotiated with the owner on salary; I got an immediate raise for the month of April (half again as much as I was making as a temp) and when I get to be an assistant, I will get a raise to the level I requested, even though I didn't expect it. It's enough to live on, even if it won't make me rich, and that means I don't have to panic about the failure of my attempts to find a night/weekend job. I still kind of wonder; a second job would give me the added income I need to pay down debts. I have a lot of those, and I've never really had a "high-paying job." For that matter, this is the first job I've ever had that really includes "benefits." Others have had insurance plans I could buy at a slight discount, but I was still paying my own premiums. It'll be 90 days before the insurance is effective, but it's real insurance, and there's a 401k thing that the office manager said he'll explain to me later. It wasn't a good moment to be standing around talking, but I genuinely don't know what all the benefits they have *are.*
Had a really rough day this past Tuesday. I finally got to work early, like I'd been intending to do for days, and things went kerblooie on me. I had to type up a form as part of the hiring process - yes, using an actual typewriter - and we sent it off last week. Since one of my predecessors at the receptionist's desk had the bright idea of running sticker labels the wrong way through the typewriter, I'd had to use someone else's typewriter. I was horribly slow at it, since I've never actually learned to use a mundane typewriter (c'mon, we've had PCs in the house as long as I can remember...Dad made me code a 'hello world' in Basic on the Commodore when I was 10), and when I'm away from my desk, the others have to interrupt their regular work to answer the phones. They don't like that. On Monday the touchy forms people sent it back with a shorter copy of the same form: the larger one is obsolete, do it over. I'd gotten *most* of the stickers out of the typewriter, but not all, and I had asked the office manager if there was anything he could do with it. He took the typewriter away, and I didn't see him again pretty much all day. This is normal; unless someone asks for him, I usually don't see or speak to him - he stays in his office and rarely comes out. Anyway, Tuesday morning, he's irritated because I don't have the form typed and turned in to him. I asked if the typewriter was fixed, and he brought it back to me. He couldn't get the last sticker out either, but he said I could put the paper in crooked, release the pressure plate, and position the paper manually. It came out a horrible mess, and I got in trouble again. No, I didn't copy it first; I sort of figured he would have made copies so he would have them on hand the next time he had to process a new hire. There was a major computer glitch in the banking system that afternoon, too, and he blew up. Fortunately for me, the more experienced lady took over when trouble showed up, so he wasn't yelling at me. It wasn't her fault, either, but I was just glad it wasn't mine. Wednesday & Thursday were much better. Wednesday morning the office manager gave me a new set of forms (turns out they're on the net...big surprise there) and I commented that it was too bad I didn't have Acrobat on my computer, as I could just type in it the computer and print it out that way. He laughed and said something about, "You're probably one of those people who think you should start a fire by lighting something, instead of rubbing two stones together." I laughed with him, thinking, 'well, *yeah* duh.' I ended up using someone else's typewriter, which did much to repair my wounded pride; having a stop on the side so the paper goes in straight does *wonders* for turning out legible documents, and condenses the amount of time it takes by a factor of four.
A lot of the trouble I have stems from the fact that the majority of the people in the office are technophobes, and the equipment is archaic. Give me a full license version of Adobe Acrobat and I can do all of those forms on the computer. Give me Excel and Access, and I can replace that DOS-based whatever-it-is that all the files use. I have never learned to use an ordinary electronic typewriter because the computer can do all of the same things faster and better. I'm not familiar with adding machines (but those haven't given me as much trouble as the typewriter). Two of the girls in the office (I'm the youngest one there, but I pretty much refer to them all as girls anyway) have concluded that any technical problem can be brought to me, because I know how to do stuff like that. "My mouse won't move left or right!" I tried cleaning the ball, still didn't work, needed to get back to the switchboard: simple solution. I showed her how to get from one shortcut to another on the desktop using the ARROW KEYS! I was a hero. Another time, her screen went blank; I rebooted it. I was a hero. Those two remind me of college, when the other girls in the dorm would come to me with the same kind of problems. The two whose desks are closest to the front, though, seem to think that I shouldn't try to fix anything because I can't possibly know if something I do might break whatever I'm trying to fix. It's vaguely insulting; yes, I *do* know that I wouldn't do anything to break it, because I know the limits of my knowledge! Playing around in the dark with a DOS-based program is deadly; playing around in Windows is like opening cupboards in the kitchen - you can look to see what's there without disturbing things. They gave me a lecture Wednesday afternoon about "not messing with things." The company owner seems to be glad that I'm tech-literate, but it's obvious she isn't. She told me about this horrible rigamarole she had to go through to send faxes by email, and when she showed me, it seemed very simple. She just didn't understand what each step was actually doing, and when I tried to explain it to her, she waved me off. She didn't really want to understand it, she just wanted it made simpler. The situation screams for modernization, but I don't have any clout because I'm the newbie and the only geek in the lot. I have to learn the old technologies along with the procedures and principles of escrow assisting, and maybe when I become good at that I can convince them to modernize. It would do wonders with productivity, I am certain.
On another interesting note, while our office only does real estate escrow, someone called one day to ask about rates because she was a filmmaker and needed escrow for her actors. That caught my attention! Add to that the fact that our office does real estate transactions for people in major film production studios; see the opportunities? Oh, and I get The Hollywood Reporter for free now: my apartment complex has a subscription, and one day when I asked for paper and pen to copy something out of the classified section in the back, the manager and assistant manager both told me that "No one ever reads those! Just take it with you!" So, every week after it's been there for a couple of days, I can just pick up the latest copy of the weekly HR. Cool, huh? That's a $175 subscription I'm getting to use for free.
[HEADDESK] Friday...oh, my. I am so definitely *not* used to being surrounded by such technical ignorance. My boss seems to be convinced that PDF=email attachment. I was dropping off a note for her before I left, and she asked me, "How do I change something on this PDF?" My first thought was, 'You don't.' She has the full version of Acrobat, but she doesn't know the difference between that and Acrobat Reader, and I wasn't about to try to explain it until I had a look at what she was trying to do. I came around the desk to see the screen, and she had MS Word open. "Um, that's a Word document; all you have to do is type over it." She clicked where she wanted her cursor and started deleting the unwanted word, and exclaimed, "Oh, my!" Then she asked me how to save it. I checked to see if she wanted to keep the original file as it was when she downloaded the attachment, and being assured she didn't care about that, saved myself the trouble of explaining the difference between "save" and "save as." "Click that disk up there." I find this absolutely incredible. I have *never* encountered this level before; even my friends who claim to know nothing about computers know that much, at least. I have to admit, I never thought there were actually people that...out of it. And somehow, I need to find a way to persuade them to come into the modern era. The 90s, at least, would be nice. The monstrosity on my desk sounds like it's preparing to take off every time I turn it on, it's running Win98, and the only software I can use on it without bringing the entire network to a screeching halt is a DOS-shell. Well, I can use the ordinary Windows stuff like calc and WordPad, but if I want to print anything out I have to use the DOS-shell database program. Wordpad puts an error message on every computer in the network if I print. Talk about a wonky setup, but they have their "computer guy" who comes in every so often, and they're not about to listen to me on the subject. I'm new, I'm a girl, and I have trouble with the simplest of things (typewriter, adding machine, obscure real estate documents) so what do I know? Of course, these people also told me not to worry about it when the virus software on my computer said there were two viruses present, and claimed that if I dust the monitor, the fan will stop making such a horrible racket.
Ah, me. I guess I just have to look at it as another challenge to overcome, just like transportation. Not having a car is driving me nuts. I don't go far, because I have to walk (or get a ride with someone who has a car) wherever I go. While this reminds me of college, the benefit of having like-minded people around is decidedly lacking. I miss my friends, but somehow I doubt I can persuade you all to come out here and join me. Also, there's no one here I know well enough (and trust) to drive me around much. Let's face it, the dependency is making me crazy. I hate it with a passion, and I have got to find a way to afford a car. I don't know how, yet, but I'm thinking about it. I'm open to suggestions, but I'm not planning to leave my day job, and I refuse to do anything indecent.
I've been thinking about (trying my hand at) online comics, since I've found several of them to be truly hilarious. I've listed them in no particular order:
ADVENTURERS
BC
Dilbert
Foxtrot
Glenn McCoy
Mallard Fillmore
MegaTokyo
Nuklear Power
PvPonline.com
Real Life
Sluggy Freelance
User Friendly the Comic Strip
Wayne Stayskal
Wizard of Id
[rpg world]
Unfortunately, it seems like every idea I've come with is already being done. I don't want to be a copy-cat, even without the ethical copyright issues. I'm still thinking on this one, and I know that even if I do come up with a workable idea, the chances of making it as popular as the above-listed comics are pretty slim. It's not likely to bring in much revenue, if any at all. Nevertheless, I feel I have to try *something,* and it seems to me like comics are easier than full fledged films. I think scripting is easier, but I have to figure out a gimmick that isn't being used. While this can at least partially be attributed to "there is nothing new under the sun," I don't want to be *too* similar to someone else. I'm also debating 3D animations, sort of like a mini-series on the web, but that's a lot harder to do.
Anyway, I'm doing okay, I'm on a real-life adventure, and I'll let you know when something else interesting happens, 'kay?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-26 11:25 pm (UTC)Darcie's gone friends-only; she's on my friends list...flameandsword? Lemme look...
Yeah, flameandsword - how do you make it a link? ljuser=flameandsword ?
Ah, whatever. I'll just do it this way - http://www.livejournal.com/users/flameandsword/
More very interesting things today, but I'm too tired to type it all out right now. It's 11:30, and I have to get up and go to work tomorrow. I'll try to get everything typed out tomorrow after work.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-04-27 11:31 pm (UTC)Thanks for the link. :D To link another journal, it's <*lj user=username*>, minus the little stars, of course. ;) ("LJ" and "user" are two separate words.)