Who wants to hear about Lisa's new job?
Lisa writes: The correct response is, "I do! I do!"
So, as of Monday, I have a new job. I'm savvy enough to know it's not a good idea to talk about your job on El Interneto, so we shall refer to my new employer as Weorge Goshington Medical Faculty Associates. (I think that'll fool 'em. If not, I'll be writing a new post about unemployment come Monday.) The job itself is not that exciting to write about: this is an outpatient clinic in downtown DC with an electronic medical record instead of paper medical charts. I'll train people how to use it. The end.
What is exciting -- to me -- is that I'll be working right smack downtown in a major metropolian area and taking public transportation to get there. The last time I regularly had to take public transportation was riding the bus to school. You'll understand the anxiety I was feeling last Sunday night, thinking of the mean, potty-mouthed, bully kids who hogged up a whole seat to themselves while the rest of us sat three to a seat or stood in the aisle, not to mention the horrible, sinking feeling of getting to the bus stop a hair too late and watching it pull away without you. Ugh. I hated riding the bus. Happily, grown-up public transportation isn't quite like that. If you're on a packed Metro car and everybody else is standing and you're trying to hog a seat all to yourself, someone will cut you.
Just kidding.
Maybe. This is DC, folks.
Here's the new routine: Alarm rings at 5:30 a.m. Tom gets up and does knee therapy and says his prayers (he's a lengthy pray-er). I loll around until 6 a.m. and then get up and eat Cheerios. We're out the door at 7 a.m. Tom drops me off a Dunn Loring station on his way to Tysons. I swipe my pre-paid swipey card at the turnstile and pay $3.50 to get to Foggy Bottom. (Foggy Bottom!) The cars are usually very crowded and I usually have to stand, but they're clean and everybody is all quiet and business-like and washed, so it's ok. Also, they'll arrest you if you try to bring food on the Metro. Not kidding. Several stops later, I pop into the sunlight at 22nd and I Street and walk right across the street to Weorge Goshington MFA.
A couple minutes before 5 p.m., I call Tom to tell him I'm leaving the office, triggering him to leave his office. About 20 minutes and $3 later, I meet him at the Kiss 'n Ride at West Falls Church station. The vagaries of local traffic make this leave-at-one-station-return-at-another make sense. He is happy to see me, and then we drive home and try to go to bed by 9:30 p.m.
We do not succeed.
So, as of Monday, I have a new job. I'm savvy enough to know it's not a good idea to talk about your job on El Interneto, so we shall refer to my new employer as Weorge Goshington Medical Faculty Associates. (I think that'll fool 'em. If not, I'll be writing a new post about unemployment come Monday.) The job itself is not that exciting to write about: this is an outpatient clinic in downtown DC with an electronic medical record instead of paper medical charts. I'll train people how to use it. The end.
What is exciting -- to me -- is that I'll be working right smack downtown in a major metropolian area and taking public transportation to get there. The last time I regularly had to take public transportation was riding the bus to school. You'll understand the anxiety I was feeling last Sunday night, thinking of the mean, potty-mouthed, bully kids who hogged up a whole seat to themselves while the rest of us sat three to a seat or stood in the aisle, not to mention the horrible, sinking feeling of getting to the bus stop a hair too late and watching it pull away without you. Ugh. I hated riding the bus. Happily, grown-up public transportation isn't quite like that. If you're on a packed Metro car and everybody else is standing and you're trying to hog a seat all to yourself, someone will cut you.
Just kidding.
Maybe. This is DC, folks.
Here's the new routine: Alarm rings at 5:30 a.m. Tom gets up and does knee therapy and says his prayers (he's a lengthy pray-er). I loll around until 6 a.m. and then get up and eat Cheerios. We're out the door at 7 a.m. Tom drops me off a Dunn Loring station on his way to Tysons. I swipe my pre-paid swipey card at the turnstile and pay $3.50 to get to Foggy Bottom. (Foggy Bottom!) The cars are usually very crowded and I usually have to stand, but they're clean and everybody is all quiet and business-like and washed, so it's ok. Also, they'll arrest you if you try to bring food on the Metro. Not kidding. Several stops later, I pop into the sunlight at 22nd and I Street and walk right across the street to Weorge Goshington MFA.
A couple minutes before 5 p.m., I call Tom to tell him I'm leaving the office, triggering him to leave his office. About 20 minutes and $3 later, I meet him at the Kiss 'n Ride at West Falls Church station. The vagaries of local traffic make this leave-at-one-station-return-at-another make sense. He is happy to see me, and then we drive home and try to go to bed by 9:30 p.m.
We do not succeed.
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