I got a new job today. But Eleanor won't let me celebrate. She doesn't like it and is still worried about our income. The job is doing "industrial cleaning." Tankers, pipelines, whatever. I had an interview and they seemed to love me. My interview lasted almost 3 hours. The pay is decent and will go up a dollar/hr when I get my CDL. There is also a lot of chemistry involved. The boss told me about repairing an oil tank by heating the crude oil with diesel, then adding water and letting the crap sink into the water layer, skimming the oil off and then draining the tank. Oil saved.
He asked me to come in for two trainings and said I would be ready to be a miner by this weekend. He also explained a way to turn some types of mine tailings into sulfuric acid. It sounds cool but they do a lot of road trips, even as far as Billings, Montana. Eleanor is worried I won't be able to work a second job. Those dance classes and dinosaur museums aren't cheap you know. They also offered me a position as their "dispatcher" to send out bodies and equipment to different work sites. That is probably what I will have to do so I can have a more-normal schedule and continue my work packing boxes.
Speaking of which: I was dead-on with my Chuck E. Cheese analogy. The other night a supervisor named Eric came to me and said I was doing an excellent job getting the right boxes on the right trucks. Then he gave me some coins. I said, "What are these, Canadian nickels?" No. They're tokens. For the vending machines. Party! Pizza Party!
If I become the dispatcher, I will have my own office. I'll also be in charge of picking up parts and helping machanics in the shop. So I won't be chained to the desk. The bosses described the fieldwork as "very messy." I told them I was currently loading boxes and they said that was nothing in comparison. But they also bragged about giving guys with GEDs comfortable lifestyles.
Eleanor says it sounds like I'm "too good" for this job. Yet, she keeps telling me to apply for cubicle and werehouse jobs? I also had a phone interview today to get a customer service job for a "wireless" company. Just the interview made me want to run screaming, punching myself in the head like my hair was on fire.
The girl asked: If hired, you will answer 80 phone calls per day. How do you handle the pressure of tight deadlines?
I said: Is there an hourly requirement? They don't give you a specific amount of time to resolve each call, right?
She said: I don't know anything about the job. All I have is the questions they sent me.
Awesome!
I also responded to an ad to produce lenses for glasses. I had to send an email to get a physical address. Then I looked them up in the phone book to ask:
Can you give me an idea of the pay range for your production workers?
Girl: I don't know. Let me ask someone. (On hold.) Nobody knows.
Me: You can't give me a basic idea?
Girl: No.
Me: Your ad said to apply between 9-ll am, is that right?
Girl: Really? We're here from 9-5.
That girl makes answering phones seem easy. 79 more calls to go.
What do you think about the sludge job? Does it sound okay?
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7 comments:
It most certainly sounds different. Probably a good change for you after working in cubicle hell for the past 5 years. At any rate it's something. As long as it will get you by long enough to make the move to CA I say go for it.
By the way, if your hair really was on fire, would running away screaming while punching yourself in the head really help to put it out? Just wondering.
I'd give it a shot. You could be like a Captain Planet guy- roaming the West cleaning up toxic nastiness.
By YOUR powers combined, I am Captain Planet!
I think my brother-in-law in Vernal might do something similar--it has to do with industrial cleaning and oil wells anyway. So he likes it, and makes a good living. Though I hope S.S. is right and super powers are involved that would make the job more interesting.
Who works in werehouses? Werewolves? :)
Horray I'm not the only bad speller!
But a P.S. for R.H. I at least now spell it "barbed" wire -- not "bob" wire!
What does she mean "too good." Is it because it's physical labour? Lord, how many times have I been dragging seins through the muck looking for stickleback and gobies with my dad? He's got a PhD and it doesn't stop him from having to do a lot of dirty stuff.
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