What was it, I wondered, with all this career stuff lately? Why, the same week that The Gamer came home with his startling proclamation, I’d announced a career change of my own to his father.
It had been a tough couple of weeks. The company for which I’d worked for years had been sold, and I was in transition. The good news was that I still had a job. My pay hadn’t dropped, and I was typing the same doctors. The professionalism of the new staff was impressive, and I was thankful.
As with any new jobs, however, there was a lot to learn. Different procedures and protocols. Different platform for accessing the work, and a different system for sending it back. Everything in this stage took twice as long, and the learning curve, I found, wasn’t a curve at all. It was a solid line, a cable on a noose shooting straight up. Or, depending on where you stood, straight down.
That’s why I felt like I’d been hit by a Mack truck, which apparently backed up, took another pass and then sped off before I could even get a license number. And that’s why Mr. Schrock found me lying in bed later than usual one morning.
“Aren’t you going to get up?” he said, peering at me.
I sighed. “I think I’ll start a new career. It’s called ‘staying in bed,’ and it looks like this.” Not a muscle moved or twitched. “I’m going to practice my ‘flopping-over’ techniques.” I chanced the tiniest peek over the comforter. His eyebrows, I saw, were doing that caterpillar thing, marching across his forehead in a solid line.
“And how long is this going to last? A week?” He’d done it again; managed to incorporate a roll-of-the-eyes tone into 10 little words. At my squawk, he swiftly recalibrated. “OK. Two weeks?”
It was wishful thinking. When no checks came from corporate after several days, I gave up and went back to typing.