Soap Box, Soap Opera, & sofa sessions
This just in...Shana survived a hysterectomy, pneumonia, and a UTI all at one time. Horray!!! I finally feel recovered but still indecisive on weather I can recommend a hysterectomy or not. Possibly, down the road when I am enjoying amenorrhea, I may be able to conclude if I can honestly recommend the surgery. Or, maybe when my insurance actually pays the $31000.00 hospital bill my outlook will change. And on we go...
I started as a 911 dispatcher for the city although I still work for the jail full time. Steve is nearly on at the Federal Building and still working at the jail. When a co-worker asked Steve how he and I will handle our excessively busy schedules he replied, "We'll write each other."
Speaking of dispatching...while I commend law enforcement officers for their courageable occupation I must take a moment to bash their badge heavy egos. I guess if I wore a big bright star on my chest I would feel overly important too. Although, I have a star necklace and it doesn't really make me better than everyone. I am not sure how the logistics of that work. Maybe it is the talisman that boosts their egos. Overall, the job is fascinatingly fun and something I have wanted to do for a long time now. Why am I still a controller at the jail you may ask? Well, because I just cant bring myself leave a job where I can actually use the term "controller" and mean that I am always in control. I love that. While dispatching pays me significantly more than a measly controller, I cannot leave a job where I am literally always in control. Maybe it is the OCD in me.
Among the may tests that I needed to complete and pass successfully to obtain this dispatching job was a visit with a psychologist. The worst of which testing I was dreading. I knew the only thing he would want to talk about is my deceased child and how that may pose the potential for a nervous breakdown while working dispatch. Right I was. Turns out, a relatively old and somewhat formaldehyde smelling man with too much facial hair met with me and repetitively asked how I felt about things. I fought the urge to answer his questions with answers such as, "how do you think I feel about my sons death?" Alas, I attended on my best behavior, refrained from the infamous McWilliams sarcasm, and fought the urge to answer him with only questions. When, at the end of our 22 minute session, he pointed out that he simply could not make this meeting last an hour and a half, I pondered over weather it was because I was far too crazy for his skill level and he wanted me out of his office ASAP, not crazy at all (which we al know not to be true), or if he was late for a Friday afternoon tee time. We will never know, but I did get the job. I still am not sure what makes the city officials think that a person whom I have never met before can sit with me for 22 minutes and determine if I could handle the stress load of a 911 dispatcher. If you want to know how I handle stress, ask my family, husband, closest friends and current employer. And to think, they paid him $185 an hour for his services. screw dispatch, I am in the wrong profession. Have I said that before? Word of advice, if you ever find yourself on the sofa of a Psychologist for employment purposes, be brief, vague, kind and don't make it a sofa session. The job is yours.
Other than that, day in day out for us. Take care.
P.S. Don't call 911 to get a hold of me to chit chat about what you gave your mom for Mother's Day. I don't want to say the we cant take calls, but they do prefer they are for emergencies. Leave a message on my home phone and I will call you back. :)Chow.
I started as a 911 dispatcher for the city although I still work for the jail full time. Steve is nearly on at the Federal Building and still working at the jail. When a co-worker asked Steve how he and I will handle our excessively busy schedules he replied, "We'll write each other."
Speaking of dispatching...while I commend law enforcement officers for their courageable occupation I must take a moment to bash their badge heavy egos. I guess if I wore a big bright star on my chest I would feel overly important too. Although, I have a star necklace and it doesn't really make me better than everyone. I am not sure how the logistics of that work. Maybe it is the talisman that boosts their egos. Overall, the job is fascinatingly fun and something I have wanted to do for a long time now. Why am I still a controller at the jail you may ask? Well, because I just cant bring myself leave a job where I can actually use the term "controller" and mean that I am always in control. I love that. While dispatching pays me significantly more than a measly controller, I cannot leave a job where I am literally always in control. Maybe it is the OCD in me.
Among the may tests that I needed to complete and pass successfully to obtain this dispatching job was a visit with a psychologist. The worst of which testing I was dreading. I knew the only thing he would want to talk about is my deceased child and how that may pose the potential for a nervous breakdown while working dispatch. Right I was. Turns out, a relatively old and somewhat formaldehyde smelling man with too much facial hair met with me and repetitively asked how I felt about things. I fought the urge to answer his questions with answers such as, "how do you think I feel about my sons death?" Alas, I attended on my best behavior, refrained from the infamous McWilliams sarcasm, and fought the urge to answer him with only questions. When, at the end of our 22 minute session, he pointed out that he simply could not make this meeting last an hour and a half, I pondered over weather it was because I was far too crazy for his skill level and he wanted me out of his office ASAP, not crazy at all (which we al know not to be true), or if he was late for a Friday afternoon tee time. We will never know, but I did get the job. I still am not sure what makes the city officials think that a person whom I have never met before can sit with me for 22 minutes and determine if I could handle the stress load of a 911 dispatcher. If you want to know how I handle stress, ask my family, husband, closest friends and current employer. And to think, they paid him $185 an hour for his services. screw dispatch, I am in the wrong profession. Have I said that before? Word of advice, if you ever find yourself on the sofa of a Psychologist for employment purposes, be brief, vague, kind and don't make it a sofa session. The job is yours.
Other than that, day in day out for us. Take care.
P.S. Don't call 911 to get a hold of me to chit chat about what you gave your mom for Mother's Day. I don't want to say the we cant take calls, but they do prefer they are for emergencies. Leave a message on my home phone and I will call you back. :)Chow.
posted by Nan's News at 7:44 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home