Wednesday, June 02, 2010 to a rousing start...

First day at new job seems promising. Lately I've been nervous about going from one relatively secure job and out into the unknown, even if there were known things I disliked about the previous job. It's all so unsettling. Anyway, first day, first taste, this new company is in the throes of its busiest season and short of staff in my department. That means tadpoles like myself are to be throwed into the deep end pretty soon. Instead of a week of orientation, we got the one day Cliff's Notes version, and they took the 4 of us to lunch at a local eatery. At some point after we'd finished eating, conversation turned to where each had been shot with bb guns intentionally by siblings, in some cases requiring professional medical extractions. I had no tales on that score.

I then launched into how no shooting could parallel the sheer joys of pellet gun action from my youth. I said many folk in my family dipped snuff or chewed tobacco-- even some of the men folk, too. Said Grandpa had a rather impressive pyramid of gallon milk jugs full of fermenting tobacco spit in the back by the outhouse, and when that stuff got a good bloat rolling in the humid Arkansas summer blazes, there was no sound on earth to match the satisfying "thunk!" of pellets entering those bloated jugs, their sicky-sweet contents bursting forth like a Peckinpah movie.

[I wrote about this before several years ago]

Anyway. Just when they thought I was all slick and oober-Dallas, I think I threw them for a loop-de-loop.

Keep 'em guessing, I suppose.


Jess said...

BB gun wars were the rage with my brother, and his friends, until one was hit between the eyes. His mom wasn't happy with the blood blister, or how he achieved the prize. Neither were any of the other mothers.

My experience with pellet rifles was uneventful, until a friend decided to load his with broken shell and shoot me from a distance. It stung, and left broken shell to be picked out of my arm. I paid him back a few months later by shooting him in the ass with a kitchen match. He favored one cheek for a week.

George said...

When I was a tadpole at my last job(from which I medically retired), the General Manager gave us a rowsing speech about the weeks of fine training we were about to receive. Onto my new department, wherein the department manager took notice of me after 5 or so minutes, glanced around, and said, "WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO TRAIN YOU.", and slinked away.
Glad you are getting some training.

Old NFO said...

LOL- Yep, OJT is alive and well, go forth and do good :-)