-if you don’t like my kvetching about people here, skip down to just one lovely story that trainers have shared
I’m nearing the end of week 2:3 in trainingcanp.
Recall, we’re adults? Getting paid to be here? And trained because we work in a dangerous place?
When I was about 30 years old, –where I hail, I could easily be a grandmother at that age so now I have the blessing of great-grandmotherly wisdom I looked around me–at work and amongst social circles–and said, “Shit. The world is middle-school.”
Yeah. I’d love to say for some but no. It’s most.
I don’t blame Bravo-MTV-TLC-the net for this. Where I came from, people didn’t have those things. Even up to age 30, those things weren’t what they are now.
I mean, in the mid-late 90s, you had flame wars on BBS but it wasn’t common for most (relatively to at least the US).
Look to the old adage, “Nothing so strange as folk.”
I had mentioned previously about how my class has had the most complaints from hotel, restaurant, trainers in over 17 years. We’ve also made the most complaints. Hell, I didn’t file a complaint but if you ask a question? It’s thegovernmentversionofamemo and that’s official and shared.
That made me a “problem,” too.
What I didn’t know were details cos I didn’t want to know.
Hey, if you’re going to be a dick, keep it to yourself. I’m here to a) network, b) make a mark with higher ups (preferably positive), c) learn (oh, yeah…that, too).
Anything I’ve heard has been hearsay and includes death threats, other threats of violence, misuse (dangerous use) of stateproperty, the boys from my place “broke up” and the girls–I’ve heard–ganged up on several others here. Another group saw them toe to toe. This group also (again, all of this is hearsay) have been swinging (and I rather believe it due to the way said group has changed dynamics) and while that doesn’t matter to me, we were told not to use thegovsdime for anything that we couldn’t do at work. Basically. We were told that drinking adult beverages (heyoooooo!) is okay but to not get drunk due to severe problems they’ve had repeatedly that always comes back to “but I was drunk” from trainees. This isn’t long-time-ago stories but like 3 months ago, a major issue came out and people went to jail and had to stay there a while. We ain’t talking drunk tank shenanigans but time served. So! No.
I can’t think of other stuff but there’s bunches. And why I can’t recall is because there’s bunches and I’ve stayed to my old-lady-arse self!
It’s been pretty freaking idiotic if even half is true.
On the flip side, my tolerance for some people in the beginning (not the drama but just personalities) has evaporated. I found myself rolling my eyes and huffing several times today. I’m tired of I don’t know… one-uppers? And I’m the annoying old lady in the room (well, I’ve been out-done this week). I don’t know if she’s on serious drugs (RX) or stupid. At one point, I thought that she was being an asshole but with time I’ve learnt she can’t help it. This is her.
What I’m saying is my character flaw of impatience is showing and don’t get me wrong. The younger people have been annoyed with these people 2 minutes in. I tried to allow for differences but shut the fuck up, now.
Now, for a story that I can share because it’s general nonsense which doesn’t pertain to any of us. I heard about this one client from a different person. Then, I heard a better story about the same client, which had me rolling.
Remember, in order to succeed in a crazy environment, one does best if already mental. Luckily for me, I am! If this isn’t your cup of tea. Okay.
Bloke goes walking through a building, which is maximum security, including a shall we say rubber room. This isn’t a mental hospital, by the way. Bloke’s walking and he hears, “Mr. Tschilling! Mr. Tschilling!”
Mr. “Schilling” -name changed to protect the guilty stops, looking around at a corridor of locked doors. This is Kafka-esque, mind you.
“Mr. Tschilling! O-vah ‘eah.”
Mr. Schilling walks, peering in windows til he finds “Billy.” -name changed to protect the guilty
“Hey, Billy! Haven’t seen you in years! How’s it going?”
“Oh, great, Mr. Tschilling! I got tschomebody here I want you to meet.”
This stumped Mr. Schilling, since Billy was alone, stripped naked except for a paper gown in a “dry” (no toilet, no sink) rubber room.
“Okay, Billy. Who you got in there?”
“Mr. Tschilling! Meet Mr. Tshit.”
In Billy’s hand was a foot-long, 1.5″ wide gigantic piece of shit. He had taken care in dressing Mr. Shit to match his outfit by tearing off a tiny piece from his paper gown.
“Hey, Mr. Shit! Nice to meet you.”
Mr. Schilling continued to have a 15 minute convo with Mr. Shit.
Now, why, you may ask?
Mr. Schilling had heard tales of Mr. Shit (who made appearances whenever, apparently, a gigantic turd was the appropriate size and shape to be handled).
The funny thing was, if people didn’t make-nice with Mr. Shit, Billy got angry at Mr. Shit. He’s make him pay.
He’d decapitate him with his teeth.
Mr. Schilling said, “I had no intention of witnessing Billy take a bite of that turd, so I talked to Mr. Shit as long as he wanted a conversation.”
Billy? We’re told he’s a sweet guy but so super-psychotic that if NOT medicated, kills people. He has killed a lot of people in several states. Keep him on meds and he’s fine except for a speech impediment and a friend named Mr. Shit.