In training....

Hello my lovelies,

I just concluded my first week at the new gig.  Thus far it absolutely feels like the third time really may be the charm!  The best part is that they actually want me to be me!  They actually appreciate and reciprocate my sarcastic banter.  It probably helps that I am surrounded by a group of loud, smartasses who all seem to swear and drink!  Sidebar: there was often not room for lunches in the refrigerator at the city because there was so much food, here there isn't room because there is so much booze. 

At the end of my first week I've been on two client visits, I'm officially leading three projects and since I am all cool and shit with my PMP the CEO asked me to work with a PM in Atlanta to stand-up a new PMO.  Oh, and I found out today that I will be doing ALL project close interviews to gauge current satisfaction levels and identify gaps and weaknesses, so I can help grow the business.  It's a HUGE job and I am definitely going to learn a lot.  

With all of the client interaction in this job my no-driving lifestyle is going to change.  Luckily one of my clients is only 1.7 miles from my apartment.  If I can schedule visits correctly I can just ride my cute little city bike over there.  Another client is based outside of Chicago (FWIW - they also have an office in the South of France -- YES PLEASE!  I can definitely do client visits in the South of France.  PS - anyone interested in helping me carry my bags or something...) but my other project is in the Tech Center, but too far from light rail to make it walkable, so I will have to drive to see them.  It also appears that my company is doing a great deal of work at the a company where a couple of my IHS boys work.  Depending on what else is in the project pipeline I may be working with F*ing Townsend and Pimp Chaddy again soon.  XOXO

But enough about that, we are not here to talk about the uber-sexy life of an IT Consultant, rather I am going to take this opportunity to recount a couple of fabulous train experiences.  Overall, it was a fairly tame train week.  There were no comic-con outfits, though there are a whole lot of people who need me to coach them on what not to wear and why.  Generally people were well behaved, I mean as well as you can expect a trendy little millennial in super-tight skinny jeans with an iPhone X to behave.  This poor kid clearly had no idea that his actual inseam is about three inches longer than his pants (GAWD I hate that  high-water pants trend) and his jeans were so tight that I guess it makes sense that he sat with his feet in the isle rather than facing forward as they should have been. (it doesn't make any sense at all the kid was just an ass that for some odd reason needed to block the isle)  Fortunately for this little buttnugget his hipster beard was very well-groomed.  If that weren't the case his obnoxious mannerisms probably would have earned him an accidental (wink wink) smack in the head from my bag as I exited the train.  

Today's train experience really was the one that I deemed truly coffee-worthy.  Returning home this afternoon I encountered a large woman with at least eight, maybe ten teeth, wearing a very small Yukon Territory t-shirt delightedly exclaiming to everyone in earshot (aka the whole damn train) how happy she was to be done working.  Don't worry, she "don't got-go-ta work again 'til 11am Thunday" (fairly sure, but not certain that is Sunday to the rest of us) so she was  heading home make fish and chips for dinner and get drunk.   (I'm not judging, certainly not the get drunk part - I trust you all remember the bottle-o-wine in lieu of dinner from last coffee.)  She then goes on to say that her kid keeps telling her that she can't call it fish and chips, because when you go to a fancy restaurant and order fish and chips (and seriously, who doesn't order fish and chips when you go to a "fancy" restaurant) they bring you "some sort of fluffy fish and french fried taters."  Apparently, somehow I've missed the references to beer-battered cod as "fluffy fish" on the Food Network.  The culinary delight that this effeminate creature calls fish and chips is apparently "fishdicks and pringles!"  Yeah, I know that technically that word was supposed to be fishsticks, but there was nothing even remotely resembling an "ssssss" sound escaping her face, though to be fair with the number and placement of those teeth I'm not sure an "S" is even possible.  All that aside, if I'm being honest fishdicks is probably far more accurate anyway.  I actually chuckled aloud, but refrained from telling her that there were probably a whole lot of fish-a-holes along with those fishdicks in her dinner.  She went on to explain how she "don't understand why they call fried taters, they ain't like normal french fries at those fancy places, chips.  Those ain't chips and she likes pringles better anyway."   

At this point in the ride a homeless dude dropped his mostly empty big gulp of soda and I became engrossed in the interaction between him and a well-dressed, very professional looking man.  I'm not sure if the interaction was exceptionally kind or if it was actually very condescending.  It sort of felt and sounded like a little bit of both, but in the end the business man gave the homeless dude some cash and told him to buy some dinner and a new soda.  This sort of stuff is definitely the part of my new big girl life that I'm not completely used to.  

For all of my catholic friends, I'm pretty sure that fishdicks still count as fish, so go ahead an embibe to your heart's delight this fine Friday.  

Until next time...

XOXO