In which your narrator jumps through bureaucratic hoops, and holds her tongue despite provocation.
I went to a workshop the one-stop center today, to get the information on the different programs they have. Of course, it turns out that to talk to a career counselor or get the ones I'm most in need of, there's a form I need to fill out. It's not a big deal, except that I need the date I got out of the Navy.
I know the month and the year (February 1995, btw, and doesn't that make me feel old) but not the exact date. I have no idea what happened to my paperwork; I've gone through how many moves in the past fifteen years?
So I need a copy of my DD214. Which I'll need anyway. So I went on line and filled out the form and printed it out and signed it and (after several attempts) faxed it, and now it's a waiting game. Joy. But I'll call the counselor so that she knows I'm not flaking. In the meantime, I'm going to go back tomorrow and take more workshops.
The people who work there are helpful, and the guy who gave today's workshop was hilarious, so it's not as dreadful an experience as I was, well, dreading.
Some of my fellow clients, though ...
While I was waiting for the elevator (and it was a looooong wait; I've been at cons where the elevator was faster) two of the women were complaining about what a waste it was that they were unemployed. One of them was talking about how she'd been working the census, oh horrors!
She was especially upset that veterans got preference. "It doesn't even matter what rank they were"! she said. "It would be one thing if it were officers, but these were people who went in the military straight out of high school!"
"It wasn't as if they had any other choices," her buddy said.
"I know. And I had to answer to them!
I was seriously tempted to say something, but old habits (you don't start fights with civilians) die hard. Or maybe just pop up like zombies when you least expect them.
I know the month and the year (February 1995, btw, and doesn't that make me feel old) but not the exact date. I have no idea what happened to my paperwork; I've gone through how many moves in the past fifteen years?
So I need a copy of my DD214. Which I'll need anyway. So I went on line and filled out the form and printed it out and signed it and (after several attempts) faxed it, and now it's a waiting game. Joy. But I'll call the counselor so that she knows I'm not flaking. In the meantime, I'm going to go back tomorrow and take more workshops.
The people who work there are helpful, and the guy who gave today's workshop was hilarious, so it's not as dreadful an experience as I was, well, dreading.
Some of my fellow clients, though ...
While I was waiting for the elevator (and it was a looooong wait; I've been at cons where the elevator was faster) two of the women were complaining about what a waste it was that they were unemployed. One of them was talking about how she'd been working the census, oh horrors!
She was especially upset that veterans got preference. "It doesn't even matter what rank they were"! she said. "It would be one thing if it were officers, but these were people who went in the military straight out of high school!"
"It wasn't as if they had any other choices," her buddy said.
"I know. And I had to answer to them!
I was seriously tempted to say something, but old habits (you don't start fights with civilians) die hard. Or maybe just pop up like zombies when you least expect them.