O.B.A.R.U. II: Like A Muhfucka
I'm not afraid to admit this: I routinely make some poor decisions. I bought the 'Lost Episodes' of Chapelle's Show on DVD. I thought 'Premonition' would be at least halfway decent. I once sat through an entire Cutco informational session. And let's not even get into that whole hi-top fade thing. But letting a full 3 months go by between entries? That dog won't hunt, Monsignor. So here's the Obligatory Big Ass Rambling Update that I've been stalling on doing for some time. Better late than never, I suppose.
First things first:
I'm no longer a counselor at Windy Ridge. I landed a new gig doing something else awesome, but I'll get to that in a minute. I said before that working as a YMCA counselor was one of the most enjoyable, fulfilling working experiences I've ever had the pleasure of partaking in. Well, that was no lie. Never in my life have I felt that my occupation actually mattered in the grand scheme of things. I started the job last August after realizing that standing outside the grocery store screaming "Don't you know who I AM?" does not result in groceries. When I began working, I was thrust into a cafeteria full of screaming children and told to 'just work with them.' And that's just what I did. Over the last few months, I trekked 20+ miles out to Windy Ridge four days a week to work for about 3 hours for just over minimum wage. About 50% of my weekly income went straight in my gas tank, and I'm fairly certain that driving out there is what killed Black Power (my old car, for those unaware). And yet, I was thankful for every moment I was at Windy Ridge, even if I wasn't aware of it at the time. For starters, I had gone from working in Valencia's Admissions Office (mythically boring) to breaking my back moving office furniture in a warehouse (boring AND hazardous) to playing with kids for a living. Not too bad a transition if you ask me. But the main high point of working there is noticing the impact I had on the lives of those kids. Even if it was just little things like helping them with their homework or bandaging up a cut, those kids genuinely loved having me there. So it goes without saying that they were genuinely crestfallen when I informed them that I was leaving. And although it wasn't difficult to tell them, actually leaving was an ordeal within itself. I went to work that Friday and immediately received hugs, cards, tokens of appreciation, and even a "Don't Leave!" chant (courtesy of Lizzy, age 6). For the most part, I was able to maintain a straight face when saying goodbye to the kids in my group who went home, but I'll admit I got misty eyed when it came to Christian. One of my group's elite antagonizers, Christian definitely provided some of the occupation's more choice moments. Bright kid, but had an explosive temper and a penchant for adopting the persona of the group's most unsavory character, Bryce (a medicated, chubby ball of pure annoyance, but definitely a laugh riot). But with my help (and yelling), the kid managed to keep his nose clean. And it was because of Christian that I realized how important my job really was. At the Black History Program we had, I met his mother, who informed me just how much Christian mentioned me, and how she really appreciated the job I was doing. This was also after a theft incident, where I found out that the boy's father was in jail. At any rate, I wasn't aware of the difference I made in his life until the last day I saw him. When his mother pulled up to take him home, he hugged me goodbye and I gave him the usual "Stay In School, Be Good" stuff. I talked to his mother briefly and they pulled off. About a minute later, they came back around, hr jumped out of the car and hugged me again, making sure I knew exactly how much he was going to miss me. I went to speak with his mother, who informed me that he was crying, so she came back around a second time. Mind you, this is the same kid who screamed about how much he hated me about a month before this occurred. And I will admit, my eyes welled up as they sped off. I was at a loss for words. I did a lot of things in my time working there, from throwing around a football and singing ridiculous songs about peeling bananas to breaking up fights and having my shoulders scarred from children trying to climb up my back, but it was that moment (the last one, ironically) in which I finally understood why I endured the money woes, the vehicle loss, the re-staffing, the reducing of hours, and all the other lowlights of the job for so long. And its because of that moment that I will miss Windy Ridge, my kids, and my life as Mr. Marques.
I've been waiting to get that out for a minute, so excuse the length. Moving on . . .
I mentioned earlier that I landed a new gig. I did. Its at Electronic Arts. Y'know, that video game company? Yeah, them. I started last week, and MAN. Its like Heaven with the added incentives of not dying and getting a paycheck. The shit is definitely cushy on a level so unfathomable, I'm in a cat-like state of readiness for Ashton Kutcher to pop out. Its just too good to be true. I mean, we had a day where we just stopped working and the management brought in kegs, hot dogs, grapes, cotton candy, and a bunch of games for a bunch of platforms, and everyone just mingled and played games for an hour and a half. Yeah, read that last sentence again, because I definitely said I was drinking and eating for free while playing video games and goofing off. Only this time, I WAS GETTING PAID FOR IT. Needless to say, I'm going to milk this job for as long as I can. And I say that because (I can't believe I'm about to write this) I have a test to take this coming Friday, and I could get canned if I bomb it (God forbid, Jesus H. Christ in Heaven forbid). The turnover rate is definitely high at that place, and if you're not producing, then you're out. I suppose you're wondering how exactly one can 'not produce' at a job where the main description is "hold controller, sit in front of TV, play game." Here are the finer points of the position: As a Quality Assurance tester, my job is to play through different aspects of the game and ensure that the different game modes function properly. So basically, my task is to find any and all ways possible to find fucked up aspects of the game (bugs), then use a computer program to communicate how I was able to fuck the game up and what exactly is fucked up within the game. Its tedious, repetitious work, and it gets in your head quickly (I'm finding bugs in games I own), but damned if it isn't fun. Its a work environment that encompasses my skill sets perfectly: a keen eye, writing skills, ability to hold a controller and stare at a television for hours on end, and having a general contempt for your co-workers. Good times.
More to come . . .
First things first:
I'm no longer a counselor at Windy Ridge. I landed a new gig doing something else awesome, but I'll get to that in a minute. I said before that working as a YMCA counselor was one of the most enjoyable, fulfilling working experiences I've ever had the pleasure of partaking in. Well, that was no lie. Never in my life have I felt that my occupation actually mattered in the grand scheme of things. I started the job last August after realizing that standing outside the grocery store screaming "Don't you know who I AM?" does not result in groceries. When I began working, I was thrust into a cafeteria full of screaming children and told to 'just work with them.' And that's just what I did. Over the last few months, I trekked 20+ miles out to Windy Ridge four days a week to work for about 3 hours for just over minimum wage. About 50% of my weekly income went straight in my gas tank, and I'm fairly certain that driving out there is what killed Black Power (my old car, for those unaware). And yet, I was thankful for every moment I was at Windy Ridge, even if I wasn't aware of it at the time. For starters, I had gone from working in Valencia's Admissions Office (mythically boring) to breaking my back moving office furniture in a warehouse (boring AND hazardous) to playing with kids for a living. Not too bad a transition if you ask me. But the main high point of working there is noticing the impact I had on the lives of those kids. Even if it was just little things like helping them with their homework or bandaging up a cut, those kids genuinely loved having me there. So it goes without saying that they were genuinely crestfallen when I informed them that I was leaving. And although it wasn't difficult to tell them, actually leaving was an ordeal within itself. I went to work that Friday and immediately received hugs, cards, tokens of appreciation, and even a "Don't Leave!" chant (courtesy of Lizzy, age 6). For the most part, I was able to maintain a straight face when saying goodbye to the kids in my group who went home, but I'll admit I got misty eyed when it came to Christian. One of my group's elite antagonizers, Christian definitely provided some of the occupation's more choice moments. Bright kid, but had an explosive temper and a penchant for adopting the persona of the group's most unsavory character, Bryce (a medicated, chubby ball of pure annoyance, but definitely a laugh riot). But with my help (and yelling), the kid managed to keep his nose clean. And it was because of Christian that I realized how important my job really was. At the Black History Program we had, I met his mother, who informed me just how much Christian mentioned me, and how she really appreciated the job I was doing. This was also after a theft incident, where I found out that the boy's father was in jail. At any rate, I wasn't aware of the difference I made in his life until the last day I saw him. When his mother pulled up to take him home, he hugged me goodbye and I gave him the usual "Stay In School, Be Good" stuff. I talked to his mother briefly and they pulled off. About a minute later, they came back around, hr jumped out of the car and hugged me again, making sure I knew exactly how much he was going to miss me. I went to speak with his mother, who informed me that he was crying, so she came back around a second time. Mind you, this is the same kid who screamed about how much he hated me about a month before this occurred. And I will admit, my eyes welled up as they sped off. I was at a loss for words. I did a lot of things in my time working there, from throwing around a football and singing ridiculous songs about peeling bananas to breaking up fights and having my shoulders scarred from children trying to climb up my back, but it was that moment (the last one, ironically) in which I finally understood why I endured the money woes, the vehicle loss, the re-staffing, the reducing of hours, and all the other lowlights of the job for so long. And its because of that moment that I will miss Windy Ridge, my kids, and my life as Mr. Marques.
I've been waiting to get that out for a minute, so excuse the length. Moving on . . .
I mentioned earlier that I landed a new gig. I did. Its at Electronic Arts. Y'know, that video game company? Yeah, them. I started last week, and MAN. Its like Heaven with the added incentives of not dying and getting a paycheck. The shit is definitely cushy on a level so unfathomable, I'm in a cat-like state of readiness for Ashton Kutcher to pop out. Its just too good to be true. I mean, we had a day where we just stopped working and the management brought in kegs, hot dogs, grapes, cotton candy, and a bunch of games for a bunch of platforms, and everyone just mingled and played games for an hour and a half. Yeah, read that last sentence again, because I definitely said I was drinking and eating for free while playing video games and goofing off. Only this time, I WAS GETTING PAID FOR IT. Needless to say, I'm going to milk this job for as long as I can. And I say that because (I can't believe I'm about to write this) I have a test to take this coming Friday, and I could get canned if I bomb it (God forbid, Jesus H. Christ in Heaven forbid). The turnover rate is definitely high at that place, and if you're not producing, then you're out. I suppose you're wondering how exactly one can 'not produce' at a job where the main description is "hold controller, sit in front of TV, play game." Here are the finer points of the position: As a Quality Assurance tester, my job is to play through different aspects of the game and ensure that the different game modes function properly. So basically, my task is to find any and all ways possible to find fucked up aspects of the game (bugs), then use a computer program to communicate how I was able to fuck the game up and what exactly is fucked up within the game. Its tedious, repetitious work, and it gets in your head quickly (I'm finding bugs in games I own), but damned if it isn't fun. Its a work environment that encompasses my skill sets perfectly: a keen eye, writing skills, ability to hold a controller and stare at a television for hours on end, and having a general contempt for your co-workers. Good times.
More to come . . .