Type-off
Now, I wouldn't say I'm the fastest of typers, but I like to think I'm pretty "up there" (wherever "up there" is). But, I know when I type fast, I tend to make mistakes, and lots of them. My fingers, they tend to have their own minds. My favorite key tends to be the "backspace" key.
That being said, I generally type pretty quickly when I'm typing information into the scanner of the MR machine. Terrance, one of the MR techs, was watching me put the information earlier in the day, and said, "Wow, you type pretty fast. I'm usually the hunt and peck kind."
Overhearing this, Tom, my clinical instructor, states very confidently, "Yeah, but I bet she's not as fast as me. I challenged Nate (the MRI manager) to a type off and I smoked him. I mean, like, I could have typed three documents in the time it took him to type one."
I gave him a look of doubt. Yeah, he's probably fast, but not that fast. A lot of "adults" (basically, anyone over 30, verging 40, in my view) think their typing is fast, but generally not as fast as people younger than 30, only because (as Fabiola stated) we grew up with computers. Of course, one might also point out, typing has been around before computers were invented. It's called a typewriter.
So through out the day, I get these challenges from Tom, stating how he was probably a faster typer than I was, how he could smoke me too, and, generally, lots of overconfident boosts. A lot of bragging. Mind you, my clinical instructor graduated college some 10 years ago, so he's at least 30 something.
As the day begins to close for our shift, which ends at four, Terrance challenges Tom to a "hunt and peck off" and instantly Tom agrees. He goes off in search of a proper document to use. He finds one, an MRI memo sent out by some manager to the MRI techs.
He glances it over, and shakes his head. "It has to be something with more verbage." He picks up another memo that's taped to the cabinets and give it a cursory perusal. "This will work. Right?" He shows it to me, and I nod.
"Good," he says, "I'm going to go make a copy of this. I'll be right back"
And so he goes over the secretary's area, which is the room right across the hall from the control room, and makes his copies. When the secretaries put on their jackets to go out (cigarette break, I think), Tom exclaims, "Wait, where are you guys going? Don't you guys want to see the type off between me and Stephanie?"
Whoa whoa whoa, wait a minute there. Since when was I part of this competition?
The secretaries laugh and say something inaudible to my ears. Tom shakes his head in a disappointed manner. "You guys don't know what you're missing," he says.
And so, there I found myself, showing Tom how to open Notepad on both the laptop and the computer. At this point, Nate comes by and Tom explains to Nate in a very confident tone, "Stephanie and I are going to have a type off. I'm going to beat her."
Nate, unsurprised, states dubiously, "Didn't you lose last time we had a type off?"
"No! I smoked you!" Tom objects indignantly, "I was finished and you had only one line done."
Nate shakes his head with a clear message. Whatever you say.
"Yeah, we're going to go head to head," Tom explains, gesturing to the the two open notepad documents. "We're going to see who finishes first."
"Wouldn't it be better to use the same computer? Why don't you time it?" Nate advises.
"Oh good idea! Steph, do you want to go first or second?"
"Second," I say, only because I want him to set the bar to beat. (In retrospect, I probably should have gone first)
"Okay," Tom says, and he sits in front of the computer, getting ready. I took off my watch to use as a stop watch.
"Are you ready?"
He nods.
"Okay, ready...set..."
"Oh wait wait, hold on!" Tom protests, and he rubs his eyes. "Ohmigod, the pressure is starting to get to me!"
I laughed and told him, ready set go and off he goes. Now, Nate and I are, at this time, goading Tom, telling him he's got mistakes and typos everywhere, and Tom is starting to panic under the stress. Nate tells me I should keep this up if I want to win. After a few minutes though, goading him becomes a little boring, so I turn around and listen to Nate talk to Terrance.
Tom finishes at 2 minutes, 7 seconds.
So now, it's my turn. I sit in the chair, ready. I'm good. I'm a good typer. I just make lots of mistakes when I type. So I show Tom how to use my stop watch and he gives me the ready, set go. And I start typing. I'm on a good start, calm, very few mistakes. But then, everyone starts talking about how I'm a faster typer than Tom. Tom, at this point, starts to really pester me, most likely because he wants to make me mess up so he doesn't lose. So he starts raising his voice to a nearly shouting level (maybe not that loud, but pretty loud) and pointing out every mistake I make and need to hit backspace for. Nate shakes his head (or I'm assuming he is) at Tom and says, "Don't listen to him, you've got plenty of time."
Now at this point, I"m starting to feel the pressure, really feeling hte pressure. And it doesn't help that Tom starts banging his fist on the table and telling me that I'm in the "jungle," wherever that is. So he does this repeatedly, and it starts to really mess me up. I can't concentrate on what I'm reading and I start telling Tom to shut up. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I ever told someone in a workplace to literally shut up (especially someone who's technically in charge of me, in front of his manager). I caught myself, lucky, from saying "shut the hell up" I'm pretty sure it wouldn't look too good if I started swearing at my higher-up. Then again, they probably would laugh at it.
So I end and Tom holds my watch and goes, "Ooooh!" and won't tell me what my time is. He just gives the watch to Nate, who smirks, and states my time.
2 minutes, 5 seconds.
Now, you would think, okay, I won, right? Wrong!
For every error, according to Tom, you add 2 seconds. What? There's a rule to this competition like that?
So my final time? 2 minutes, 13 seconds (so many errors in the end)
His time? 2 minutes, 9 seconds.
Bastard!
And then, at this point, everyone starts calling Tom a sore loser, which was really funny. And all Tom said was, "Yeah, whatever. I still won."
At this point, we have an audience of two secretaries, Terrance, Nate, and the evening tech, Kevin. I just laugh, because I can't beleive this just happened.
Tom, upon returning to get his stuff together to go home, says to me, as if to console me, "Well, I'm usually faster than this normally."
And Kevin, when he overhears Tom's words, says, "Tom, that's really not something you should be saying to a woman."
It took me a moment, but then I died laughing.
Tom turned around, as he was already half way out the door, and challenged, "So Kevin, do you want a type off then? What's your words per minute speed, huh?"
Kevin laughed, "I don't know. I guess it's that low."
Tom grinned with superiority. "Yeah, that's right. I thought so. You're not good enough to have a words per minute speed."
"Tom, you're lame" I said, but unfortunately, since I was across the room, he didn't hear me.
Yes, this is were I work three days out of the week.
That being said, I generally type pretty quickly when I'm typing information into the scanner of the MR machine. Terrance, one of the MR techs, was watching me put the information earlier in the day, and said, "Wow, you type pretty fast. I'm usually the hunt and peck kind."
Overhearing this, Tom, my clinical instructor, states very confidently, "Yeah, but I bet she's not as fast as me. I challenged Nate (the MRI manager) to a type off and I smoked him. I mean, like, I could have typed three documents in the time it took him to type one."
I gave him a look of doubt. Yeah, he's probably fast, but not that fast. A lot of "adults" (basically, anyone over 30, verging 40, in my view) think their typing is fast, but generally not as fast as people younger than 30, only because (as Fabiola stated) we grew up with computers. Of course, one might also point out, typing has been around before computers were invented. It's called a typewriter.
So through out the day, I get these challenges from Tom, stating how he was probably a faster typer than I was, how he could smoke me too, and, generally, lots of overconfident boosts. A lot of bragging. Mind you, my clinical instructor graduated college some 10 years ago, so he's at least 30 something.
As the day begins to close for our shift, which ends at four, Terrance challenges Tom to a "hunt and peck off" and instantly Tom agrees. He goes off in search of a proper document to use. He finds one, an MRI memo sent out by some manager to the MRI techs.
He glances it over, and shakes his head. "It has to be something with more verbage." He picks up another memo that's taped to the cabinets and give it a cursory perusal. "This will work. Right?" He shows it to me, and I nod.
"Good," he says, "I'm going to go make a copy of this. I'll be right back"
And so he goes over the secretary's area, which is the room right across the hall from the control room, and makes his copies. When the secretaries put on their jackets to go out (cigarette break, I think), Tom exclaims, "Wait, where are you guys going? Don't you guys want to see the type off between me and Stephanie?"
Whoa whoa whoa, wait a minute there. Since when was I part of this competition?
The secretaries laugh and say something inaudible to my ears. Tom shakes his head in a disappointed manner. "You guys don't know what you're missing," he says.
And so, there I found myself, showing Tom how to open Notepad on both the laptop and the computer. At this point, Nate comes by and Tom explains to Nate in a very confident tone, "Stephanie and I are going to have a type off. I'm going to beat her."
Nate, unsurprised, states dubiously, "Didn't you lose last time we had a type off?"
"No! I smoked you!" Tom objects indignantly, "I was finished and you had only one line done."
Nate shakes his head with a clear message. Whatever you say.
"Yeah, we're going to go head to head," Tom explains, gesturing to the the two open notepad documents. "We're going to see who finishes first."
"Wouldn't it be better to use the same computer? Why don't you time it?" Nate advises.
"Oh good idea! Steph, do you want to go first or second?"
"Second," I say, only because I want him to set the bar to beat. (In retrospect, I probably should have gone first)
"Okay," Tom says, and he sits in front of the computer, getting ready. I took off my watch to use as a stop watch.
"Are you ready?"
He nods.
"Okay, ready...set..."
"Oh wait wait, hold on!" Tom protests, and he rubs his eyes. "Ohmigod, the pressure is starting to get to me!"
I laughed and told him, ready set go and off he goes. Now, Nate and I are, at this time, goading Tom, telling him he's got mistakes and typos everywhere, and Tom is starting to panic under the stress. Nate tells me I should keep this up if I want to win. After a few minutes though, goading him becomes a little boring, so I turn around and listen to Nate talk to Terrance.
Tom finishes at 2 minutes, 7 seconds.
So now, it's my turn. I sit in the chair, ready. I'm good. I'm a good typer. I just make lots of mistakes when I type. So I show Tom how to use my stop watch and he gives me the ready, set go. And I start typing. I'm on a good start, calm, very few mistakes. But then, everyone starts talking about how I'm a faster typer than Tom. Tom, at this point, starts to really pester me, most likely because he wants to make me mess up so he doesn't lose. So he starts raising his voice to a nearly shouting level (maybe not that loud, but pretty loud) and pointing out every mistake I make and need to hit backspace for. Nate shakes his head (or I'm assuming he is) at Tom and says, "Don't listen to him, you've got plenty of time."
Now at this point, I"m starting to feel the pressure, really feeling hte pressure. And it doesn't help that Tom starts banging his fist on the table and telling me that I'm in the "jungle," wherever that is. So he does this repeatedly, and it starts to really mess me up. I can't concentrate on what I'm reading and I start telling Tom to shut up. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I ever told someone in a workplace to literally shut up (especially someone who's technically in charge of me, in front of his manager). I caught myself, lucky, from saying "shut the hell up" I'm pretty sure it wouldn't look too good if I started swearing at my higher-up. Then again, they probably would laugh at it.
So I end and Tom holds my watch and goes, "Ooooh!" and won't tell me what my time is. He just gives the watch to Nate, who smirks, and states my time.
2 minutes, 5 seconds.
Now, you would think, okay, I won, right? Wrong!
For every error, according to Tom, you add 2 seconds. What? There's a rule to this competition like that?
So my final time? 2 minutes, 13 seconds (so many errors in the end)
His time? 2 minutes, 9 seconds.
Bastard!
And then, at this point, everyone starts calling Tom a sore loser, which was really funny. And all Tom said was, "Yeah, whatever. I still won."
At this point, we have an audience of two secretaries, Terrance, Nate, and the evening tech, Kevin. I just laugh, because I can't beleive this just happened.
Tom, upon returning to get his stuff together to go home, says to me, as if to console me, "Well, I'm usually faster than this normally."
And Kevin, when he overhears Tom's words, says, "Tom, that's really not something you should be saying to a woman."
It took me a moment, but then I died laughing.
Tom turned around, as he was already half way out the door, and challenged, "So Kevin, do you want a type off then? What's your words per minute speed, huh?"
Kevin laughed, "I don't know. I guess it's that low."
Tom grinned with superiority. "Yeah, that's right. I thought so. You're not good enough to have a words per minute speed."
"Tom, you're lame" I said, but unfortunately, since I was across the room, he didn't hear me.
Yes, this is were I work three days out of the week.