On the leg of the trip between Rochester and New York City, I was stuck in a four-seater on a train with a snotty teenager, a rank-smelling old lady, and some film school douche who insisted on practically draping his arm over my chest to record footage of the Hudson River out the window. (Despite numerous attempts to at least switch seats with him, he refused - I just don't like strangers' arms being all over my rack, I don't know. Maybe I'm the weird one out on this.)
I will say that the trip along the Hudson was actually very nice to look at. You can see all of these trees growing straight up the sheer rock face on the other side of the river, and... if I were the sort of person who were inclined to enjoy boat rides, it would probably a lovely place to take a boat trip on in the summer.
Actually being on boats tends to send me into a panic more often than not, though, so I don't think that anyone has to worry about me trying to foist that sort of vacation on them.
Penn Station is a hole in the ground. A hot, cramped hole in the ground. My Easter dinner was a falafel-hummus pita from Chickpea.
There was a pigeon trapped in the waiting area while I was eating, too. That threw me off a little bit.
I can't remember precisely what time I got in to Wilmington, but I was immediately struck by two things - one, I was hungry. Two, the apartment/long-term hotel room I had been set up in was a cavernous, barren box. (Much like your mom.)
The people in my class are alright, and the instructor is an okay guy, I just feel like three and a half weeks is a little bit excessive for this job. Now, I'll admit, some people really do need to learn basic computer functions, and I respect that they need all of this training. I learned how to do my job in two days in real time, though, so... why isn't there some sort of aptitude screening test for people who take this course? Maybe some of us could have just shown up for the last week or so of training and gotten caught up on more advanced skills that would be useful.
On the other hand, though, I decided midway through last week that I would use this paid, unneeded training to get some writing done, so I bought a cheap notebook, and ended up writing... and honestly, I've been bored enough that a lot of it has digressed into hilariously bad pornography. I can't help but wonder what repercussions, if any, would come of me noting on the final course evaluation that they paid me to sit around writing about cocks for a month.
In the mean time, though, I took the train down to D.C. this past weekend, and will be doing so again this weekend, and likely the next.
I'll detail those shenanigans in a later post - for right now, though, I think it's high time I had a nap.
Oh! - a quick thought while I'm at it, though. The landlord's sole response to my renewed request that the bathroom mold be taken care of - 'Not a problem I wil[sic] send him back over'.
Thank you for that eloquent and detailed response, Sir Landlord. That was, however, a shockingly immediate response given your prior track record in that department.
In the next edition(s): Things that I've discovered in Wilmington, last weekend's trip to D.C., and the art of maintaining communications with Ivan and Turtle while I'm away.
For now, though, I leave you with Serge Gainsbourg, who was completely awesome before he got really kind of creepy a number of decades later.
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