the daily snivel

 

I've had a very kooky week, and I'm still a little mixed up about it. I'm starting this week-long contract with Health Canada, typing up transcripts of a two-day conference (it should take about forty hours), but I was told this week that they also need someone to take minutes of their weekly BSE (bovine spongiform encephalopathy, or mad cow disease) teleconferences. This would have been a sweet gig, and been the answer to my money problems as it could have extended into the school year as a part time job, and I could charge $35 an hour. Although there would only have been about 8 hours of work a week, the pay scale is equivalent to working forty hours for minimum wage. Anyway, today I was supposed to show up for training (sitting in on a meeting with the usual minute taker, cranking out notes on my laptop and seeing what kind of accurate records I can generate), so I arrived at 11 am in a suit and tie, vaguely melting in the heat and humidity. I was told upon my arrival that the division chief had decided, not two minutes before I'd shown up, not to hire someone for the position because the division was running in a deficit already. So I was there for basically nothing, and everyone was really embarrassed. I'm not upset, though. I only heard about the minute-taking position as a possibility (albeit a good one) and I'd committed myself to being very cautious until some kind of contract was in my hand. And, at the end of the day, I still have what should end up being an $800 transcription contract.

I was still a little crestfallen when I got home, however. I'm sure you know how soul-crushing all this hunting and rejection is. It seems like such a waste of time, yet we're losing money every single day we don't work. Happily, I got a call this afternoon from a Canadian health issue organization, to whom I'd sent my resume on Tuesday. They want me to come in for an interview on Monday morning. It's a minimum wage position, but it's for a social cause, which has both intrinsic (contribution to society) and mercenary (resume) benefits, so I'd be happy to do it. Now, I'm not getting my hopes too high, but at least someone is interested in me, even if they give the job to someone else. I was starting to think that I was doing something terribly, horribly wrong in my resumes and/or cover letters. Like somehow inadvertently including the oft-muttered phrase "I pity the fool that don't hire me" in my bulleted list of qualifications. Now, as with any interview, there are no guarantees, but I'm still happy, and you can be sure that I plan to show up and give them the best possible first impression.
 

  Today has been a day of small accomplishments.

It began with the long overdue resurrection of my trusty, crusty old desktop PC (ie. the AMD K6-2 that was my faithful workhorse of a computer for many years, until I bought a shiny new Macintosh laptop and relegated the PC to scanning duties and powering a TV tuner card). In March, the oft-faulty power supply (that Rob secretly suspects was simply reconditioned, and not replaced, by the scurvy technicians at the computer shop the last time it died) died quietly in its sleep, after several weeks of ominous death rattles and general suffering. It no longer sufficiently powered the motherboard by the end, such that my computer could only boot in safe mode (to my great exasperation). I was so distraught that I eventually had to pack the computer up and hide it out of sight, so that I could be spared glancing at its remains (cheekily defaced by the clandestine application of an Apple sticker, no less). I was not in the financial or temporal position (ie. could spare neither the time nor the money) to replace the power supply, so instead I was just glad I'd had the foresight to back up all my precious files onto a handy CD, and moved on with my life with the assistance of my Mac.

Now that it's June, however, and I'm no longer pressed with studying for exams, I have some time to devote to puttering. Additionally, I'm momentarily employed, implying that I should well have the means to undertake some repairs. In fact, my new job requires me to fix my PC, as the work has to be done on WordPerfect which, as any exasperated Macintosh user can tell you, exists nowadays for the PC-compatible word only. ASIDE: thank you, Corel, your contribution to the betterment of my existence is duly noted. Mutter.

Anyway, the gist of my tirade is essentially this: I need to use Corel WordPerfect, my PC has said program, and the only thing that stood in the way of that happy fact and me is the dead and departed power supply. Luckily, power supplies are fairly cheap, as I'm fairly poor. I'd never actually installed one before, but since every other aspect of a computer's guts has known the taste of my big monkey hands at one time or another, I figured changing a power supply couldn't be any worse. In fact, since power supplies don't require drivers (and, better still, do not say "Plug and Play" at any point in their packaging), I figured it should actually be easier than anything else I've ever had to install and configure. Happily, this is in fact true. It was mindlessly easy. As a matter of fact, changing the outside lightbulb is harder -- it involves a ladder.

My computer now works perfectly. Let the income-earning begin!

Today I also helped out some very nice (and beleaguered) people at my local pet store. I was there with my friend Mélanie, on an errand to buy some tasty crickets for my hungry li'l tree frogs, and it was just about closing time. This part of the process went quite smoothly -- however, my good friend was waiting outside and looking at the sweet widdle kittens in the window (for those who know Ottawa, it was the Billings Bridge pet store) and, as I went outside (crickets in hand) to join her, I noticed something odd overhead. A budgie had detached itself from some hiding nook within the store, and chosen that precise moment to fly gracefully over my head, out the store, and into the bustling labyrinth of the mall.

It was amazing and beautiful to see, really. I've never seen a budgie in flight before. They've always had their wings clipped, and despite the fact that they're wretchedly noisy little chatterboxes, they are quite pretty birds. Of course, after marvelling at the display, I came to my senses and wisely thought to inform the staff that one of their birds had, as they say, flown the coop. A harried young woman came out with a net attached to a long pole, and informed me that the bird had arrived several days before, but had escaped before they'd had the chance to clip its wings. It had been fluttering about the store since then, evading capture a display of unexpected wileyness. Anyway, the bird continued to elude its captors, because the ceilings in the mall were exceptionally high, and offered plenty of ornamental ledges upon which a small bird could easily perch and be safe from any net. After it was apparent that the clerk wasn't tall enough to catch the bird, I offered to help. So, I took the net, and started running up and down the corridors, chasing a bird that was quite content to madly bat against walls (making some impressive -thumps-), perch in the elusive hidey holes of a large 'Zellers' sign, and generally be uncooperative.

I think the most darling part of the adventure was that the kittens in the display windows noticed the excitement, and stopped chasing each other around and fixated upon the fascinating, fluttering budgie instead. Some instinctive part of their mad little minds recognized that this was a bird, and they pressed their little paws up against the glass and stared in rapt fascination. Simply adorable.

In the end, I was victorious, and I trapped the budgie in the net along the painted metal doorframes of the (universally recognizable) glass mall exit doors. Another clerk came along to assist, and she got me to slowly lower the net, holding against the glass, while she gently scooped the bird, net and all, into her hands. The first clerk took the pole from me, and holding the net at different ends, they gingerly walked back into the store to put the bird in some sort of cage. The kittens were still staring, standing on their trembling hind legs, hoping to see more birdies.

I felt distinctly glad to have helped. It wasn't really super-heroic or anything, but it was fun and involved kindness to small animals. And being useful. Surely this was some penance for the long line of hamsters that met tragic ends in my care as a child.