at least i can say i've taken a drug test.

it's official. i hate big corporations. not enough to stop shopping, at say, target, but at least enough to never attempt to work for one again. here's why (and give me a minute or four, because we're in for a long one.):

we all know i'm taking a year off to apply to shool. well, this next 365 days also has the theme of "make as much money as freakingly possible". i'm thinking the best way to get this done is to combine a schedule of part-time somerset working (i know...i say the same thing every august and still go back every may.) and some other job that has decent hours that i can still work come september when the good ol' scc closes. my ace in the hole to this equation seemed to be marshall field's. so i apply. i mean, i like shopping and i like marshall field's and when you combine those two with the discount i'd be getting, it didn't seem like it could be beat.

so last wednesday, as soon as i finish my application, i get to go up to human resources to sign my application, where i'm interviewed by three people, the third being the manager from the shoe department, who didn't seem to dig me much. (i've never had someone look at me like i was a moron when i told them i read vogue until now.) despite my increasing feeling of "warning! danger amanda pio!", when they come in and offer me a job in shoes on comission, i sheepishly agree and i also uneasily agree to hustle back downtown tomorrow to take a drug test, being that before they can formally offer me a position, i have to pass (this is an important aspect to remember...this whole offering business) and i have to do it before 4:30 pm the following day. by this time, i know i'm somewhere i don't want to be.

by 10 o'clock that night, when i was informed that due to activities that previous week, i might not pass this lil' test, i was a-okay and perhaps looking forward to being able to be crowned "the girl no one expected to fail a drug test" because working for marshall field's seemed to be the equivalent to slowly removing my eyeballs with a fork.

so i wake up the next morning and i make the most fatal mistake...i go to the bathroom.

this later screws me big time because am then only able to give the nice technician at quant biomedical services 15 of the requested 30 militers of "test material" (yup, that's what they called my tinkle...made me feel like i was an experiment in a weird way.)

at this point i am informed of a number of things: a.) that i'm limited in the amount of water i can drink to re-hydrate myself so that we can start all over, but i can drink as much pop as i want. and b.) if i don't begin to rehydrate in FIVE minutes, it is company policy to call marshall field's. at this point they will assume that i am going to fail my test and i will not be offered my job.

complete crap. i should have walked out, but instead i hauled ass to the little store down the block where the person working was attempting to lock up his store to go on break. luckily, i convince him not to do so and i soon am back in the office just as my five minutes were up, downing a record 48 ounces of diet coke in 20 minutes (which is more than i ever drank in that amount of time in my life.) i finish my test and am on my merry way, thinking that this is a bunch of burecractic who-ha and that, once again, i hope i failed the damn thing. let the record also state that i had a beeotch of a stomach ache for the rest of the day due to the 48 ounces. gross.

the finale of the story is that i got a two phone calls yesterday while i was in class, asking me to call back to make an appointment to fill out my paperwork to get me started. no chance to think about it...no formal offer..for a job where the manager didn't even seem to like me? they just asssumed i was going to take it. so due to their arrogance and their ridiculous company policies (like the fact that you have to wear at least three pieces of clothing at all times...ie: you can't wear just a sweater and pants...you have to wear a sweater, pants AND a shirt...even i don't have that energy every day.) i said no thanks. i think there's a reason why i majored in art history and it could possibly be so that i don't have to depend on yahoos like this for a paycheck.


so, for now, until my other options pan out (like bread and chocolate...good hours AND chocolate croissants...sounds decent) i'm back at somerset full time, specializing in explaining to old people that my name is not andrea (yeah, i know...they look similiar on the nametag.)

ps: yes, that is the nametag i'm wearing in the picture and to those who asked, no it does not mean that i hand out sexual favors...unless serving beer and chicken salad suddenly has fallen under that category. and i know that i promised pictures...but i couldn't get them to work...at it's late. so those who are antsy for them are going to have to wait until i admit to the appropriate outlets that i need help. which will be shortly, so hang on.