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I survived my first week at New Job. They seem nice. I think I'll go back next week.
On Tuesday, I had a message from Old Job (meaning, the one I've just left), saying there was a parcel for me. I went round there during my lunch break and found that the Newcastle office had sent me a leaving gift. I mean, I knew they had - it was a ticket office gift certificate sent as a PDF. But the hard copy also included a card and a llama-themed stationery set (journal, pen, bookmark). So that was nice.
I also heard all the news that had happened since I was last in the office three days earlier. Apparently one of the accounts officers in Newcastle was hospitalised over the weekend after "talking gibberish". Her family thought she might have had a stroke, but it turned out to be a brain tumour. She only turned forty last year. In hindsight, though, she had been behaving slightly out of character in the last few months. Just a bit... flaky. Couldn't stick to a task for long. Nothing that would make you wonder if something was wrong, but it makes sense now.
They sent me an update a couple of days later to say it was a benign tumour to be removed next week. Which is mixed news, I suppose: you don't want a brain tumour, but if you've got to have one, best it be benign.
Anyway, assuming it all works out okay, she'll be off work for at least a month. I've gone, and the other people made redundant wind up next week. We're meant to be replaced by people in Newcastle, but they haven't even placed the position vacant ads yet. So suddenly the finance team of six is down to two. I feel so bad for them. But also: glad I'm not one of the two left.
Wednesday we had the weirdest fog all day. Haze from the fires, and a sea mist that rolled in. The air was thick and white and smelled of smoke and seaweed.
On Friday I had training in New Job's record-keeping system in the computer room, which turned out to be in the old Post Office next to the council building. The council took over the old Post Office building a few years ago when the new Post Office opened. I had to go up a grand Victorian-era wooden staircase to a warren of dark wood-panelled rooms. Back home, I told my mother I had to go upstairs in the old Post Office to all these little rooms, which were more like rooms in a house than offices. "Oh, they were," she said. "There used to be a boarding house above the Post Office, we had lots of District Nursing patients there over the years." Strange to think of my mother and I being in the same room so many years apart for such different reasons.
On Tuesday, I had a message from Old Job (meaning, the one I've just left), saying there was a parcel for me. I went round there during my lunch break and found that the Newcastle office had sent me a leaving gift. I mean, I knew they had - it was a ticket office gift certificate sent as a PDF. But the hard copy also included a card and a llama-themed stationery set (journal, pen, bookmark). So that was nice.
I also heard all the news that had happened since I was last in the office three days earlier. Apparently one of the accounts officers in Newcastle was hospitalised over the weekend after "talking gibberish". Her family thought she might have had a stroke, but it turned out to be a brain tumour. She only turned forty last year. In hindsight, though, she had been behaving slightly out of character in the last few months. Just a bit... flaky. Couldn't stick to a task for long. Nothing that would make you wonder if something was wrong, but it makes sense now.
They sent me an update a couple of days later to say it was a benign tumour to be removed next week. Which is mixed news, I suppose: you don't want a brain tumour, but if you've got to have one, best it be benign.
Anyway, assuming it all works out okay, she'll be off work for at least a month. I've gone, and the other people made redundant wind up next week. We're meant to be replaced by people in Newcastle, but they haven't even placed the position vacant ads yet. So suddenly the finance team of six is down to two. I feel so bad for them. But also: glad I'm not one of the two left.
Wednesday we had the weirdest fog all day. Haze from the fires, and a sea mist that rolled in. The air was thick and white and smelled of smoke and seaweed.
On Friday I had training in New Job's record-keeping system in the computer room, which turned out to be in the old Post Office next to the council building. The council took over the old Post Office building a few years ago when the new Post Office opened. I had to go up a grand Victorian-era wooden staircase to a warren of dark wood-panelled rooms. Back home, I told my mother I had to go upstairs in the old Post Office to all these little rooms, which were more like rooms in a house than offices. "Oh, they were," she said. "There used to be a boarding house above the Post Office, we had lots of District Nursing patients there over the years." Strange to think of my mother and I being in the same room so many years apart for such different reasons.