01-17-2016, 12:24 PM
Woooowee I just had some intense former-job related dreams basically all night last night. Guess the ol' 9-5 has left some residual feelings that I need to give more consideration and thought.
But, the best dream went like this:
I'm starting a new job at an airline company. There is a vague understanding that I applied for this job a year or so in the past, and that on my application I checked the box for "Ticket Agent" ... but also ... "Pilot."
So go figure, I'm brought in to be a pilot. I kinda hem and haw, and say, you know, maybe I should be a ticket agent instead? Until I learn the ropes of the industry, at least? And my superior is like "What, you're saying you can't do this job?" and the threat is implicit. So I kinda bit my tongue and go along with it.
The other pilots are my co-workers from the aforementioned job. I pull them aside and tell them how freakin' unprepared and unqualified I am to be a pilot, with all those lives on the line, but they're like "yeah, well, so were we when we started! You'll get the hang of it!" And I'm just kinda shaking my head like, no, seriously, this is not good!
So I go for a "training flight" with one of my old co-workers, Brendan -- who IRL was a terrible driver and scared the bejezus out of me when I had to drive with him. Flying with him? Yeahhhh -- that descent and landing was really something!
But, somehow, we survive it. And the rest of the dream is me sitting around the terminal, waiting for my shift to end in 3 hours. Hours that just go so terribly slow. More passengers show up, and all my co-workers take them out on flights, and I'm the only pilot left in the building. And I'm just counting down the hours until my shift ends, hoping that no more passengers show up -- because I know I'll be expected to take them out.
Oh yes. The kicker. While I'm sitting there waiting, I look at my contract.
The job pays $11,996 a year.
hahahahha
For anyone wondering, I was a case-worker who worked with the NYC street homeless. They suffered from usually at least one, but more normally several of: substance abuse, mental health, health, MICA, and everything in between. One of the most interesting experiences in my life, and also the most dreadful, and the final kick in the ass that told me I had to move out of the city and into the country and blaze my own trail. Something I'm thankful to say that, two years later, I'm well on the way to achieving and very pleased with how far I've come.
But, the best dream went like this:
I'm starting a new job at an airline company. There is a vague understanding that I applied for this job a year or so in the past, and that on my application I checked the box for "Ticket Agent" ... but also ... "Pilot."
So go figure, I'm brought in to be a pilot. I kinda hem and haw, and say, you know, maybe I should be a ticket agent instead? Until I learn the ropes of the industry, at least? And my superior is like "What, you're saying you can't do this job?" and the threat is implicit. So I kinda bit my tongue and go along with it.
The other pilots are my co-workers from the aforementioned job. I pull them aside and tell them how freakin' unprepared and unqualified I am to be a pilot, with all those lives on the line, but they're like "yeah, well, so were we when we started! You'll get the hang of it!" And I'm just kinda shaking my head like, no, seriously, this is not good!
So I go for a "training flight" with one of my old co-workers, Brendan -- who IRL was a terrible driver and scared the bejezus out of me when I had to drive with him. Flying with him? Yeahhhh -- that descent and landing was really something!
But, somehow, we survive it. And the rest of the dream is me sitting around the terminal, waiting for my shift to end in 3 hours. Hours that just go so terribly slow. More passengers show up, and all my co-workers take them out on flights, and I'm the only pilot left in the building. And I'm just counting down the hours until my shift ends, hoping that no more passengers show up -- because I know I'll be expected to take them out.
Oh yes. The kicker. While I'm sitting there waiting, I look at my contract.
The job pays $11,996 a year.
hahahahha
For anyone wondering, I was a case-worker who worked with the NYC street homeless. They suffered from usually at least one, but more normally several of: substance abuse, mental health, health, MICA, and everything in between. One of the most interesting experiences in my life, and also the most dreadful, and the final kick in the ass that told me I had to move out of the city and into the country and blaze my own trail. Something I'm thankful to say that, two years later, I'm well on the way to achieving and very pleased with how far I've come.
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