I'll take "Who's Your Daddy" for $100, Alex

Wheeee! Work is becoming one of those gameshows that ends up with the contestant in a phone booth, the fans blasting on, cash dumped in from the top, and everyone laughing hysterically at the idiot monkey-jumping around, grabbing at dollar bills. You all go ahead and run with that image, I'm sure you don't need me to interpret. Complex and intellectually challenging as it was.


Last night I had the pleasure of telling Ms. I-Expect-Perfection that one of our classmates will not be returning. She then pulled me aside during the break and asked for "the real story." This may have been an attempt to get the intimidation ball rolling before I was scheduled to have an anxiety-related embolism during my practical evaluation. I don't think Ms. IEP expected me to agree with her guess that she was mostly to blame for the Big Quit, but see, I was feeling a bit daring since I had aced the pop quiz.

That's right, folks. I confidently and correctly came up with words like "phospholipid bilayer," "golgi apparatus," and "corocoidbrachialis." Okay, I might have actually written "corocoid-something-brachialis" for that last one, but it was a close enough nod at knowledge. Ms. IEP was visibly bummed that we all escaped what would have been a second academic bloodbath.

Later, I spent the 50-minute evaluation hoping I wouldn't be flinging sweat all over my classmate, urging my heart to Just Calm the Fuck Down, and massaging like my life depended on it. Oh, and watching the clock. And wondering how the hell someone is supposed give a quality arm massage in less than 2 minutes. And trying to figure out how I ended up with Madame Long Legs as my "client" for the timed evaluation, praying (since she is also known as Freakishly Ticklish in the Ass Area) that she wouldn't shriek during the gluteal kneading.

(What do you suppose it means that, in a time of high stress and physical exertion, I had the Chicken Dance racing around at full volume in my head?!)

I was a bit worried when I kept looking up and catching Ms. IEP glaring at me during the evaluation. Turned out she was scowling because she couldn't find anything that would call for a "Fail" mark. She couldn't even find something to merit a "Needs Work" grade. Not only did I pass every part of the practical evaluation, but she was also forced, in the face of my massage-y excellence (well? It is what it is, people), to write Good Things in the comments section of my evaluation form. I believe I was the only one in the class to pass with flying (and complimentary) colors.

Huh. So this is what perfection feels like. I can dig it.

3 comment:

Anonymous Pickle said...

Congrats on the ass whupping! And ass kneading!

8:59 PM  
Anonymous skyhawk said...

Yup, not many jobs out there where you can kick ass, and then caress it to recovery. Nicely done!

10:34 PM  
Blogger Lisa said...

Yeay You! Great job.

4:43 PM  

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