What happens when Curt takes off for some sort of very important training, leaving me bereft and directionless for a whole week? I get to play the free agent, mucking around in as many different departments as possible.
On Monday I was part of the desk crew. Some sort of paperwork didn't go through so I wasn't in the paycheck program. No profile, no paycheck. In order to remedy the situation I had to contact HR, located in New Mexico. The first time I called I was on hold for 45 minutes, and the instructions I received weren't even close to solving the problem. Calling again, I sat there for a full hour, doodling my hands, feet, and deranged imagination while I waited for a human being on the other end. When she finally picked up the gal was very helpful and pleasant, I'll give her that. She even managed to solve my problem (hopefully - we'll find out next week when the checks are cut). It only took two and a half hours. God, I love working for the government.
On Wednesday I pretended to be part of the monitoring crew and partook of their kayak training. After a classy safety video, circa mid-90's judging from the hair styles, we headed out to Ward Lake for some practical application. As there were 10 participants and only 8 leaky dry suits I took the second shift and was forced to work on my tan on the beach while they practiced paddles strokes, wet exits, and re-entries. When it came my turn I threw on a suit and headed out through a film of pine pollen to the deeper part of the lake. I was glad to discover I haven't forgotten how to fall out of a kayak. I can even get myself back in with something resembling grace, which for me is quite an accomplishment.
Tuesday and Thursday were trail crew days. On went the rubber boots, canvas pants, and work-horse mentality. The project is a 45 minutes hike into the woods, which really is a nice way to start a shift. Once you get your breath back it's time to work. There's something satisfying about swinging a pulaski, ripping out roots, and carving a level trail from a slanting, moss-covered hillside. There's also something satisfying about having each muscle of your body in a near-unresponsive state from sheer exhaustion. Fun as it was, I'm excited to have the variety of cabin maintenance to keep me entertained for most of the summer.
The bugs in the woods weren't bad until they bit you. They'd come in swarms, waiting until you thought the coast was clear and you emerged like a hermit crab from your stifling bug net. Then they descended like a horde of ski bums on a large pizza (what's the difference? A pizza will feed a family of four). The welts on my neck weren't the worst part. I didn't even realize insects bit lips; I can assure you they do. I felt the little feet, and crushed a tiny body, but it just wasn't fast enough. Within minutes the middle of my top lip was swollen to twice its normal size and I was having trouble talking. Cursing my luck, I returned to lopping young trees that just happened to be growing in the middle of our trail. Then like lightning striking twice, I felt another one, just to the right of the first. Thank goodness it was about quitting time. When I removed my helmet and bug net my crew mates stared in disbelief for a moment, then burst out laughing. If it looked half as funny as it felt I can't blame them. We all agreed that I was a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie, and that some people spend thousands of dollars on Botox to achieve such a look. If the lumber jack gig doesn't work out, I'm headed to Hollywood.
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