I'd been enjoying the training, as I mentioned last night. It was fun and entertaining and the discussions were loud and spirited.
Maybe a little too spirited, as the instructor often had a hard time regaining control of the class. We were a boisterous bunch and he kind of had a small voice.
But it was a subject that was close to my heart. I really wanted a stake in helping make the new officers someone I could trust at my back in a dustup. Make them into officers that I could say "We really need to get this done." and be confident enough to walk away and tend to other things because I know it'll get done. That's important.
I completely forgot to mention last night (among other things) that I ran into Peggy Sue and lost myself in another one of those ultra-comfy squeezy hugs of hers. Heaven! That left me all blissed out for like twenty minutes. She's like..... The Earth Mother after quite a few mocha lattes. All buzzy and full of energy and alot of fun to be around.
As long as she's not pissed off at you, of course. Then it's a whole new ball game. Yikes! (grin)
Back to earth. Anyway...... (Whoo!...)
Despite the fact that I was sleepy and grumpy (and yes, a little Dopey as well) I enjoyed the class and learned things.
Until he said one little phrase right before we left for the day yesterday.
He said "We might be doing a few little skits."
And there went all of my enthusiasm. Skits. Really.
Are we at camp?
I tried to talk him out of it, but there was no shifting him.
I said "When it comes to training, there is no bigger demotivational word than 'skit', I hope you know..." He was steadfastly holding to his training plan.
Come up with a performance objective for a post or task relevant to working inside the prison and come up with a short skit to demonstrate it.
Freaking...... really..... a skit.
I never perform well in front of a crowd. If I wanted to be an actor I would have gone to acting school. But I don't want to act and I don't want to know how to act so I don't know how to act. Actually.
If you just wanted to see me make a fool of myself open your eyes. I'd been doing that naturally for..... a long time now. Nearly half a century.
They already suspect I'm a fool. Don't make me get up in front of them and remove all doubt.
I can write, after a fashion. I can draw and create things with my mind and my hands. I often have a quick tongue and a sharp wit. I've even written reams of poetry and songs and once the most part of a musical. I can be quite creative at times.
Until you tell me that I have to get up in front of a crowd. Then everything in me turns to ashes and lead. My brain transforms itself into little more than an ornamental paperweight or a less than attractive but quite effective doorstop.
It's just not pretty.
Luckily someone else came up with an idea. We did it and I participated by saying as little as possible (which was good) and like in the interview I neither wet myself nor fainted nor died so I guess I can chalk it up as a win.
But I didn't like it.
So now I am a certified Field Training Officer.
And just for irony's sake I'll go ahead and mention the ten minute discussion we had on why they really don't want Sergeants or other supervisors as FTO's. Since I was the only Sergeant in the room I got eyes rolled at me a few times during that one.
KP leaned over and said "Rev, you might as well just go home. They don't want you after all!"
To which I replied "Frack that. I've already been here for a day and a half! I'm staying!"
Most of it beat going to work. Except for the getting up early and the stupid skit part, anyway.
So it's back to work Friday for one day and then off on my weekend. To try and catch up on my sleep and try to get back on my schedule again. Hoo-freaking-rah.
And before I forget, we need more readers and voters at the short story site! I am losing to KP miserably! Help! Vote! Only one week left until the end! Aieee.........
Friday is going to be Roots Day, Festivus and National Pfeffernuesse Day.
Say that five times fast!
Dogs, calves, and coats - *Next Tuesday our yearling Holstein steers will be butchered, one for the oldest grandson and his wife (they've paid for theirs, including all expenses), a...
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