My name tag gave me a purple nurple!

Many of you may have heard the news that I'm now working. No, it seems that my penny pinching and non-drinking are not enough to keep my checking account as thick and juicy as I want it to be. I made an assessment of the skills that I had. It went something like this-

-Hey nut job, what can you do right?
-Not much, what's it to you?
-Fuck you buddy. Seriously we need money, what is your slut ass good at?
-Um. I don't know but they liked you back at the town hall.
-So bureaucracy ehh...

And of course, the inevitable conclusion was, hey, I was a paper-pusher for three summers - what's the most bureaucratic office on campus? Why, CLLC of course (housing department). Thus, I'm working at the CLLC Resource Center, a.k.a. CLLC At Your Service a.k.a. CLLC Resource Desk a.k.a. CLLC. Basically all day I direct people's calls and tell people "no, you can't switch into Ivory Tower even though your friend's roommate got the plague."

The people are cool. The process of "contact logging" is not. Imagine that you work at a gas station. It's very accessible to passing traffic. People know that you pretty much know everything there is to know about the surrounding area. But your ability to help them is very specific, i.e., you're not the Home Depot, you're not the Community Center, you're not Wal-Mart. You're a gas station. You sell people gas and maybe some delicious snacks, but that's about it.

Imagine though, that not only do you have to answer the most random-ass questions you can possibly think of, but you have to write it all down and then input it into a computer system. Not only that, but when people come in actually asking about GAS, you still have to write it down and type it in. When someone comes in and buys a Charleston Chew, yup, still gotta write it down. Furthermore, whenever people call you, to ask how your supply of Virignia Slims is lookin'... you still gotta write it down.

Basically, that's my job. Really it's supposed to be helping people manage their housing, but in fact, we have to help everyone who comes in. And we also have to keep records of it - "it" meaning everything. I've worked in a Congressman's office, and a municipal office, and never have I seen anything like this. Contact logging is the devil.

Furthermore, as the title indicates, one of my titties did indeed get twistered today... by my fucking name tag! Working the Friday night shift is gold - you don't get a single person coming in, and you can just sit and hang out for three hours (at $10 an hour, mind you). So in the interim, I was fiddling with my nametag compulsively. It's one of those deals where it's a nametag with a piece of metal on it, and a second piece which is a strong magnet. Needless to say my nurple was purpled by the magnet piece as it was drawn to the back of my nametag.