Train in Vain

I burned most of this workweek in all-day training classes, learning a computer program I will virtually never use. But hey, it’s software licensing! It rivals accounting as the least exciting subject on the planet. Truth be told, I’m impressed with the three people in my cubicle farm that do the work.

I’m surrounded by software management analysts and from the chatter flying over my cubicle walls the subject sounds like a very complicated and labor-intensive job, and—like accounting—mercilessly tedious. I would never want to do it which begs the question why my boss insists that all of us must attend these classes. I’ve already forgotten how to do most of the tasks the program is designed to perform and it has only been one day since the third and final class.

I kept awake those days with espressos, cappuccinos, and ridiculously frequent exits where I would walk briskly through the hallways stealing from the reception area mini-size Hersey’s Mr. Goodbars, Krackels, and Special Dark Chocolate bars (and there’s nothing “special” about the latter) each time I blasted past the desk on my way to the lobby and back in the training class, a half-dozen sets of eyes trained on me wondering why I have to piss so often.

The day after the final day of training my boss announces that we all had to take the training because he wants us all cross trained. Is it too late for a change in vocation? In the last months of his life, my father asked me if I was happy in my career. I should have told him I was, but I was honest. I told him with little gusto it’s not a bad job. Maybe this is the time to start the job I always wanted. Too bad I have no frickin’ idea what that is.


Double espressos to stay awake. Playing with my phone when I get bored, and–Oh shit, the trainer spotted me!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.