The Weekend That Wasn’t

I did survive the Rocky Mountain Rendezvous, though at this point I’m still not sure if that’s an entirely good thing. Two days of questionable food and a ridiculous amount of stress have taken a toll on my insides. I’m a miserable human being at the moment.

I did all of the driving, which was awful in a special way. I normally drive a Honda Civic with a manual transmission. On the trip I drove a Suburban with an automatic transmission. It made me feel strangely bloated. I think the only reason I was able to handle the car without going completely out of my mind was that I’ve still got some memory of the ol’ ambulance driving days. As it was, the defensive driving I learned then served me well when someone did a dead stop in front of me on Grand Avenue without signaling their intention to turn. I apparently did a masterful swerve into the right hand lane, which I got a lot of compliments for once my passengers had gotten their hearts restarted. I also apparently reached across the seat to hold on to my friend Gaby with my hand that wasn’t clutching the steering wheel. I don’t actually remember this, but Gaby insists it’s true and it likely means that I’m turning in to my mother.

The Suburban and I disliked each other to the bitter end. I managed to lock my luggage in the car and then returned the key before I noticed, and I blame the Suburban for that as well. I had to drive up to the motor pool early this morning to retrieve my luggage. The woman behind the counter handed over the key without argument, though she did accompany it with a look that clearly said, “You are a moron.” Which I suppose I richly deserved.

And if you haven’t figured out how this works yet, the minute I do something mortally embarrassing and stupid, I have to tell everyone about it.

Generally I feel like the weekend was a colossal, stressful waste of my time, and I’m sorry to say that. I only had three interviews, so I should be grateful just for the chance at practicing my interviewing skills. However, once I got there I realized that the meeting was more supposed to be a chance for students to schmooze potential recruiters. And to say that I’m not much of a schmoozer is an understatement. A couple of my fellow students were Born To Schmooze, so to speak, and watching them in action just left me feeling like the awkward fat kid on the playground.

We’ll see if I get an internship out of this, but I’m not going to hold my breath. I only feel like one of the interviews went really well. And everyone was surprised that I only got three, since I have five years of industry experience on my resume. Considering that in one of the interviews I was asked pointedly if I couldn’t just go back to my old company and get a job this summer, I’m thinking it’s something of a two-edged sword.

There was also some excellent highschool-style drama during the trip, which is a good reminder for me that while we all can’t help but get older, we definitely aren’t required to get any wiser. And I ruined my dress shoes somehow; the sole on one of the shoes developed enormous cracks in three places. Cracks bad enough that they cause me to wobble as I walk. This means that there is shoe shopping in my very near future. All I can hope is that the evil fascist conspiracy taking place in my digestive tract will finish me off before I get that far.

On a positive note, the Comfort Inn we stayed at had waffle irons in the breakfast room, so I got to make a fresh belgian waffle for myself two days in a row. And that’s certainly worth something.