Originally I thought this post would contain some awesome photos of Kentuck Knob, a Frank Lloyd Wright house I dragged the boyfriend to on his weekend visit. However, I forgot my camera, the boyfriend forgot the memory card for his, and (oh, yeah) I semi-almost fainted in the middle of the tour and had to leave. Seriously. My face would have been so red... except apparently I was white as a sheet. Basically, we walked through the living room and dining room and kitchen, all of which were completely fascinating in a "Who lives here?" kind of way. Felt fine. Then we went down a narrow hallway to the master bedroom. Small, stuffy, and ridiculously hot. Next thing you know my vision goes blurry and I'm grabbing onto the boyfriend for support, and then I'm on the terrace sitting on a bench. Awesome. The truly disappointing part (besides being completely embarrassed and mortified and frustrated that I spent a gajillion dollars on a tour I didn't even get to enjoy) is (as the boyfriend told me later) someone called out, "Get her on the bed!" but then (I'm just assuming this was the timeline) an older tourguide came in and told him to take me outside. I came so close to laying on a bed in a Frank Lloyd Wright house! So close.
Tomorrow we're going to see the Stanley Cup downtown. Fun fact: apparently it's not just a random trophy that no one could possibly care about enough to line up for hours. It's the same trophy. I think it makes more sense now... my emotional connection to sports is pretty much nonexistent unless it involves Denzel Washington or Sandra Bullock.
Now that my first week of work is over, I'm still trying to get my head around the job. More accurately, I'm still trying to get my head around how well I'll do in the job. Admissions rep? I can totally do that. But salesy admissions rep with quotas and a cubicle? Who knows. Apparently only 50% of trainees graduate from "the pod" in two weeks... the rest have to stay until they reach a preliminary quota. I am begging you, o creator of the universe and any other force I could possibly appeal to, please let me graduate in time. I don't want to be in "the pod." It doesn't sound like a fun place. According to my supervisor, I have a very soft and soothing phone voice that will help put nervous students at ease. I'm not sure how much I agree with that, but whatever works to my advantage, right? To be on the safe side, I'm offering every student a pony if they enroll. I'm all about the incentives.