It’s Friday evening here in New Zealand, and another work week has just reached the end of the line.
My commuting costs were nil, my conversations with coworkers and managers were limited to the comfortable arms-length of phone calls and email, and no one disrupted my work by demanding that I attend to their needs right now, like some sort of needy toddler.
To this slightly-reclusive introvert, it was bliss.
It was a crisp autumn morning and I was walking to my client’s building up in the nicer end of the city to begin my first day of the job that I had studied to do for the previous three years.
I had done some menial labour for the last few months with the company that employed me, but a talent void was created within the company when one of the client technicians resigned, and I got pulled into that void.
If you have an Internet connection and live on Earth, chances are you heard about New Zealand’s M7.8 earthquake last week. That’s right, little old NZ was in global headlines. But that’s not why I’m writing this post – I’ll leave nationalistic-inferiority-complex bragging to our mainstream media.
I live in Wellington. Not very close the epicentre down south, but I sure felt it. And I’d like to share some things I learned that I will be applying to my personal life.
I honestly thought that he was going to pop a blood vessel and give himself a brain bleed or something. He was yelling and swearing and demanding that if someone has something to say, they should say it to his face.