We're here. We made it to Chicago (sort of). We're (both) employed (at the same place nonetheless). But, we're social workers, so the income is sufficient but scarce.
Our apartment is now "home," seeing as it is sufficiently furnished and all. It seems so long ago that we moved the 300 miles, 6 hours, and 3 flights of stairs to get here, just to sleep the night on the floor because we didn't have a bed, or a futon, or a rug, or.. anything but blankies on the hardwood. At least we had blankies.
Work has been amazingly good. I really love working there. As many of you may have heard me brag, last week, Mendon and I were paid for two hours to go play a set of tennis against each other. Other times, we may have have movies, or ice cream socials. Or, in a month, we're going camping. And, daily, we've an entire hour of paid lunch, and we only work 7 hours beyond that. The members are supportive of each other, and of us. This morning, in the community meeting, one of the members announced, now that I had been there for a few weeks, that he really hoped that I was feeling comfortable, welcome, and happy in my job. (Can this be real?)
Today, we went to Millennium Park, which is in the heart of downtown Chicago, and is quite the attraction. It's the place that has the Bean and the towers with the faces on them. We got there and the members practically ran from us, which left Mendon and I with an entire afternoon to enjoy the sun, the shouting children that were playing beneath the face-fountains, have some a-maz-ing hot chocolate, and see the awesome outdoor concert hall that Chicago has. It was really almost stupid to believe that work was paying for our commute into the city and for us to be enjoying the trip (from 10 until 3:30).
Regardless, our responsibilities were limited to head-counts and driving. Drove there, did head count 1, did head count 2, and found out that we were short one, that he and his buddy were separated. We waited for 15, 20 minutes. Then we found out that the phones at work were down. Out. Kaput. Mendon left to look for the member. Another 20 minutes go by before we're able to get through on another coworker's cell phone to see if we can't get family information, the member's cell number, advice, anything. The other two coworkers, after an hour of waiting, leave with most of the members. Here we are, Mendon and I, stuck in a downtown with which we are NOT familiar, on company time, with company responsibilities, and we cannot find a 45 year old man for whom we are responsible. Right.
Eventually, we get enough of a clue to assume that he may be at a fast-food joint about 1/4 of a mile away, so Mendon trots off in that direction, while I try to assuage the members that had already been waiting for 75 minutes. Mendon can't find him. I'm talking to my boss for advice, secretly wondering how long it will be before I need to call the police. Mendon calls, saying that he's found the member right before I start eating my hair out of anxiety. I breathe, and we all pile into the van, with our own anxieties, voices, and ticks in tow, feeling much better knowing that we were only close to having an emergency, not actually having one.
While I still love work, and I'm still happy that we're here, I'm also happy that tomorrow is Saturday and that no one can find me until Monday around 8:30.
PS. Work also rocks because staff meetings and the doctor's meetings are completely a needle-craft group. There's at least one other knitter and one needle pointer. I've turned the heel of a sock that I started on Monday.
