Montage

Training montage: a group of young, confused foreigners, scattered in a room filled with combuters. As the days pass they learn about techsupport. About telephones. Cordlesss telephones. They become good friends.

Okay, its a boring montage, but training is finally finished. Tomorrow we start working for real. I think. (Or we might be sitting by another agent, listening in to calls.)

The talk of the town (okay, the company) is the big christmas party saturday. I'm looking forward to it. So is eveyone else.

Today we move - I hope. The people, the company or whatever they are, are driving us mad. They have given number ten to someone else. The builders did it obviously for some reason. So we could have number nine or number eleven, wich one did we prefer? And could we please send in more info? (Phone numbers, pps numbers and such.) Well, number eleven then. And we will send it later this afternoon. Ok?
No. Number eleven is not available. Will number nine be okay? And can we come into the office by four?
No, its not, but we don't have much choise, do we? And no, we cant, we work untill five.
So now I'm waiting for her reply. And I'm irritated. But we really have to move today, so what can I do?

Good news anyhow; I don't have to unlock my phone for Irish sim cards. It works anyways. Joy! So today I'm getting an Irish number.

Thanks Dad for your support. (& Mom for informing me that I actually have been to San Fransisco.)