Sometime a pretty boy in Dian's shape
With hair that gilds the water as it glides
Crownets of pearls around his naked arms
And in his sportive hands an olive tree
To hide those parts that men delight to see
Shall bathe him in a spring...
Such things as these best please his majesty.
-- Christopher Marlowe, Edward II
This is my last day as an Email Agent. It was just a matter of time, for any of us new 40 agents to be plucked from our cushy email workstations and kicked off to the frontlines of voice support. Guess who drew the booby prize? As I may look like I'm taking all this in with outward grace, I sure as hell am kicking and screaming inside.
Sigh. I'm going to be missing a lot of things, no doubt about that. It's sad that only recently I've made this as my comfort zone, and then abruptly it's going to be taken away from me *snap* just like that because someone -- who is no more and no less human than I am -- said so.
But well, what can one do when faced with such an evil little man-made thing called a Contract? Besides, expecting something permanent in as temporary and transitional a job as in a call center is nothing more than wishful thinking.
In any case, maybe I should start thinking about things again. Should I go back to school? Should I take up graphic design? Should I scratch my intermittent itch on wanting to teach? Or should I revert to being a pseudo hermit?
I'm sure it's possible that I will be enjoying the stint at being transferred to another account. After all, it deals with web hosting and I'm not really clueless on that area. But again, I am, primarily, a writer, and I work best with a keyboard in front of me and an email program loaded on my screen. Talking has not been my best point.
But I guess the only thing I can do now is wait, and see, and act with as much outwardly grace as possible. That has always been the case anyway with such things as these.
