The most responsibility I have ever been given at my job unfortunately starts and stops in fifth grade when Mrs. Johnson let me be line leader from our classroom to the assembly hall.
Because in times of need, you call on the true leaders, the ones who can guide a pack of rambunctious fifth graders through a crowded hall and safely usher them to their respective seats in the auditorium. Or you just pick the girl who has been nagging you all year to lead the gaggle of sugar-high children and you know won’t stop until she gets what she wants.
I’ll let you decide which one I was. (Choose wisely).
Regardless, I took that responsibility with stride. I knew that extra work didn’t necessarily mean extra rewards, but it was the personal understanding that I was doing something for the good of other people that made my experience worthwhile.
But today – as a twenty-five year old receptionist moonlighting (daylighting?) as a wannabe motivational lifestyle blogger, but in reality just being a receptionist with exceptional hair – today, I can say that I have been given the most responsibility that I’ve ever had in my life.
(And I’ve waited tables, so that’s saying a lot. People are assholes when it comes to dealing with food, remember that when you want to order a burger but don’t want meat, cheese, or a bun. Just make your food at home, butthead.)
Im proud to announce that I have henceforth claimed my role as the Jr. Fire Marshal at my job. Horray for me! Claps! Cheers! Lighting bolts!
I’m sure the biggest question on your minds right now is not only why you are reading this blog and not learning about dairy creamer, but what exactly does a Fire Marshal do? And to answer your question, I honestly haven’t the slightest idea.
But, here’s what I do know about the job:
There will probably be fire. And other than grilling pizza, fire is generally a bad thing. This means I am supposed to protect and serve the people in my office. And for anyone who knows me in real life, I can’t even hold open a door for people without getting a sore arm let alone take lives into my own hands.
I’m going to be a marshal. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that this might have something to do with the retailer, and maybe there are gift cards and free swag in my future. I mean a fire marshal needs to have a uniform, and Marshall’s seems like the best place to get that started.
There is a large chance that I will get to use aggressive hand signals in the event of a crisis. And BOY am I excited. When I was fifteen freeloading off my parents every summer instead of working, my mom tried to get my friend Katie and I to work as runway directors at the local airport. She saw something in my enchanting hand gestures,and only now did I truly recognize my talents myself.
Sidenote: I didn’t end up directly plane traffic because there’s no way anyone would have landed alive. I’d just be waving reflector flags left and right for the sole purpose of making that “SWISH” noise when the fabric hits itself.
I’m about 30% certain I am qualified for this job. I hate small spaces, despise taking the stairs, and generally don’t like being outdoors when it’s below 40 degrees. I’m not sure I’m up for this type of responsibility, but there’s only one way to find out.
Now excuse me, I need to go light a fire.
(Just kidding?)
Half and Half 