Training

So time has passed and my passions about my miserable week in training have faded. I will share some of the highlights from my experience:
Day 1-3
I am shocked to see a couple of women who are out of touch with the times. One wears a red t-shirt with a pocket on the chest, along with some stretchy pants. The other has taken a lot of time to perfect her bangs... I know this from personal experience; it's not easy to get that much height without some time and some rave. I am only slightly relieved when I find out they are from less populated rural counties.

I am sitting through this training to address substance use. We discuss the buzz words: misuse, abuse, dependency. Should I be concerned that my neighbor smells like alcohol? It wasn't until a co-worker on the other side of her mentioned it to me that it hit me in the face. Maybe she's been taking more than a smoke break.

There are a group of people from my district and I am shocked and kind of embarrassed that J keeps talking about our division like it's back woods - no resources, no good referrals, with an ignorant bench. I am more annoyed and less embarrassed by day 3 when I realize the guy would and could complain about anything. He likes to hear himself talk. There are several of these kinds of people in this training. They have their soapboxes, their causes and they go on....and on....

I do find some entertainment, from the dull training and long winded rants, with exchanged glances with a co-worker. With one look we both knew exactly our sentiments and it is always good to know you're not the only one dying. We bonded through that experience... I will now call her a friend.

On my first day, after a long day, I headed to my hotel. The Ramada Inn. I looked it up online, as someone else had actually made the reservation. I arrived to find that the photographer had been extremely creative. The lobby did have an impressive front desk, but what had appeared to be the lounge was really a collection of chairs. I was sent to a room that required a drive around "The Knights Inn" motel: total sketch. The hotel is set up motorway inn style with each room facing the lot. I enter my room to find decor from 1982 and remnants of gum that had made its way well into the carpet. So much for relaxing in a comfy room for a week. This was going to be tough. My stay was short, after a long night of partyers next door I left the Ramada and hope to never return.

Day 3-4:
New set of co-workers, new set of training. This time, we all take up the full back row of the conference room like the bad kids in class. This training was a bit more interesting with a game of "big hands." There was a woman with extremely large extremities and as she waived and moved them about, we all got the giggles. I know, immature and cruel (I will avoid your judgment by not telling you how the goal was to get a picture of them and at one point there may be been at least 4 phones out and ready).

Upon arrival, finding that "breakfast provided" only meant mini-muffins and sub par coffee, a co-worker and I went on the hunt for a Starbucks. We found a Safeway. On my way down the chip aisle I felt my left foot slip. The next thing I knew, my hair was in my face, I was suddenly at the eye level of, not chips, but rice patties, and I felt like a pretzel. Upon realizing that I was, indeed, still alive I did the next logical thing, look up...sure enough there is a chip stocker just standing and staring at the mess of me in a pile on the shiny, slick floor. I collect myself and begin the struggle of pulling myself up...like a lady and mumble something about slippery floors. Somehow I managed to scrape a good portion of the top of my right foot, presumably from my left foot flailing and accosting it. To this day, we are still in the healing stages.

We (everyone from the district - 7), decided we'd eat lunch together on the break. After some trouble finding a restaurant, we then had terrible service. By the time we had eaten and paid our bills we would have been late to the next session. What happened next was strange. All 7 adults decided it might be best just to skip the next session instead of arriving late and causing a distraction. What happened next was disappointing. We had no idea what to do with ourselves. We (in 2 separate vehicles) followed each other down main thoroughfares, looking for something to do. We ended up at a coffee shop. It was horribly anti-climatic. And all this time, I thought all the cool kids who skipped were having great times... maybe not.

The last thing to say about training is the difference between a bunch of probation officers, who listen, get on soapboxes when they like, and challenge what the speaker presents. We're skeptical...it's what we do. In contrast, counselors are like an audience of baptist worshipers. They might as well be saying, "amen." "Oh!" they can't believe certain statistics. "No!" they are shocked by stories on injustice. And some of them (big hands in particular) treat this training as their own individual session, hollering out input, shouting out "that's right!" and adding their two cents even when it isn't encouraged.