The exercise:
Write about: passing.
Heard from HR that my manager let them know I was passing my probation period with "flying colours" yesterday, and to start filling out my benefit enrollment forms.
I wasn't worried or thinking about it at all, but it was still nice to hear.
2 comments:
Congratulations, though I'd expect little else to be honest. I can't imagine you being described as 'barely passing', or 'who?', especially after essentially training yourself when your colleague was off sick :) It's also nice that HR told you about this rather than making you wait until the official end-of-probation date -- making people worry for no reason always seems a little bit wrong :)
Speaking of a little bit wrong...
Passing
The theatre box was normally intended for small parties: say fifteen or so people, or perhaps eight people in nicer clothes, with more money and personalities so abrasive that they all needed to stand further apart in order to tolerate one another. This evening though there had been a reservation for it, all paid for properly and with real money and everything, but the only person to turn up was a young man, nicely dressed with a charming smile that seemed to show a lot of teeth, and... no-one else. The ushers had been sent by several times on the pretext of fluffing cushions, refilling drinks and checking the mini-bar and all had had orders to ask when the rest of the party would be arriving, and they'd all come back the with the same strange answer: they'll get here when they get here. The Major-domo, who was running the back-of-house, was frustrated but felt he had little choice but to station an usher in the lobby with strict instructions to move late-arrivals to the box as fast and as silently as possible.
The theatre was hosting a Royal Performance that evening and in the box across the way from the 'problematic' one were three minor Royals and a major Royal; not quite enough to win at Poker but enough to worry your opponents. Their box was largely full with hangers-on, sycophants and the occasional bemused usher but they quieted down as the orchestra louded up and the opera, a new one called 'The Passing of the Guard', started. The curtains pulled back with solemn grace like a gigantic black bird spreading its wings and a solitary singer, centre-stage, began to sing.
Somewhere in the cheap seats a voice said 'Coo!' distinctly and there might, if you really strained to hear, have been another voice saying 'Madam! Watch where you're putting your hands!'
The nicely dressed young man in the box by himself waited until the song was over and the curtain was whisking back before he levelled his nerf gun and fired. Unseen by the audience a little red and yellow foam cylinder darted across the auditorium and struck the singer between the eyes so that he collapsed just as the curtains concealed him. A moment passed and then the singer opened his eyes again and found himself sitting in the box.
"I shouldn't be here," he said, feeling dreamy. Everything seemed a little hazy and not quite real.
"Oh you should," said Death with a smile. "Enjoy the show. We're going to be here for most of it."
At the interval a passing usher, one of the few who wasn't having hysterics at the outbreak of death amongst the cast of the play, noted that the box with a solitary occupant was now nearly full and seemed to be quite lively. When she mentioned this to the Major-domo in passing the poor man stalked out to the lobby to demand of the usher there why he hadn't notified him of the late arrivals only to find that usher dead as well.
Greg - haha, 'who?' would be quite the response.
Ah, Death. Having himself a night out at the theatre, how nice :)
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