On days like today, I marvel at how Young Me managed to perform well enough for the likes of Doc Nice and Doc Whitecastle to keep offering me work to foot the bills. It's a nice reminder this finals week, as I'm juggling B's and work and carving time to just think about what a dissertation might be, to know that somewhere back then, Young Me, with far fewer skills than I currently possess, managed to be employable and make a good impression.
Of course, it's not so good an impression that Whitecastle respects me and Nice doesn't start emails with "Dude*." But it's good enough.
I called Whitecastle this afternoon, as he asked me to, and promptly after I said "Hello?" He broke out in laughter. Apparently, the research assistant manning the phones had told him that there was "a woman with a scheduled call" with him. I found that to be an accurate assessment of the situation. Whitecastle found it hilarious that the words "woman" and "call" applied to me.
Whitecastle: I thought it was something else, but it's just you!
Moi: [?]
Whitecastle: You didn't tell him who you were?
Moi: I don't think he knows who I am.
*He really likes to do that, which just further confuses my mind. I have a hard enough time not calling colleagues 'dude' as is. I am || close to blurting a "dude" in Advisor Who's office.
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