I’ve signed the papers, so I guess it’s safe to talk about it: my short-term contract with the UN has been extended to the end of January, bringing it to the six-month minimum required for conversion to a fixed-term contract. Benefits! Vacation time!
Though if I were a superstitious person, I might suspect that somebody was trying to warn me away from the job. Right after I was given my first job for the day I had a nosebleed, which meant I had a wad of Kleenex jammed up my left nostril when I went to the front desk to complain that the file I’d been assigned wasn’t in the right drive. Then, when the file did turn up, it turned out to be all endnotes. With tables. And graphs
— sad, deranged things in Spanish that were apparently the work of someone who’d been taught Excel by a blind epileptic spider monkey.
On the upside, four different people in the Unit celebrated birthdays, so there was cake. Yay cake!
Plus, looky! I’m an aristocrat!