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Never misplace your birth certificate!
17 years ago
[Re-posted from LiveJournal . . . some stuff doesn't apply here]
<hr>
Good thing I didn't let the promotion go to my head . . . [Jan. 24th, 2008|06:25 am]
[ mood | worried ]
[ music | Soundgarden---"Room A Thousand Years Wide" ]
After I accepted the promotion to "full" Floor Supervisor, I repeatedly thought to myself to not let the whole thing get to my head. I'm generally not like that to begin with, but I have had experiences in the past where excessive pride has led to a hard, humiliating fall. Of course, that stuff was years ago and very much smaller potatoes compared to what I interact with this day and age.
Now imagine my surprise when I got a sealed packet of more personal disclosure forms? (Standard practice since early 2007 for promotions, from what I have read, so it's not like they are specifically targeting me!)
Sheesh, don't they know me already? I've been there for 14 1/2 years, and filled out extremely nosy personal disclosure forms in 1993 and in 1998 (the second, because I upgraded my casino license to Connecticut State Gaming when I first became a dealer.) When I became promoted to Assistant Floor Supervisor AKA "dual-rate" in 2005 I did not have to do another set of disclosure forms . . . yet now, in 2008 I have to fill one out so I can officially become a "full" Floor Supervisor, which I've pretty much unofficially been for several months now? (Dealing once or twice a month, tops!) More about that in a minute. First, I need to backtrack a bit to give a bit of background. If you find it too babbling . . . well, then, bear with me, m'kay? I need to get it out of my system so I feel relieved and calm again.
I have worked for Foxwoods Resort Casino since the end of August 1993 (though I didn't start until 12 September) when I had just bombed out of Rhode Island College in Spring 1993, having done a medical withdrawal from RIC after I went to school-sponsored psychiatrist and was quickly told I had something called "adjustment disorder", and given a prescription to nortyptyline (sp?). The semester's failing grades were cancelled, but no money was refunded. I guess you could call "adjustment disorder" Nervous Breakdown Lite, but either way it happened. Conflicts with my father, who at the time was extremely intimidating toward me and would not let me breathe let alone speak or think for myself, triggered an awful lot of the stress that overwhelmed me. At age 19, I could not handle it. My mother's ever-worsening health stressed me out (she held on for another ten years, till 2003) and I honestly did not know how to cope with her. She was always crying, it seemed, and she was becoming frail and gaunt. My brother was having drug problems and suffering from bipolar disorder. My sister was condescending and disdainful toward me. I had very few friends from high school, and generally cloistered myself in my dorm or at the library. (This was when the Internet was still new, generally called the "information super-highway" and I had no access.) I had one major crush from back home who was doing things to me that I now realize were vicious and devastating. Faced with all that stuff, I stopped going to classes and spent the last few weeks of the Spring 1993 semester in my dorm for the most part. I neglected my hygeine and lived in even more of a fantasy-land than I currently do. A few days I only got out of bed to eat and use the bathroom. I did not actively draw (just half-hearted sketches of dragon heads and such) and I just sort of babbled along with mediocre earlier versions of my first novel which at the time was a tool to keep me from interacting with the outside world. I very quietly collapsed and became very fearful of the future. I got neither suicidal nor delusional, but basically felt like I was drifting in life without purpose or passion.
In any event, I bombed out of Rhode Island college (RIC) and was able to get the medical withdrawal. As said, I was given some nasty little anti-depressant meds called "nortryptyline" (sp?) and was off them in less than a month because I was consciously trying to better myself, something that was extremely difficult since this was during an economic recession, I had no real-world skills WHATSOEVER, and all the spirit had been beaten out of me. My family thought I had flunked out of college on purpose. NO I DIDN'T!!! After an extremely hellish summer, I was able to get my first Foxwoods job . . . working as a dishwasher. There was very little else out there, and my life sucked so much at that point that I blindly went for it and held on to it like you hold onto a lover. And even though I did not actually move out of my parents' house until late October 1993, in my mind I had moved already. I hated my father for years after that, and didn't know quite what to make of my mother anymore. Fortunately things got better with time and effort, though apart from a disastrous Fall 1995 part-time semester at UCONN-Storrs (the main campus) I never did get back to college.
Why do I mention this stuff where anyone can read it, and what does it have to do with this extra disclosure form? I am quite aware my LJ friends are not the only ones reading this journal. I'm almost positive at least a few of my higher-ups read this journal, too. Perhaps someone from the Mashantucket Pequot Gaming Commission (MPGC)is reading this, too, so I post this for them as well. One of the questions I had to answer on the MPGC-administered form was: "Do you have a history of mental illness or repeated violent acts?" This both miffed and intrigued me, and I wondered if I'd be weeded out for this reason alone although my history of mental "illness" is extremely mild next to what it might have been. I don't want to be fired for trying to cover it up, and I very much prefer to be honest. So I reported the "adjustment disorder" on the disclosure form, even though I ultra-condensed it to a few lines. I've decided to elaborate on that here. I am not a violent person---that should be obvious. Even my dragon characters (some of whom look scary to those not into SF or fantasy) are generally non-violent. I do have a fiery competitive streak and obviously I'm a bit eccentric, but in no way should this be construed as actually mental "illness". Since the interpretation of "illness" is fraught with hazard and misinterpretation, I'm going public with this stuff. After all, my treated Adult ADHD could also be considered an "illness"---at one extreme---or (at the other Rush Limbaugh extreme) a fake bullshit politically correct "condition" invented by a cabal of liberals and pharmaceutical companies. I am living testament that (1.) ADHD is DEFINITELY real, at least in some people since it is obviously overdiagnosed in children; (2.) For someone "mentally ill" I am pretty damn resilient and downright adaptable; (3.) Since I started getting treatment for my ADHD in 1998 (first with that crappy Dexedrine/dextroamphetamine, and then the non-stimulant atomoxetine hydrochloride/Strattera) I have gone from being an underacheiving, unfocused waste of talent---washing dishes from September 1993 to June 1998---to getting many of my life goals in gear, and sure enough I've been promoted several times. Now at age 34 I'm quite younger than average for a "full" Floor supervisor, though as said this does not become set in stone until 2 march 2008 . . . and, of course, pending the acceptance of the disclosure forms I'm talking about.
There were a couple other possibly damning questions, one about traffic violations and another about tax problems. In Norwich, CT in summer 2005 I ran a red light and went a little fast, and got a ticket that I contested (only because the police officer was extremely unprofessional with his non-stop swearing) and wound up paying a reduced fine. (Next time I'll know to contact the abusive cop's supervisor, which is the correct procedure!) But that's small potatoes next to the tax thing. As anybody reading this journal knows (providing they have had the patience to read through a few extremely long entries!) not only did I have tax problems in 2007, I also had my wages garnished by the IRS when I hit financial rock-bottom in spring 2007. My tax issues are also not fully resolved, and now that I finally got my 2007 W-2's (Foxwoods always takes FOREVER getting them out!) I fully intend to get the whole damn thing resolved with the state and federal tax agencies well before April 15th! I will say this alone might prevent me from getting promoted though I've already been accepted . . . we will see. They will also do credit checks, etc, now that I've gone through hell and back again, in that category! 2007 is still haunting me.
*keeps fingers crossed*
And then, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the required birth certificate and social security card were nowhere to be found---I had them in a secure container, but that container had been moved! (Not by me . . . ) So add a few hours of frenzied search through the closets through boxes and envelopes, and my wife Kathy finally found the envelope of required documents about four hours before the deadline! (The envelope had been taken out of the metal box they had been kept in, too . . . ) Frazzled and lacking sleep, I rushed to work on my day off and turned them in about an hour before the deadline. Behind me, the house was a shambles with opened boxes, bagfuls of discarded mail and clutter, and kicked-up dust.
As bad and humiliating as this final part was, it could have been a lot worse. I was born in San Diego, California---not Connecticut. A lost Social Security card is easily replaceable since there's an office in Norwich. Same thing, if I was born locally. Had Kathy and I not found the birth certificate? I'd have to snail-mail City Hall in San Diego, meaning a couple weeks for the arrival of another copy, which of course would be too late.
Yep, I'd be fucked. I had my driver's license (also required in the disclosure forms!) with me the whole time, so no complications there!
Anyway, sorry to inundate and overwhelm people with another extremely long, frustration-riddled entry, but sometimes this kind of stuff helps me grow and become more responsible. I generally don't ask for these kind of things---because they can be selfish and superficial, and easily abused---but keep me in your prayers (or thoughts, if you are atheist?) I fear I could be fired because of what I'm reporting in the disclosure form, even though I am telling the truth and I am trying hard as I can to rectify remaining problems.
I really, truly hope I'm overreacting here, but at the same time I recognize and respect the Tribe's desire to rid itself of shady, irresponsible people. Therefore, I've said what I've said, in brief on the disclosure form, and in full detail (with some requisite whining and venting, naturally!) here on my journal.
The next entry will be belated Elfwood art updates.
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<hr>
Good thing I didn't let the promotion go to my head . . . [Jan. 24th, 2008|06:25 am]
[ mood | worried ]
[ music | Soundgarden---"Room A Thousand Years Wide" ]
After I accepted the promotion to "full" Floor Supervisor, I repeatedly thought to myself to not let the whole thing get to my head. I'm generally not like that to begin with, but I have had experiences in the past where excessive pride has led to a hard, humiliating fall. Of course, that stuff was years ago and very much smaller potatoes compared to what I interact with this day and age.
Now imagine my surprise when I got a sealed packet of more personal disclosure forms? (Standard practice since early 2007 for promotions, from what I have read, so it's not like they are specifically targeting me!)
Sheesh, don't they know me already? I've been there for 14 1/2 years, and filled out extremely nosy personal disclosure forms in 1993 and in 1998 (the second, because I upgraded my casino license to Connecticut State Gaming when I first became a dealer.) When I became promoted to Assistant Floor Supervisor AKA "dual-rate" in 2005 I did not have to do another set of disclosure forms . . . yet now, in 2008 I have to fill one out so I can officially become a "full" Floor Supervisor, which I've pretty much unofficially been for several months now? (Dealing once or twice a month, tops!) More about that in a minute. First, I need to backtrack a bit to give a bit of background. If you find it too babbling . . . well, then, bear with me, m'kay? I need to get it out of my system so I feel relieved and calm again.
I have worked for Foxwoods Resort Casino since the end of August 1993 (though I didn't start until 12 September) when I had just bombed out of Rhode Island College in Spring 1993, having done a medical withdrawal from RIC after I went to school-sponsored psychiatrist and was quickly told I had something called "adjustment disorder", and given a prescription to nortyptyline (sp?). The semester's failing grades were cancelled, but no money was refunded. I guess you could call "adjustment disorder" Nervous Breakdown Lite, but either way it happened. Conflicts with my father, who at the time was extremely intimidating toward me and would not let me breathe let alone speak or think for myself, triggered an awful lot of the stress that overwhelmed me. At age 19, I could not handle it. My mother's ever-worsening health stressed me out (she held on for another ten years, till 2003) and I honestly did not know how to cope with her. She was always crying, it seemed, and she was becoming frail and gaunt. My brother was having drug problems and suffering from bipolar disorder. My sister was condescending and disdainful toward me. I had very few friends from high school, and generally cloistered myself in my dorm or at the library. (This was when the Internet was still new, generally called the "information super-highway" and I had no access.) I had one major crush from back home who was doing things to me that I now realize were vicious and devastating. Faced with all that stuff, I stopped going to classes and spent the last few weeks of the Spring 1993 semester in my dorm for the most part. I neglected my hygeine and lived in even more of a fantasy-land than I currently do. A few days I only got out of bed to eat and use the bathroom. I did not actively draw (just half-hearted sketches of dragon heads and such) and I just sort of babbled along with mediocre earlier versions of my first novel which at the time was a tool to keep me from interacting with the outside world. I very quietly collapsed and became very fearful of the future. I got neither suicidal nor delusional, but basically felt like I was drifting in life without purpose or passion.
In any event, I bombed out of Rhode Island college (RIC) and was able to get the medical withdrawal. As said, I was given some nasty little anti-depressant meds called "nortryptyline" (sp?) and was off them in less than a month because I was consciously trying to better myself, something that was extremely difficult since this was during an economic recession, I had no real-world skills WHATSOEVER, and all the spirit had been beaten out of me. My family thought I had flunked out of college on purpose. NO I DIDN'T!!! After an extremely hellish summer, I was able to get my first Foxwoods job . . . working as a dishwasher. There was very little else out there, and my life sucked so much at that point that I blindly went for it and held on to it like you hold onto a lover. And even though I did not actually move out of my parents' house until late October 1993, in my mind I had moved already. I hated my father for years after that, and didn't know quite what to make of my mother anymore. Fortunately things got better with time and effort, though apart from a disastrous Fall 1995 part-time semester at UCONN-Storrs (the main campus) I never did get back to college.
Why do I mention this stuff where anyone can read it, and what does it have to do with this extra disclosure form? I am quite aware my LJ friends are not the only ones reading this journal. I'm almost positive at least a few of my higher-ups read this journal, too. Perhaps someone from the Mashantucket Pequot Gaming Commission (MPGC)is reading this, too, so I post this for them as well. One of the questions I had to answer on the MPGC-administered form was: "Do you have a history of mental illness or repeated violent acts?" This both miffed and intrigued me, and I wondered if I'd be weeded out for this reason alone although my history of mental "illness" is extremely mild next to what it might have been. I don't want to be fired for trying to cover it up, and I very much prefer to be honest. So I reported the "adjustment disorder" on the disclosure form, even though I ultra-condensed it to a few lines. I've decided to elaborate on that here. I am not a violent person---that should be obvious. Even my dragon characters (some of whom look scary to those not into SF or fantasy) are generally non-violent. I do have a fiery competitive streak and obviously I'm a bit eccentric, but in no way should this be construed as actually mental "illness". Since the interpretation of "illness" is fraught with hazard and misinterpretation, I'm going public with this stuff. After all, my treated Adult ADHD could also be considered an "illness"---at one extreme---or (at the other Rush Limbaugh extreme) a fake bullshit politically correct "condition" invented by a cabal of liberals and pharmaceutical companies. I am living testament that (1.) ADHD is DEFINITELY real, at least in some people since it is obviously overdiagnosed in children; (2.) For someone "mentally ill" I am pretty damn resilient and downright adaptable; (3.) Since I started getting treatment for my ADHD in 1998 (first with that crappy Dexedrine/dextroamphetamine, and then the non-stimulant atomoxetine hydrochloride/Strattera) I have gone from being an underacheiving, unfocused waste of talent---washing dishes from September 1993 to June 1998---to getting many of my life goals in gear, and sure enough I've been promoted several times. Now at age 34 I'm quite younger than average for a "full" Floor supervisor, though as said this does not become set in stone until 2 march 2008 . . . and, of course, pending the acceptance of the disclosure forms I'm talking about.
There were a couple other possibly damning questions, one about traffic violations and another about tax problems. In Norwich, CT in summer 2005 I ran a red light and went a little fast, and got a ticket that I contested (only because the police officer was extremely unprofessional with his non-stop swearing) and wound up paying a reduced fine. (Next time I'll know to contact the abusive cop's supervisor, which is the correct procedure!) But that's small potatoes next to the tax thing. As anybody reading this journal knows (providing they have had the patience to read through a few extremely long entries!) not only did I have tax problems in 2007, I also had my wages garnished by the IRS when I hit financial rock-bottom in spring 2007. My tax issues are also not fully resolved, and now that I finally got my 2007 W-2's (Foxwoods always takes FOREVER getting them out!) I fully intend to get the whole damn thing resolved with the state and federal tax agencies well before April 15th! I will say this alone might prevent me from getting promoted though I've already been accepted . . . we will see. They will also do credit checks, etc, now that I've gone through hell and back again, in that category! 2007 is still haunting me.
*keeps fingers crossed*
And then, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the required birth certificate and social security card were nowhere to be found---I had them in a secure container, but that container had been moved! (Not by me . . . ) So add a few hours of frenzied search through the closets through boxes and envelopes, and my wife Kathy finally found the envelope of required documents about four hours before the deadline! (The envelope had been taken out of the metal box they had been kept in, too . . . ) Frazzled and lacking sleep, I rushed to work on my day off and turned them in about an hour before the deadline. Behind me, the house was a shambles with opened boxes, bagfuls of discarded mail and clutter, and kicked-up dust.
As bad and humiliating as this final part was, it could have been a lot worse. I was born in San Diego, California---not Connecticut. A lost Social Security card is easily replaceable since there's an office in Norwich. Same thing, if I was born locally. Had Kathy and I not found the birth certificate? I'd have to snail-mail City Hall in San Diego, meaning a couple weeks for the arrival of another copy, which of course would be too late.
Yep, I'd be fucked. I had my driver's license (also required in the disclosure forms!) with me the whole time, so no complications there!
Anyway, sorry to inundate and overwhelm people with another extremely long, frustration-riddled entry, but sometimes this kind of stuff helps me grow and become more responsible. I generally don't ask for these kind of things---because they can be selfish and superficial, and easily abused---but keep me in your prayers (or thoughts, if you are atheist?) I fear I could be fired because of what I'm reporting in the disclosure form, even though I am telling the truth and I am trying hard as I can to rectify remaining problems.
I really, truly hope I'm overreacting here, but at the same time I recognize and respect the Tribe's desire to rid itself of shady, irresponsible people. Therefore, I've said what I've said, in brief on the disclosure form, and in full detail (with some requisite whining and venting, naturally!) here on my journal.
The next entry will be belated Elfwood art updates.
link post comment
