Data Entry. Yay. Ok, maybe not EXACTLY yay, but much more intriguing than filing 'til my hands bleed.
Spend the majority of the day entering equipment data into the US Customs database. Mindless drivel, but it's ok. After fighting with my software last night and 2 hours of Spanish recitations, the brain is mush.
I go back to the Office Manager's area to turn in the registrations for the trailers and get the ones for the trucks. She has an old yearbook from her Senior year. We find her, and her brother in there, giggle at the hairstyles, etc... She asks me when I graduated. I tell her.
"You're eight years younger than me?"
"Wow. I don't feel as old as you look."
The other girls in the office bust up laughin', and I just take it in stride. Stupid is as stupid does. So anyhow, we see another picture of her playing volleyball (an old b&w) and I tease her about not knowing they had cameras back then. She was talking about stuff going on at the time. I told her I didn't remember; I was in 4th grade at the time.
So I leave their office area with the satisfaction that they are aware I am younger than ALL of them; and always will be.
Now I'm gonna take my old, tired ass back home, curl up on my couch and start my Geritol drip.