Panic Attacks

I think I was probably leaking adrenaline for much of this Wednesday... Talk about panic after panic!!

It was the first day of my "job" (really just working a few days for this company; they don't have an office here so don't get too excited!) The job is for a travel agency, to guide/host some groups coming in from other countries for a congress.

3 hours before I had to leave the house, the boss calls...
Him: "have any questions about the dress code?"

I had already asked someone about the dress code, and she said I had to look nice, "interview" nice, but that nice jeans were OK (contradictory?? I guess not in Sweden). So I told him that, and do you know what he said??
"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of something an airplane stewardess would wear..."

Me saying: "So like with a blazer?"   (Me thinking: "AAAHHHH SHIITTTT!!!")
Him: "Yeah, if you have one, that'd be great!"
Me saying: "ok, sounds good, i can do that!"    (Me thinking: "WHAT THE HELL AM I GONNA DO??")

Yeah, I left all my nice business professional clothes (besides a glorious blouse) in the US. Sorry if I didn't want to waste my precious 40lbs of luggage on uptight businesswoman clothes!! My attitude was that when I get a job, I'll either be a dishwasher and not need them, or earn enough to buy tons of business clothes. At this point, there wasn't time to go downtown and shop for new clothes, and get some other stuff done. I called a trusty American I recently met. She saved me by immediately bringing some things, one of which worked. Blazer: Check. Now for the bottom. How about my black skirt? No, the skirt was way too casual, and too big (I bought it in France, when my staple food was Camembert cheese and I had been on a 7-month croissant kick)... It fit like our Kapaun skirts when we bought them 4 sizes too big so they'd be low-rise. Basically I looked like a witch.

With an hour and a half left, I was still f-r-e-a-k-i-n-g out with no nice clothes to wear, still needing to go make some copies and shower, etc. Saving the day, my assistant/boyfriend made the trek to the (hellhole) mall for me and bought an array of very nice business clothes, including perfect slacks. With the clothing dilemma mostly solved, I checked the mail when I was almost ready to leave...

An envelope from the tax office!!! It must be my personal number, to make it legal to get paid by this job I'm about to go work at!! I'm thinking, "Oh good, something to make my day better and to relax me!" So naturally I rip the envelope open. Too excited/hurried to do any real thinking, I read one word. "What does avslår mean?" Christoffer said it means "reject."

After panicking for about 2 minutes and producing even more adrenaline, I realized that I knew my rights, and that there had to be some mistake (not AT ALL surprising for these gov't offices to screw up, after my experiences with them). So I calm down, and decide I'll deal with it later. (Found out later I was right, thank goodness!!)

The morning of this nerve-wracking day is enough to make a very long and tedious post, so I'll leave it at this for now. I can't bear to have any more text than this today. I'll write about the job later. (the short version of it now: it went well)

Miss everyone!