Last week my co-op sent me a drug test. No big deal as I only participate in the satanic rituals that don't involve halucinogens. Oops, the Ivy State grads that work in Cincinnati said my hair was too short to test. Again, no big deal. I'll just call the HR department and explain the situation. Oops, that woman is on vacation this week, so I call my boss. Now it is a well-known fact that designers don't give a flying fuck about corporate bullshit, and I could tell he was annoyed when I called. That aside, he thought it wouldn't be a huge deal and that it wouldn't delay my start date, Monday. So I left town Friday morning. The HR woman calls me at four o'clock on Friday, 100 miles into Kentucky, telling me to go back to Cincinnati and take a piss test or something. Oh, you're on your way? Well then just call again Monday morning. Guess who doesn't show up to work until 11:30. She sends me some place in downtown Atlanta; they have no problem taking my hair. I call her up and am informed that I still can't start until my results come back in 72 hours. This all adds up to me sitting around until at least Thursday when I will likely be informed that I failed the test because I ate a poppy seed bagel or something. Awesome.
On a much better note, I found a gym in town that specializes in Crossfit. It's cheap, and I'll finally be taught to do all the movements the right way (I was told yesterday how terrible my deadlift form was.)