So I’m back in the land of the unemployed. This is by choice, and in theory will not last long . . . and I’ve got enough on my plate anyway in the final four days before I fly out.

Still no sign whatsoever as to whether I passed my mystery shopper or not. Phooey.

I’m letting myself worry (me worry? never). Maybe I didn’t pass? Maybe, and this is my fear, maybe it simply was not able to happen in time before my final shifts at work? Both scenarios suck, although the latter is less my fault — it means I cannot be fully certified. No certificate, no little gold pin for my uniform, no reference I can put in my resume that I have something that 90% of job seekers going after the same jobs likely do not have . . . fuck.

Okay, I have to keep optimistic and just be patient. I already e-mailed the guy over the weekend requesting to be notified my e-mail. Work knows. And I did my best. It would just be fabulous to get this off my brain.

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