Being an RA

Okay so a lot of you non-North Carolinians that I know have been asking about life as an RA. Life as an RA is great. Ish. I mean, I LOVVVE it beyond a lot of other things (strained peas, for one). Nah, I'm just kidding, I actually do really love my job. Especially since my residents rock my world, we have a sweet suite band, and it turns out my life calling may be bulletin-board making. But alas, I can appease your curiosity no more. There is this thing called "confidentiality" but I mean, let's be honest, I don't really like big words. I usually stop reading after 5 or 6 letters and "confid" means NOTHING to me. Just kidding, what was I talking about? Right. I can't really talk about anything. I mean, my residents could be reading this, my fellow RAs, my boss, or maybe even my future boss with Denver Waste Management services. No resume can save me from that kind of irresponsible RA-ship.

So here's what you get: RAs are awesome. We really are. I've seen some stuff, I've talked to some people. I get trained on some stuff I hope to never deal with. Some people come to me, some people don't. Some RAs get fired, most don't though. I have a sweet badge. I carry a walkie-talkie. I have called the police. More than once. I have called EMS. More than once. I have smelled things that one should not smell on a dry campus. Trash in the hallways is not tolerated. I am a nice person deep down. I got free pancakes on rounds one night. I like everybody. My residents really do rock. I'm not looking forward to Halloween. I'm not good at programming. So basically, there has been stuff, there will be stuff. I can't talk about this stuff.

Confid.