I feel the power surge through me when this little snazzy thing is snapped on to my cardigan. Let’s recap how the name tag came through for me:
- My supervisor is pretty awesome, the rehab institute is as low-key as I could ever hope for, and I have a tag-team situation as there’s another girl from my program there with me. 99% of students don’t get that luxury. Boom, name tag in action.
- I only have to be there 8-10 hours a week. Others are in hospitals 5 days a week, 8 hours a day. Amazing (for me).
- I also get to work with 2- and 3-year-olds a few hours a week! Let me repeat that: I get to sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider”, bust out some fun toys, and give high-fives to cute kids during what is normally only an adult therapy experience. A single tear of happiness trickled down my cheek.
- It calmed my rising middle finger to salute the tool who yelled “Run, Forrest, run” as I was sprinting through a crosswalk that had 8 seconds on the timer, all while I was wearing heels and carrying heavy bags.
- I had my tag off while at El Pollo Loco for a quick lunch, and was disappointed to discover that they were out of the breast and wing pieces (All you serve is breast, wing, leg, thigh. Let’s stock up on your one and only menu item, of which your establishment is named, during the lunch rush, yeah? [Business manager in the making]). The next day I went back, with name tag firmly clipped and they had their lovely citrus-flavored, flame-grilled breast and wing meals. Let’s just say I don’t believe in coincidences.