So, I got this ornate, whiz bang Diploma from the US of A announcing in impressive gold letters that I was now qualified to do the job I had just stepped away from. What it means is I could do the practical part of the job without any problems – hence the Diploma, the membership card, the sleeve patches, car stickers – alas, there was no magic decoder ring - bummer. It also means I can use that Diploma anywhere in the world to do that particular job. Why did I leave the job if I passed the practical? Because I suck at the theory. I’m a doer. I act. I move. I sort. I fix. I don’t stuff around analyzing the theoretical prospects of something. It’s not me. If you want the problem fixed fast – come see me. Just don’t expect me to write the medical specifics utilizing Latin words while saying the politically correct thing every time as I pick from a multitude of codes to label the problem. That ain’t me.
I looked at the whiz bang Diploma one last time and shoved it back into the large envelope, along with all the other whizz-bangery and I put it on the shelf in my office, never to probably see the light of day again and I move on ever practical in my approach to life.