Can I get a "whoot whoot"?

Dear Sirs and/or Madams and/or Other;

It is my pleasure to inform you that, as of this date, Miss Emily C. F------, of St. John's, Newfoundland, is now gainfully employed by an outsourced call centre on behalf of General Motors.

Hoo-rah.

Yours truly,
the Above.

(All that fretting and they didn't even ask to see my transcript/diploma/whatever. Hunh. Also, I apparently type at seventy wpm. Who knew? I certainly didn't.)

*does the not-going-to-be-homeless-in-March dance*

BWAHAHA.

anigo is coming to St. John's in March. I shall kidnap her and keep her under the sink. Muahaha.

So hip I can't see over my own pelvis.

Today, I:

Got up at six thirty.
Dressed myself in Grown-Up Clothes.
Rejoiced in how I didn't have to unbutton my trousers to put them on; considered investing in the next size down when I landed a job.
Caught the bus.
Missed my busstop and didn't panic. Got off at next one, walked further.
Arrived at interview, fifteen minutes early.
Aced the typing test, 'job aptitude test', and 'ability to fill out forms' test.
Wondered about some of the questions on the 'job aptitude test' being entirely ethical, decided to not raise a stink until AFTER they'd given me the job. (Seriously: True or False? "I am capable of experiencing true joy"/ "I sometimes feel like there's no point, and it prevents me from getting things done." Yes, I lied on those questions.)
Made my interviewer laugh.
Listened in on a couple of calls.
Said "Yes, I would like to do this job."
Signed contract.
Organised a carpool.
Went to Tim's.
Wandered around a bit.
Came home.
Spent rest of day in state of joyous shock.

... all, I find out ten minutes ago when I notice the label, with my trousers on backwards. Yep. I am just that cool.