I guess it was the very high humidity, but something made my lungs cease up yesterday. I felt like there was a band around my chest keeping me from breathing properly. Asthma sucks some days. I've been a good girl lately, though, and finally admitted that I need an inhaler.

It didn't help. I  trained two people in the morning (they'd been sick thhe day before) and thought I was going to die after reading all the exemplars aloud. I really really wanted to go home. But I still had to train the entire group in the afternoon, so I stuck it out.

Turns out that I shouldn't have bothered. 3 people, out of 9, passed the quals on the first try. A two thirds fail-rate can't reflect well on anyone. And I totally don't understand why they failed. The quals were the most obvious set you could ask for. Basically, except for the 0s and 1s you could have picked the scores by length.

The only thing that I can chalk it up to is that the training was split because we finished the last item at 3pm, and they qualified in the morning. The implications of that are pretty frightening, though. Does that mean that people only qualify in decent numbers because they usually do so immediately after training? Jesus.

I'm not so thrilled with my group in general, anyway. These people can't even be trusted to remember consistently that they need to put their names on the qual sets and keep giving zeros to a category that can't have a zero.

Not to mention that there's this guy who after three days I realized is flirting with me. It only took me so long to figure out because he's got to be my dad's age. Eek. (based on him commenting on applying to a job at a school in 1981. I was in preschool in 1981!) Scorers flirt, I get that I'm cute to some, but most of the time they're twenty-somethings like me.  Much older guys, though, I usually consider "safe," and inevitably uninterested. Apparently not. I might not have realized that if not for someone on the Dope talking about being interested in a woman half his age, too. Thanks Skald!

What strikes me as particularly untoward about this guy's comments (mostly about my clothes and jewelry...the sort women make frequently, but straight men rarely do unless they've got an agenda) is that he doesn't know how old I am. Most people think I'm in my early twenties based on my looks, though I probably act my age in most respects but he started in from the get-go. He needs to get a clue, so I guess I'll have to be less friendly and more dismissive from now on.  Sheesh. I really don't need this in addition to everything else that happens at work.