I have come up with the perfect analogy for my current job. Prepare yourselves, all- I'm actually going to make a sports reference.
In this confusing game we call work, we in the Social Services department basically compromise Special Teams. Stay with me; it's true, and not just because the rest of the professionals think we're a little bit pansy. Mostly, it's because no matter how many interceptions are thrown, we come in at the end and still get blamed for losing the game. Oh, and I never get to tackle anyone. It seems the only meaningful difference is that my hamstrings are not nearly as limber as real kickers.
Without boring you with the details of the mounds of paperwork, Advance Directives, Adult Protective Services abuse allegations, and discharge planning I spend my time on, I'll move on to my new, much more interesting job. Happily, it more closely resembles Special Forces than Special Teams. Right on.
In what may or may not be a thinly veiled attempt to get my foot in the door for those coveted hospital social work jobs, I am now officially also employed as an on-call crisis worker in the ER at a local hospital.
It. Freakin. Rocks.
Well, at least the first 3 hours of training did.
I get to tackle (the second football reference was unintentional, though in retrospect, pretty much rad) drug and alcohol detox, psych referrals, and suicide assessments, plus whatever else the nursing staff wants to pass on. I can be found wearing the pager between 11 pm and 8 am on Wednesday nights. I'm pretty sure pagers are so dorky they've actually rounded the corner and returned to awesome- a little like neon colored fanny packs. Awe-some.