In my short time as a reporter I have gotten to meet some truly amazing people.

I think that’s my favorite part about this job. I get to go places, see things and meet people I would have never been able to otherwise. This is true of my experience yesterday.

I was told earlier in the week that I would be covering a woman who was a guest speaker at a gala. Whoop-de-do, yet another thing to put on my long list of Saturday tasks.

How wrong I was.

Friday I did a little research to prepare me for the interview and as I read I became more and more amazed at the woman I was going to get to meet. Her story was not only horrific, it was inspiring.

She survived the Rwanda genocide, a story in itself, but after that she went on to forgive the unforgivable and become and inspiration to not only her country but all over the world.

After that, I got to go to the reopening of a park that had been remodeled. This park was just a park to me, but to the neighborhoods that fought for years to get it cleaned up and family friendly it was an answered prayer.

In a predominantly black neighborhood, the children were not the ones swinging in the park or laughing in the grass. No, drug deals were going on and crime scene tape had been put in place several times after people were murdered.

So while the hamburgers and hotdogs served Saturday were nice, the park meant hope and a future to the people living there. I asked one woman how she felt about the park and all she said, and all she needed to say was, “It means a lot.”

One little boy was asked the same question and as he looked at the huge park with newly planted grass and the shiniest play set he’d ever seen he described the beer bottles and the needles that used to be strewn about. Then he described the park he now saw. He said it was a mansion.

Wow.

I get to meet people and hear their stories, I get to see there faces during moments of joy. My job isn’t always easy, and sometimes I get down. But times like these make me realize how lucky I am to be doing what I do.

So I found the type of news that people just eat up.

I wrote an article about a woman claiming to be the ex-girlfriend of “balloon boys” father. She hadn’t dated the man in years, but she knew certain character traits he had possessed when they weren’t dating and called “hoax” before the charges were brought against him.

I wrote the article, my editor read over it and we published it.

The next day I got a call from Inside Edition, the place where Bill O’Reily of the O’Reily Factor got his start. They said they read the article and would like to talk with the woman I interviewed.

Then two days later I got an email from Entertainment Tonight asking for contact information after reading the article. I also was quoted on an article from Fox News.

Intriguing that I can write about a man coming out of a coma and pointing out the man who killed him, about a child conquering a deadly disease and about the former head of the FBI’s special disaster team’s reactions to Lockerbie’s terrorist being released. But this is what gets attention.

News today, huh.

So a part of my daily duties is long and tedious, but necessary.

Everyday I call every fire department and police department in the area. At first I was unsure what to say but after calling twice a day, five days a week I’ve gotten my stride and now the folks that answer the phone know me and are no longer shy with talking.

The purpose of my calls is to see if we missed anything on the scanner such as a fire, robbery or an unusual circumstance. Nine times out of 10 there’s absolutely nothing going on. But I guess with having a regimented calling schedule the firefighters are getting used to my calls and now I hear some of the greatest things ever.

So here’s my spiel:
“Hi, this is Angel with the Daily News. I was calling to see if there were any incidents in your area.”

Since I began this I have heard some of the funniest things.

One fire department told me an in-depth story about installing a fan in the bathroom and electrocuting the poor firefighter who was doing the installing. They thought it was print worthy, I had to sadly let them down.

Another answered my question, “Oh yeah. There were dead babies everywhere” and as soon as I start getting excited and writing profusely he goes, “Nah, I’m just kidding we haven’t done anything.”

A favorite of mine was, “Dear god Angel, the Florida State game is on.”

I’ve heard it all. One dispatcher had highlighted her hair and was unsure of if it looked good. Another dispatcher had some less kind encounters with the reporter that called, developed a crush on me and asked me out over the phone — I had never seen the man and politely declined.

I look forward to developing a relationship with the local first responders.

So here’s to more stories, more funny interactions and more fun in the public safety beat!

As a reporter, I tend to be more shy when it comes to sensitive subject matters. I don’t enjoy calling victims families or preying on the weak that have been the highlight of the community for some negative news.

I like to give the interviewee the option of talking to me, and I don’t like to press interviews. I don’t care if the jobs on the line or not. I also like to be kind. I feel that if I give off kindness then I will receive the same thing.

All of that changed Wednesday.

I sit at my desk on a regular basis going through public records, writing up incident reports and listening to the scanner. That’s my job. Wednesday I hear over the scanner that there has been a stabbing. OK, not something we usually rush to. Then I hear it’s been at the mall. That’s when the keys came out and the pedal was put to the metal.

All I was told to do before hand was to call the sheriff’s office’s public relations lady to get what information I could, I call we talk, she says good luck at the scene.

I arrive and find the fire truck and ambulance that confirms I’m in the right area.

I walk in looking for the stores mentioned over the scanner. Once I find the area I take pictures. I did not hide my camera, my press badge or my notebook. I just went about my business.

After standing, waiting for something to happen for about 20 minutes, the trouble began.

A large, short woman wearing a white t-shirt and ratty black shorts comes up to me and begins yelling, and I do mean yelling at me. Now realize, the past 20 minutes I have not spoken to anyone, I’ve been standing outside the alloted perimeter quietly keeping to myself until the investigation is complete. Then out of nowhere, angry woman.

“You can’t be here,” she yelled. “Do you want to be arrested? This is private property, you have to leave.”

I stood there completely frozen at a loss as to what to say. Perhaps this is a family member? They don’t want the world to know that there son got into a fight causing him to be stabbed? No clue.

She went on to tell me that, despite her lack of uniform, she was mall security and that the mall was on private property and I was not wanted.

After threatening to have me arrested, again, I asked a nearby officer if it was OK that I be there. The officer didn’t know and didn’t care.

So the mall cop went on to talk to the officer. Then she turned right back around and started the same spiel, I was not wanted and I could leave.

Now as I type this I’m calm, cool and collected. At the time, I wanted to run into a corner and cry.

I don’t get yelled at. I’m nice, polite and I look like a little girl. People are nice to me and I’m nice to them. Suffice to say, I don’t do well when someone is mean, especially when I’ve done nothing to deserve the abuse.

After the woman yelled at me in front of everyone a little bit more, her supervisor came in to again tell me to leave. I told the woman sorry for stepping on their property, and that I had spoken with the sheriff’s office and was told it would be alright that I be there.

They took my paper name and asked for my name. I began telling her my name and when she asked me to spell it I held my badge up for her to see it. Little did I know, I was so shaken up my hand was trembling. I decided to drop the badge and spell out the last name instead. I’ll be darned if those people would get the satisfaction of seeing me upset.

I finished giving my name and getting a number I could call the next morning for information and headed for my car. Once inside, the tears came.

I realize that crying because the big, bad mall cop yelled at me is pathetic on multiple levels, but at the time I was shaken up and not expecting anything like that.

Once I got back to the office I was praised for even making it into the mall, let alone getting pictures.

Little did I know, the mall is not kind to any reporters. My ignorance actually got me farther in than any other reporter could have.

So there Ms. Mall Cop.

So I’ve been working for less than three weeks and boy is the daily news business different than the weekly news business.

My schedule is in a word weird. I come in at 1 p.m. and work until 9 or 10 p.m. and I’m off on Sundays and Mondays — I’m not complaining, I’m just adjusting.

Not only am I learning to deal with working a night shift, I’m also learning to do breaking news. With the weekly newspaper, I there were no breaking stories. We came out once a week, what was the rush. We could call the next day, get the quotes, have them send us the picture. Easy, peasy. Not always the best, but if the situation called for it we’d be good to go.

With the daily, I am constantly listening to the scanner, ready to dash at any moment. On most days I’m not even given a writing assignment, but I leave having always written something. Breaking news happens all the time, whether or not its a good thing is in the eye of the beholder.

Everyday I have to call the local fire departments and police stations and on most days they have no recent incidents to report, and every time they say nothing happened they sound surprisingly disappointed. Some have even joked that they wish a fire would happen or a shooter were on the loose. One fire department reported that they had a new fan put into the bathroom and that the poor guy installing got shocked because his buddies turned the power back on. It must have been a really slow night since we chatted for about 10 minutes.

With the daily, I’m also getting use to having a photographer. Before, I was carrying a camera, recorder and on occasion video camera. Now I just tell them where to be and all I’ll worry about is talking to some folks and finding out the facts. I found that my reporting is better, more accurate and I can find out more than surface-level information. In a word: I love it.

But the best part came on Wednesday — my first pay check. That’s right folks, I finally have money!

After being unemployed for months, I had almost forgotten what is was like to be paid. It came and it was beautiful. I am making a great deal more money than I was at my past job and the check I handed into the bank showed it. Plus, working the night shift means the possibility for overtime is a lot greater, which means time and half for the pay check.

I can’t wait to go shopping again, it’s been so long.

After months of taking what some would call a summer vacation I decided on the time and the place to start the job hunt back up. For some reason, however, I had a constant feeling in the back of my mind that when all I had to do was over a job would just fall into my lap, which was silly since I hadn’t applied anywhere.

But God is good all the time.

Four days before I was set to leave for West Virgina on a mission trip I got a call from one of my old editors. He had recieved a call from the editor of a local daily newspaper about an hour from my house asking for recommendations on two former interns that applied for a position as a general assignment reporter. My former editor being the wonderful man that he is suggested me to the man because of my connections locally and called me immediately after talking with the daily newpaper’s editor.

“I think you’d be perfect for this job and I talked you up, I think if you give him a call you could at least get an interview.”

How right he was. I called less than 10 minutes later and was asked to email my resume and later that day some how recieved an interview despite the fact that the paper had gone through hundreds of applicants and narrowed it down to two people, neither of which were me.

After a four-hour long interview, I felt confident leaving the state that I did a good job and recieved an invitation to come back for a second interview and a trial run at writing a story.

Then came the storm.

I was told the background of the story that I would be writing, it would be covering the town I used to be working in and the woman who scared me for months on end, also known as my former employeer would be speaking at this meeting. I was terrified of having to face this woman again, of what she would say and of what she had told everyone when I left.

I arrived 30 minutes early and saw her vehicle, she was already there. But right after stepping out of my car I was reminded that the area outside of the newsroom was welcoming and kind and had a reunion with several locals I’d done stories on or used as sources and felt welcome again.

I sat at the media table in the meeting room, one of the first to take a seat not seeing the woman who just months ago said she thought I’d be better off staying far away from the news industry. Hands shaking, I forced myself to be engrossed in the handout I was given, not wanting to see her when she walked in.

Then I heard that familiar voice, with a little more tension and suprise. Behind her was a former coworker, who just weeks before had been fired. Her desperation had come back when she asked him to cover the meeting since she had only one staff writer left. And then it was time for my revenge.

No I didn’t spit in her face, ignore her or say spiteful words, I just said the truth.

As soon as my former co-worker came in he, trying to be funny, introduced himself stating his name and my former newspaper. So I used the opportunity, I said my name and the paper that I was interviewing with, their main competitor if you can call having thousands more readers even competition.

The face on the woman I once called the Spawn of Satan could have killed, but I knew it got to her. She chose not to speak to me the rest of the evening. But I chose to take the high road and told her goodbye as I left realizing that my fears I had built up about her were pointless.

I wrote the story and received a call the next day asking if I would be interested in taking the position. After praying about it, I took the job.

I am now the night shift general assignment writer and online media guru.

Wish me luck!

My father is an aspiring song writer and now has a song, music video and campaign for the men and women serving in the military.

Check out Amazon, Rhapsody, or Napster to hear the song or go to YouTube or MySpace to see the awesome ghetto music video my friend Chris made for the song.

A professional video will be made the summer to go with the song, directed by the same person that directed a video for Beyonce.

For more information, head to www.Herosonly.com.

Since quitting my job I have found that I can find ways to bide my time.

Between the beach, cleaning the house and the yard, volunteering at church and wasting my brain away watching CSI: NY the days are flying by, but in a good way. I’ve even counted over $90 worth of change.

I hadn’t thought of this until talking with my friend Kim, a far more relaxed version of me. She said that I hadn’t taken a break since highschool and it was about time. Then I thought about it.

I have worked vigiorously taking summer school, working for six years at a retirement center and breaks have been few and far between. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t stressed out and crying. I just worked hard to get done quick. Looking back I wonder why.

So since my dive into the unemployment world I’ve gone to the beach more, spent more times with my family and friends and actually have relaxed. I was hired four days after I graduated college, my break never came. So as Kim puts it, I’m making up for lost time.

I don’t know what the future holds but the summer is looking to be quite busy even without having a full-time job. I’ve been nominated to be the director of our Sunday School’s Vacation Bible School where we’ll be heading to New Martinsville, W.V. I’ve also volunteered to teach at my local church’s vacation bible school.

God’s given me an opportunity to take the time to relax and do some of His work, I’m excited for the chance.

I’m from a southern town where most of the boys favorite thing to do is hunt. Now I’ve never found the idea of sitting in a cold wooded area early in the morning waiting for a creature that I can take the life away from all that appealing, but I think I may know how it feels.

I’m looking for a job, but not just a job. I’m looking for one that I will actually enjoy. I know, I’m a recent college graduate who wants to be picky about her next job when the unemployment rate is the highest it’s ever been. Call me optimistic.

So I’m on the hunt. Seeking the perfect job for me, wherever it may be.

But the hunt is not as exciting as the word implies. First there’s the waiting. Like an old man sitting in a chair deep in the woods I am sitting at my computer just waiting for Careerbuilder, Monster or JournalismJobs to get back to me that they’ve found the perfect job for me.

But that’s just the beginning. The hunt is about finding that perfect 10 pointer and similar to the boys wearing green, brown and orange peering through the thick to see the deer I am peering into the thick to see who’s hiring and who will take me.

I’ve applied at American Cancer Society, Zimmerman Agency, countless newspapers and written several companies about freelance opportunities, now I just need the deer to show.

When the time comes for the kill, or the interview I’m waiting for, I need to be ready. Hunters wait for hours for an instant chance to get the deer. Those of us unfortunate enough to be unemployed are waiting for that one interview, the one chance to show that you are the one thing their company has been missing and if we blow that one chance another might not come.

Then comes the best part. That part where everyone walks by my fridge and sees the deer in my hand. Let me explain.

I have a friend Meagan who loves hunting, possibly more than all the boys. While checking around the kitchen for food on one of my visits to her house I see the most disgusting picture ever taken. Meagan is grinning from ear to ear holding her massive deer, blood dripping. When I asked about the picture she proudly told me all about her hunting experience.

When it’s my turn to get my deer, I’ll tell everyone all about my hunting experience.

In the meantime though, I’m enjoying what hunters would deem as the waiting portion, what takes the longest. I’ve decided to enjoy this time where I am unemployed, out of school and out of responsibilities. I’ll be volunteering with the cancer society, teaching a Vacation Bible School class, preparing for a mission trip, heading to New York, Utah and Louisiana.

For those thinking, “You’re unemployed!?! Why are you traveling the world with no source of income?”

Well, the beauty of degrading myself to move back in with the folks means I have money saved, no rent and groceries in the fridge. The best part, my parents are being incredibly supportive with the idea of taking my time to find the job I will love.

In the meantime, I’ll hunt for the small deer that will give me just a little dough.

I wrote this in September, I should have known…

I sit, I stand, I walk around but the minute has not changed and I still have an hour to go. I graduated from college a little over a month ago and have been in the working force for a day less than a month, and I hate it. I hate the sitting and staring at the clock, I hate that my brain continual hurts from not doing anything exciting, at all. I hate that I am confined into a small area and I hate that the people I spend the most time with now are my co-workers. I hate my job. Why is it I am forced to follow someone else’s guidelines and schedule, I am just a slave to this place, this awful place.

Maybe I’m being a little over dramatic, I work at a small weekly newspaper close to my hometown, so yes this does mean that I moved back in with mom and dad, I am not ashamed. Mom makes my lunch and cooks dinner, because I am always the last one home, but this time around I do pay bills and I am only living at home for a few years to save up money for school, oh how I miss school.

Eight hours of sitting at a desk staring at a computer is not my idea of a good time. I do enjoy the computer in relaxed settings where my every move is not monitored, but at work you have to be on guard and always aware that the boss will look to see what you’ve been doing. And as she has already told you, she owns the software that tells her every move you make on this demon of a laptop that sits at your tiny desk next to the doorway that causes you to have to move every time someone walks into the room, the joys I face five days a week.

Not to mention that last night was my breaking point, I had had it. The day was bad, not terribly bad, just not good. I couldn’t get my blasted camera to work, I finally caught up and did an online video and no one said anything yet gushed over my peer’s video, which I might add they have done every time she has made her 20 videos, sorry I was a journalism major.

Then that same peer decided to so kindly critique my writing, despite the fact that I have had many internships and went to one of the top schools for journalism, I just don’t seem to put any emotion in my articles. And the fact that I have been there for a month and was still the outsider, and never actually spoken to or invited to anything. No, nothing out of the ordinary, but on my way to a school board meeting, after work hours, driving my 40 minute commute, I lost it. And once the tears started rolling they could not be stopped. Once at the meeting I was able to wash my face with cold water and get through the incredibly boring meeting, but once in my car again the tears came. Once the floodgates are open there is no turning back.