Temping’s not so bad
[Once again, I'm mining my emails for posts. Only Dennis would notice, but I feel the need to point it because I see nothing wrong with using my same pieces over and over and over again. I'm recycling!]
Last week, I took a temp job. While the money isn’t great, it’s enough to stop the hemorraging my bank account has experienced since my lay off last September.
My first day was a little rough, but things improved greatly by day two. It’s a smidge stressful to be situated into a new “family” that is soooooooooo far from my own experiences, it’s not even funny. Okay, that’s not true — it is pretty funny. Have you ever heard venture capitalists talk business? I swear to God, it might as well be Greek! I don’t understand ANY of it, though I hear it would start making sense in about five months. Since this gig is only for two months, that probably won’t happen for me!
My favorite part of this little culture clash was their plans for their annual Christmas luncheon at an LA’s strip club. Two days before the outing, the company founder couldn’t get enough of telling everyone about the party locale. At some point the next day, he started whispering the words “strip club,” whenever the subject came up (always by him!). I’m certain it was because of me! I give off a frigid vibe which is not entirely who I am. I could tell them stories that would shock them. I’m sure they would have invited me along to their luncheon then! I was told there will probably be plenty of opportunities for me to join them at other outings, but not the Christmas one as I’d only put in three days!
They are funny guys and very welcoming to me, even with the strip club nonsense, so fitting in has been easy. They don’t treat me like “the temp,” they draw me into their chats — so fun! Today, someone mentioned that he met Famous Businessman recently and was impressed that he was a nice, humble man. Didn’t he found Super Successful Company that made a ton of money, someone else asked. “Yeah, he’s a billionaire. He’s sixty years old and he’s boning a forty year old. Opps, sorry Flo. I forgot you were there.” was the reply. I put my fingers in my ears as the other person said, “Yes, excuse us, Flo. He makes love to a forty year old! That’s it!”
Minutes later, the other person checked his messages by my desk, the billionaire comes back in their discussion. They agree that “seeing” a forty year old woman is impressive when the man is sixty. I nod as if I know what they mean.
“Are you married, Flo?”
I paused, then said, “I’m separated.”
“Children?” I’m asked.
“No.”
“Want some?”
I looked up from my desk to face him, as others laughed out loud. “You mean right now?!”
He laughed, too. “No. One day?”
“Yes.” I giggled.
“How old are you?”
“Mid-thirties.”
“Mid-thirties? Hey, that’s better than a forty year old!”
“So you’re going to introduce me to the billionaire?” I did my best Catherine Zeta Jones inspired hair flip, but I doubt anyone noticed.
“Yeah, you should go out with him. He’s a billionaire!” The other man walks away from my desk, “He may not be funny or attractive, but that’s okay — he’s a billionaire!”
I stood up straight in my seat, “Wait a minute. He’s not cute? Hmmmm…”
Yes, the people are funny, but the job is boring. Boring. BORING. B.O.R.I.N.G….It’s non-stop boredom, and it gets to me. I tried everything I could think of to pass the time: I studied the office manual, made filing labels for the stack of legal size files that meet up to my eyes, filed them until I cut my cuticles open (quick pooling blood around my fingernails looked so dramatic!), practiced my office skills with online typing tests and excel tutorials, checked my email every five minutes (sometimes more) and on and on and on. I asked for things to do, but there’s not much happening during the holiday season. So, I sat and stared at my monitor as I brainstormed ways to occupy my time.
This afternoon, out of nowhere, I thought, “Office Haiku!” I was so excited by the thought that someone else someplace else (possibly in the office next to me) was just as bored as me. A quick search confirmed it — there are some veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery bored people out there. Check it out: Office Haiku, Adventures in Working.
Now before you send out an indignant letter explaining to me how true Japanese haikus don’t quite translate into english, before moving on to the high points of the American haiku and its reliance on metric feet, not syllables or some such explanation, let me point out that 1) I can search wikipedia, too; and 2) I still don’t understand that super complicated explanation about metric feet and its qualitative meter and the trophy, teridactyl and antipasta. If by some miracle, you do understand these terms, please dumb it down as much as possible, then email it to me. Until then, I decided to work in the very simple 5-7-5 syllable system. Here’s what I wrote:
Christmas lunch for staff,
Not invited, that’s okay,
Strippers not my thing
Isn’t this fun? Here’s another:
Baskets full of files,
Sliced open my cuticles,
Band-Aids stop the blood
I’m not entirely sure if those were constructed correctly. If they’re not, I bet I’ll hear about it!
Forced back into work
No money in my account,
Temping’s not so bad!
Adios,
Flo
1 comment December 27th, 2006