I have to start by acknowledging a few of the interviews that I have gone on. One, that I took six cookies to, with a thank you note (not fancy cookies, ones from the deli downstairs, and they were day old ones, at a tune of $2.sumodd cents), the woman I gave the cookies to thought this was OVER THE TOP - for a position as a "marketing" assistant. She was fat, and in her Kal-Mart sweater, with the appropriate gold laden jewelry amount, told me little about the actual job, but more about her Lupus and lonely single soon to be Forty life. I know that I am repeating this, but, it was symbolic in my life. I just couldn't quit yawning through the entire process. And since then, I have noticed that I yawn through several additional interviews. It's become my body's secret code for "GET OUT!!!! YOU WILL DIE HERE!!! CHEAP SWEATER ALERT!!! IT'S A TRAP!!"
I have decided that I cannot work at a place that I will compulsively yawn. I must forge on till the right job lands in my possession. Is it possible? In the current work climate, I am concerned about my journey. I'm thinking I might need bread crumbs or GPS tracking...something, should I go missing. There are many perils, I may face mortal danger. Yes, mortal danger...we've all heard the story of dying from boredom...I was in danger of being Bored to Death!!!!
Day 2 at the temp job:
First day was great! No responsibility, no talking, no phone ringing, not really anyway. So, I got paid to read.
But, people can't be quiet. They have to tell you their stuff. I am still holding on to the fact that Monday is my last day there, and that bodes such hope and promise. I will not be there anymore. But, I cannot count the number of brain cells lost already. They were good, with families, and such...just gone, without any report...as though they never existed. It's all very sad.
The yawns started shortly after arrival on day 2.
I have decided that I cannot work at a place that I will compulsively yawn. I must forge on till the right job lands in my possession. Is it possible? In the current work climate, I am concerned about my journey. I'm thinking I might need bread crumbs or GPS tracking...something, should I go missing. There are many perils, I may face mortal danger. Yes, mortal danger...we've all heard the story of dying from boredom...I was in danger of being Bored to Death!!!!
Day 2 at the temp job:
First day was great! No responsibility, no talking, no phone ringing, not really anyway. So, I got paid to read.
But, people can't be quiet. They have to tell you their stuff. I am still holding on to the fact that Monday is my last day there, and that bodes such hope and promise. I will not be there anymore. But, I cannot count the number of brain cells lost already. They were good, with families, and such...just gone, without any report...as though they never existed. It's all very sad.
The yawns started shortly after arrival on day 2.
This place is one that writes learning/training text manuals for the government on weapons, etc. Then they organize and go out to train the would-be soldiers on how to use them. I tried not to yawn on the fourth time I heard the T-Missile and "their" contribution to the using of them in the Gulf War. I guess everyone has to have something to be proud of. But, I can only muster, maybe, one more, "Good for you!!!! Good for your work!!! That's all very important, what you're doing."
The office is filled with people who's names are Tom, Ed, Mark, John, Joe, etc. Nothing cool to report on that. No one even seems to have a cool, back alley nickname or story of "One time, Scoopy was at the base and...", nothing, anything to stop my impending yawn attack.
All these men, stopping by to profess or boast complaints about other locations and people, about this or that, so that their level of mindless work is noticed, and obviously dominates the work of someone else. Tim Conway (you'll learn later), called five people to make sure that a fax number that I wrote down on a message, was in fact, the correct fax number...he's very busy. And the number was correct, even for a temp. But, he felt better and more secure about faxing the fax after check five times with five people. Thorough, if not anything.
People were supposed to check in with their badges, or get a temp one and be walked around with a regular worker, for obvious security reasons. I cannot give out badges. I'm a bit sad about that...just joking.
I felt more yawns were to come before a 1st Government allotted smoke break. I tried to amuse myself by cleaning under my nails with a thumbtack and then a paperclip until smoky time came round. I also tried sticky note origami. You can get instruction off the web for all the animals and everything. But, I wasn't very good, and the sticky part kept getting in the way of my art mastery. I was annoyed by it, but it could have been the lack of nicotine.
I began to look around a bit. Outdated awards hung in cheap, maybe wood frames, with plastic, not glass showing them off. All hanging on walls with dingy, pealing paint, scratches marking something had once occurred there, in average, not threatening to the imagination colors. (There was colorful wallpaper in the women's restroom. It was soothing and made me feel comfortable pooping there. And they did provide sented Avon hand lotion, for after you hands were washed, to prevent office drying.)
Lots of missing years in this mismatch award pile around the office. I noticed that the Special Olympics stickers, that were on a window stopped after only three years, sometime in the mid-90's. Maybe the "special person" died, or made someone mad, or there was a major security breach involving a gimp or a retard. I almost had a smile, but then I found it hard to find the interest to even make that call really. However, if I were going to be seriously messed with, I have a cane, and would not be afraid to cry, point at the stickers, and asked why they didn't like handicap people anymore.
And it was Casual Friday...not just there, but everywhere, I think. A nation of Casual Friday people. We all had to do it, it's important to maintain our inside selves with Causal Friday. That little nugget of supposed relief. Such bullshit. I wore the same pants that I did the day before in a different color...however, I did not change my socks, they were a tiny bit stinky...but, what the hell, it's fucking Casual Friday...Stink it up! Stinky McStinky!!!! I did want to be a team player, it's in my nature.
I wondered who would rebel and wear their suit...there had to be someone brave enough to take on the "man", take on the "establishment". Where was our hero? Not to be found today, amid all the jeans with butterfly appliques, and tan pants, and colored plastic beads instead of pearls, and casual company shirts...nope, not today. I was not that person either...I had disappointed myself, and felt the shame of it all, in my stinky socks. What a pussy.
How come there's no Casual Monday? That's what I want to know. All these cool, innovative (buzz word note), hip companies that think outside the box...well, where the Casual Monday? No one wants to get it all together, or on, for Monday. Who does that?!? Implementing Casual Monday - Now!, that would be innovative.
Innovative that word, that word that gets tossed around...so much, without direct action with its meaning...poor, poor word. Words can be raped and pillaged... and yet we do nothing. Word standing with bloated belly, naked, with flies buzzing around. For the price of a latte, you could save this word and many other just like it. Please, send me your money, and I will send you a letter from this word with a picture and progress notes monthly, after depositing you check. Together we can save lives. (I'm not joking...send me your money...you stingy bastard, in your fatcat Hummer....this is an emergency!!!! Send me your money!!!) I digress. I'm sorry.
I sat at the front desk eating my bright green apples. I brought two. They're small, and tart - and they wouldn't be worth mentioning at all, except for their bright green color, so loud against the brown , fake wood desk. They startled me out of a yawn in their brilliance. They screamed life in that dead place. LIFE!!!!!!!!!! I almost felt sorry for the off-color, faded, dusty flower arrangement standing in its corner. Even though it was standing in its ever so trendy "country kitchen" woven basket, there was no life there, no life in any form to be found.
And even though eating many green apples may cause over active bowels, I'm thinking I will take the risk and bring two more on Monday. Plus, the loud, crisp crunching noise I make when eating them seems to startle some people. Something like the electric shock after rubbing pajama feet on the carpet. I can tell they would like to think , there is a small hope, that it might be shots fired, but the disappointment face, it's just my apples. However, I am a temp. Anything could be, you know. Keep your eyes on me...that's for sure.
It's important to keep their eye on me, yes, indeed. Especially since temps have no history, no past, no future, etc. They are an elite breed called in when the regulars can't multi-task, when the regulars can't hang, can't cut the mustard, just can't do it all. There's no telling about a person such as a temp. We're all very mysterious.
Please keep in mind, while reading the above paragraph that I have answered the phone, approximately 12 times, and no more, in the past two days. Yes, I can understand why my services were needed. Why I was called in for this task. If not for me...then who? then WHO, I ask?!? You can't just have phones ringing without a person to answer them...THAT WOULD BE TOTAL CHAOS. It's a tough, thankless job, that temps do...and they wouldn't have it anyother way. It's the Code...shit, I've already said to much.
I have heard all about the woman I am taking over for. She's a dumbass. And her upcoming evaluation is going to stink for her...I'll tell you what. I resisted the urge to leave an anonymous note for her...could be me, or the other temp before me, who would have left it. And without costly fingerprint analysis, it would be hard to determine. But, I didn't.
The fact that she's an idiot is good for me. She doesn't do much, so their expectations of me are extremely low. Not much to have to meet.
The secretary that I report to, had her children while in her teens, and as the lineage goes on, she is a Great-Great Grandmother at barely fifty. She loves Avon products, and really wants me to try this new lip gloss that she desperately believes is just my color. She talks a lot. She's going to do Dumb-Ass's Eval. I said, like I cared, how I understood how hard it was going to be on her, and how was she going to do it? All that stress...oh the humanity.
Most of you may know that I talk a lot, too. And I am being out talked about nothing. That's no small feat...so we must honor her for a moment. (But, no more than that.) She gave me her card to keep in touch after Monday...we can have lunch she says. She likes Dairy Queen, and noted that when I bought my lunch from Joe's Crab Shack, that is was very expensive there, and I might want to change my call in order before I had to go over there and pay up. After all, IHOP was just down the road, and she wouldn't make me report my clock out time if I was just grabbing something. I didn't want to appear to be a lunch snob. I noted that, I wasn't aware about their menu prices, and I should have consulted her first, but now that I had already placed my order, I would just feel too bad for canceling it. I would just have to bite the bullet on this one, today. And I would have to take her solid lunch advise tomorrow.
The office is filled with people who's names are Tom, Ed, Mark, John, Joe, etc. Nothing cool to report on that. No one even seems to have a cool, back alley nickname or story of "One time, Scoopy was at the base and...", nothing, anything to stop my impending yawn attack.
All these men, stopping by to profess or boast complaints about other locations and people, about this or that, so that their level of mindless work is noticed, and obviously dominates the work of someone else. Tim Conway (you'll learn later), called five people to make sure that a fax number that I wrote down on a message, was in fact, the correct fax number...he's very busy. And the number was correct, even for a temp. But, he felt better and more secure about faxing the fax after check five times with five people. Thorough, if not anything.
People were supposed to check in with their badges, or get a temp one and be walked around with a regular worker, for obvious security reasons. I cannot give out badges. I'm a bit sad about that...just joking.
I felt more yawns were to come before a 1st Government allotted smoke break. I tried to amuse myself by cleaning under my nails with a thumbtack and then a paperclip until smoky time came round. I also tried sticky note origami. You can get instruction off the web for all the animals and everything. But, I wasn't very good, and the sticky part kept getting in the way of my art mastery. I was annoyed by it, but it could have been the lack of nicotine.
I began to look around a bit. Outdated awards hung in cheap, maybe wood frames, with plastic, not glass showing them off. All hanging on walls with dingy, pealing paint, scratches marking something had once occurred there, in average, not threatening to the imagination colors. (There was colorful wallpaper in the women's restroom. It was soothing and made me feel comfortable pooping there. And they did provide sented Avon hand lotion, for after you hands were washed, to prevent office drying.)
Lots of missing years in this mismatch award pile around the office. I noticed that the Special Olympics stickers, that were on a window stopped after only three years, sometime in the mid-90's. Maybe the "special person" died, or made someone mad, or there was a major security breach involving a gimp or a retard. I almost had a smile, but then I found it hard to find the interest to even make that call really. However, if I were going to be seriously messed with, I have a cane, and would not be afraid to cry, point at the stickers, and asked why they didn't like handicap people anymore.
And it was Casual Friday...not just there, but everywhere, I think. A nation of Casual Friday people. We all had to do it, it's important to maintain our inside selves with Causal Friday. That little nugget of supposed relief. Such bullshit. I wore the same pants that I did the day before in a different color...however, I did not change my socks, they were a tiny bit stinky...but, what the hell, it's fucking Casual Friday...Stink it up! Stinky McStinky!!!! I did want to be a team player, it's in my nature.
I wondered who would rebel and wear their suit...there had to be someone brave enough to take on the "man", take on the "establishment". Where was our hero? Not to be found today, amid all the jeans with butterfly appliques, and tan pants, and colored plastic beads instead of pearls, and casual company shirts...nope, not today. I was not that person either...I had disappointed myself, and felt the shame of it all, in my stinky socks. What a pussy.
How come there's no Casual Monday? That's what I want to know. All these cool, innovative (buzz word note), hip companies that think outside the box...well, where the Casual Monday? No one wants to get it all together, or on, for Monday. Who does that?!? Implementing Casual Monday - Now!, that would be innovative.
Innovative that word, that word that gets tossed around...so much, without direct action with its meaning...poor, poor word. Words can be raped and pillaged... and yet we do nothing. Word standing with bloated belly, naked, with flies buzzing around. For the price of a latte, you could save this word and many other just like it. Please, send me your money, and I will send you a letter from this word with a picture and progress notes monthly, after depositing you check. Together we can save lives. (I'm not joking...send me your money...you stingy bastard, in your fatcat Hummer....this is an emergency!!!! Send me your money!!!) I digress. I'm sorry.
I sat at the front desk eating my bright green apples. I brought two. They're small, and tart - and they wouldn't be worth mentioning at all, except for their bright green color, so loud against the brown , fake wood desk. They startled me out of a yawn in their brilliance. They screamed life in that dead place. LIFE!!!!!!!!!! I almost felt sorry for the off-color, faded, dusty flower arrangement standing in its corner. Even though it was standing in its ever so trendy "country kitchen" woven basket, there was no life there, no life in any form to be found.
And even though eating many green apples may cause over active bowels, I'm thinking I will take the risk and bring two more on Monday. Plus, the loud, crisp crunching noise I make when eating them seems to startle some people. Something like the electric shock after rubbing pajama feet on the carpet. I can tell they would like to think , there is a small hope, that it might be shots fired, but the disappointment face, it's just my apples. However, I am a temp. Anything could be, you know. Keep your eyes on me...that's for sure.
It's important to keep their eye on me, yes, indeed. Especially since temps have no history, no past, no future, etc. They are an elite breed called in when the regulars can't multi-task, when the regulars can't hang, can't cut the mustard, just can't do it all. There's no telling about a person such as a temp. We're all very mysterious.
Please keep in mind, while reading the above paragraph that I have answered the phone, approximately 12 times, and no more, in the past two days. Yes, I can understand why my services were needed. Why I was called in for this task. If not for me...then who? then WHO, I ask?!? You can't just have phones ringing without a person to answer them...THAT WOULD BE TOTAL CHAOS. It's a tough, thankless job, that temps do...and they wouldn't have it anyother way. It's the Code...shit, I've already said to much.
I have heard all about the woman I am taking over for. She's a dumbass. And her upcoming evaluation is going to stink for her...I'll tell you what. I resisted the urge to leave an anonymous note for her...could be me, or the other temp before me, who would have left it. And without costly fingerprint analysis, it would be hard to determine. But, I didn't.
The fact that she's an idiot is good for me. She doesn't do much, so their expectations of me are extremely low. Not much to have to meet.
The secretary that I report to, had her children while in her teens, and as the lineage goes on, she is a Great-Great Grandmother at barely fifty. She loves Avon products, and really wants me to try this new lip gloss that she desperately believes is just my color. She talks a lot. She's going to do Dumb-Ass's Eval. I said, like I cared, how I understood how hard it was going to be on her, and how was she going to do it? All that stress...oh the humanity.
Most of you may know that I talk a lot, too. And I am being out talked about nothing. That's no small feat...so we must honor her for a moment. (But, no more than that.) She gave me her card to keep in touch after Monday...we can have lunch she says. She likes Dairy Queen, and noted that when I bought my lunch from Joe's Crab Shack, that is was very expensive there, and I might want to change my call in order before I had to go over there and pay up. After all, IHOP was just down the road, and she wouldn't make me report my clock out time if I was just grabbing something. I didn't want to appear to be a lunch snob. I noted that, I wasn't aware about their menu prices, and I should have consulted her first, but now that I had already placed my order, I would just feel too bad for canceling it. I would just have to bite the bullet on this one, today. And I would have to take her solid lunch advise tomorrow.
If only I had asked, if only I had known!!! She nodded, that indeed she was the lunch advisor to go to, and I had made a mistake, but it would all be better tomorrow, she would help me, not to worry. IHOP doesn't have crabby patty sandwhiches, which is what I wanted. I would bring my lunch, next time. I didn't want to have to go to IHOP - I secretly whined to myself.
She has several office suitors. They are all older, as she is. She relishes the breaks of her daily paper shifting, and mail sorting (I can see why they needed a temp.). I know she loves the attention, and I am careful not to be too funny, too smart, too anything, that may distract her would be office suitors. They're all married and whatnot, but offices can't run without office fucking. It's a rule.
I pondered which one would she like the most. I am bored, you know. I've been studying her reactions to their conversations, and chest puffing, little doughnut presents, and their run-ins to see if she got their off-color email jokes, and what her reaction was. So many to choose from.
Sometimes, when one of them leaves, she gives me the signal, the eyes roll, or the signal, nod wink. Either way, she is their master, she is in control. They are really quite powerless in the struggle. It would be funny if she bit off one of their heads after mating. I don't want to see the actual mating, but the head thing would be entertaining, and horrifing, and entertaining.
I think she's after the big boss, myself. She's topnotch around that guy, and when he's coming into the office, she gets out her special, roll-on perfume, and tabs a little behind her ears and on her wrists, before hurriedly putting it back in the top drawer, next to the spare gum pack. She stands to smooth out her outfit and checks her teeth. Yes, I think that who's pee-pee attention she may want. Good luck on that. I think he might be a closet fetish of some sort guy. I'd bet my money on it.He has the walk of someone who's been bent over and given a good spanking to...you know, that walk. Yep, bet my money on it.
And her boss, just below the "big boss" looks and sounds just like Tim Conway. It's been difficult to take him seriously. He waddles in and out of his office on more than one occasion, checking and double checking fax machine numbers, and placement of the mail, etc. All the while, making statements like: If brains were dynamite...She has the personality of a rock....(and if someone says their sorry) I know you're sorry, but now apologize. He is the master of those Reader's Digest quips, but he looks like Tim Conway. He's full of all of that crazy, zany knowledge like "Shine Stuff with a Banana." and "Vinegar...The Real Story." All those colloquialisms learned from years of playing Word Power, Mah Jongg, Competitive Scrabble, etc. He's the guy that everyone always challenges in Scrabble, only to find out that he's right about the use and spelling of some obsure word, used once in America, one time, in 1952. You know that guy. (yawn.) (However, if anyone comes in looking like Don Knots and they break out into song...I will die laughing. Who doesn't love those two?)
On Day2, I've found it hard to put forth the customary automatic, "Oh you're just so silly and witty, I can't stand it." smile, every...single...time, his chubby, belt holding up his Tim Conway body, rounds the corner for the millionth time. I know he's coming, from the clicking of the forever bottomless coffee pot, that he just got his millionth, styrofoam, Cafe Foldgr/other cheaper brand from Office Depmax cup. Always two sugars, not the pink stuff, shaking in his fat, little hands, that sometimes dropping one, and he makes a statement of the imperfectness of the paper bag of the sugar, if only he were in charge. He's show them a thing or two about packaging. And he take two, not just one, of the red and white stripe stir sticks. Every...single...time. But, what can I do? With just comedy excites of Tim Conway, I cannot be too hard on this look a like counterpart. I just can't! Who could?!? It's like finding a potato chip that looks like Jesus or Elvis. It's a thing. It's sacred.
Also, I found that Timmy C. is responsible for the office decorations. The office, despite the old awards, is full of happy posters. They all have sayings like:
There's no SEC RITY...with out "U"
or
Nothing Shines Like Quality...Let's Make This Place Sparkle
or
Nothing Holds Up Like Quality (picture of the American Flag)
And, the one that worried me a bit, the US Mail Advisory poster with all the warning against Suspicious Packages and all the appropriate numbers to call if there's a real emergency.
Considering that I, "the temp", couldn't sign for any packages, and the mail driver just got pissed off yesterday, he was pissed off having to wait for a person to sign, just dropped the package off, and left...and no one cared that their own policy had been violated, I did worry a bit. It just takes one time with lax security measures to be dead. Just one bomb...just one time. Suspicious practice on the suspicious package. And I being a temp did not sign up for this level of insecurity...is this how they really ran things? DID NO ONE READ THE UNCLE SAM POSTER?!?!?!? His red and white suit brightly colored with his one finger pointing out....THERE IS NO SEC RITY WITHOUT "U". Goddamn it people...shit...get it together!!!
I began to worry about my safety, and maybe the safety of the manuals this place produced, if this is how they were going to treat their very common, most simple practices. But, whatever, I was out on Monday. So, not really my responsibility. You can lead the office to the poster, but you cannot make them think. I just hoped that I would make it out alive to see my three day, slightly above mimimum wage page check, and my child.
And the computer guy/IT guy, stopping by the desk to make sure I knew just how smart he was. I got it, dude. Seriously, I got it.
And yes, I did know about the Blackberry scandal. How did I know about that? How could I, the temp, know that there was a possible "white list" that Governement employees would be put on if all the Blackberrys when down? How? How?
I didn't want to let him in on my secret source...my connections...my peeps...the news, as some people like to call it. I ended the conversation quickly as possible before he found out that I might be a smart girl. I didn't want to know what he and his posse did for fun...(Dungeons and Dragons, Star Trek, XFiles circle jerks - I shuddered to think.)
He made some reference to "Beer-Thirty" at the close of day...as though I might just bite...a little social nibble...but I gave him nothing. I pretended that I didn't hear him because I was desperately trying to figure out how to turn on the Night Ring button (it's one button), and I ask him if he could take care of this problem for me, as I made my get away. The fact that it's just one button might help make me look extra, real stupid, so, I suspect that may throw him off the scent. I prayed. I haven't got much else to make me look more stupid that I can pull out of my ass on Monday.
She has several office suitors. They are all older, as she is. She relishes the breaks of her daily paper shifting, and mail sorting (I can see why they needed a temp.). I know she loves the attention, and I am careful not to be too funny, too smart, too anything, that may distract her would be office suitors. They're all married and whatnot, but offices can't run without office fucking. It's a rule.
I pondered which one would she like the most. I am bored, you know. I've been studying her reactions to their conversations, and chest puffing, little doughnut presents, and their run-ins to see if she got their off-color email jokes, and what her reaction was. So many to choose from.
Sometimes, when one of them leaves, she gives me the signal, the eyes roll, or the signal, nod wink. Either way, she is their master, she is in control. They are really quite powerless in the struggle. It would be funny if she bit off one of their heads after mating. I don't want to see the actual mating, but the head thing would be entertaining, and horrifing, and entertaining.
I think she's after the big boss, myself. She's topnotch around that guy, and when he's coming into the office, she gets out her special, roll-on perfume, and tabs a little behind her ears and on her wrists, before hurriedly putting it back in the top drawer, next to the spare gum pack. She stands to smooth out her outfit and checks her teeth. Yes, I think that who's pee-pee attention she may want. Good luck on that. I think he might be a closet fetish of some sort guy. I'd bet my money on it.He has the walk of someone who's been bent over and given a good spanking to...you know, that walk. Yep, bet my money on it.
And her boss, just below the "big boss" looks and sounds just like Tim Conway. It's been difficult to take him seriously. He waddles in and out of his office on more than one occasion, checking and double checking fax machine numbers, and placement of the mail, etc. All the while, making statements like: If brains were dynamite...She has the personality of a rock....(and if someone says their sorry) I know you're sorry, but now apologize. He is the master of those Reader's Digest quips, but he looks like Tim Conway. He's full of all of that crazy, zany knowledge like "Shine Stuff with a Banana." and "Vinegar...The Real Story." All those colloquialisms learned from years of playing Word Power, Mah Jongg, Competitive Scrabble, etc. He's the guy that everyone always challenges in Scrabble, only to find out that he's right about the use and spelling of some obsure word, used once in America, one time, in 1952. You know that guy. (yawn.) (However, if anyone comes in looking like Don Knots and they break out into song...I will die laughing. Who doesn't love those two?)
On Day2, I've found it hard to put forth the customary automatic, "Oh you're just so silly and witty, I can't stand it." smile, every...single...time, his chubby, belt holding up his Tim Conway body, rounds the corner for the millionth time. I know he's coming, from the clicking of the forever bottomless coffee pot, that he just got his millionth, styrofoam, Cafe Foldgr/other cheaper brand from Office Depmax cup. Always two sugars, not the pink stuff, shaking in his fat, little hands, that sometimes dropping one, and he makes a statement of the imperfectness of the paper bag of the sugar, if only he were in charge. He's show them a thing or two about packaging. And he take two, not just one, of the red and white stripe stir sticks. Every...single...time. But, what can I do? With just comedy excites of Tim Conway, I cannot be too hard on this look a like counterpart. I just can't! Who could?!? It's like finding a potato chip that looks like Jesus or Elvis. It's a thing. It's sacred.
Also, I found that Timmy C. is responsible for the office decorations. The office, despite the old awards, is full of happy posters. They all have sayings like:
There's no SEC RITY...with out "U"
or
Nothing Shines Like Quality...Let's Make This Place Sparkle
or
Nothing Holds Up Like Quality (picture of the American Flag)
And, the one that worried me a bit, the US Mail Advisory poster with all the warning against Suspicious Packages and all the appropriate numbers to call if there's a real emergency.
Considering that I, "the temp", couldn't sign for any packages, and the mail driver just got pissed off yesterday, he was pissed off having to wait for a person to sign, just dropped the package off, and left...and no one cared that their own policy had been violated, I did worry a bit. It just takes one time with lax security measures to be dead. Just one bomb...just one time. Suspicious practice on the suspicious package. And I being a temp did not sign up for this level of insecurity...is this how they really ran things? DID NO ONE READ THE UNCLE SAM POSTER?!?!?!? His red and white suit brightly colored with his one finger pointing out....THERE IS NO SEC RITY WITHOUT "U". Goddamn it people...shit...get it together!!!
I began to worry about my safety, and maybe the safety of the manuals this place produced, if this is how they were going to treat their very common, most simple practices. But, whatever, I was out on Monday. So, not really my responsibility. You can lead the office to the poster, but you cannot make them think. I just hoped that I would make it out alive to see my three day, slightly above mimimum wage page check, and my child.
And the computer guy/IT guy, stopping by the desk to make sure I knew just how smart he was. I got it, dude. Seriously, I got it.
And yes, I did know about the Blackberry scandal. How did I know about that? How could I, the temp, know that there was a possible "white list" that Governement employees would be put on if all the Blackberrys when down? How? How?
I didn't want to let him in on my secret source...my connections...my peeps...the news, as some people like to call it. I ended the conversation quickly as possible before he found out that I might be a smart girl. I didn't want to know what he and his posse did for fun...(Dungeons and Dragons, Star Trek, XFiles circle jerks - I shuddered to think.)
He made some reference to "Beer-Thirty" at the close of day...as though I might just bite...a little social nibble...but I gave him nothing. I pretended that I didn't hear him because I was desperately trying to figure out how to turn on the Night Ring button (it's one button), and I ask him if he could take care of this problem for me, as I made my get away. The fact that it's just one button might help make me look extra, real stupid, so, I suspect that may throw him off the scent. I prayed. I haven't got much else to make me look more stupid that I can pull out of my ass on Monday.
I had already thrown off the other IT dork and office mate to this one, with the fact that I continued to call him "Sir" after he asked me not to several times. He's too cool for school to you know...Sir.
Besides, I was off to have coffee, the good kind, with a good, smart friend...completely in danger, with wild abandon, of getting my sanity back with...so I had to hurry. Yes, yes, hurry up. Not much time to waste.
I did, however, make a huge mistake that I may pay for, come Monday.
IT McNerdy pants was locking up right after me....I hadn't seen him...he's fast...I must be wary. I made the mistake -I lit my after work cigarette and started my car, BEFORE the seatbelt and arranging myself to drive ritual.
My very cool, foreign rock music that another cool friend gave me blared loudly, LOUDLY...sanity, sweet sanity....BUT, IT McNerdy, well, he had heard it, too. It's not dumb-ass music. The jig might have been violated if not been completely shot by my careless behavior. I must remember to get out my Spice Girls CD for Monday, and just explain it all away, that was some weird radio station that I had to sooo turn off. He had waved good bye, and smiled. HE WAVED AND SMILED!!!
Fuck! Fuck! Fucky Fuck Fuck!
Yes, must make and lay a careful plan for Monday.
It must be my finest work ever.
Besides, I was off to have coffee, the good kind, with a good, smart friend...completely in danger, with wild abandon, of getting my sanity back with...so I had to hurry. Yes, yes, hurry up. Not much time to waste.
I did, however, make a huge mistake that I may pay for, come Monday.
IT McNerdy pants was locking up right after me....I hadn't seen him...he's fast...I must be wary. I made the mistake -I lit my after work cigarette and started my car, BEFORE the seatbelt and arranging myself to drive ritual.
My very cool, foreign rock music that another cool friend gave me blared loudly, LOUDLY...sanity, sweet sanity....BUT, IT McNerdy, well, he had heard it, too. It's not dumb-ass music. The jig might have been violated if not been completely shot by my careless behavior. I must remember to get out my Spice Girls CD for Monday, and just explain it all away, that was some weird radio station that I had to sooo turn off. He had waved good bye, and smiled. HE WAVED AND SMILED!!!
Fuck! Fuck! Fucky Fuck Fuck!
Yes, must make and lay a careful plan for Monday.
It must be my finest work ever.
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