A Temp'ting Affair

The temping job proves to be more and more worthwhile. You have to understand when I say worthwhile, I really mean ridiculous. We have graduated from date stamping to labeling the 270,000 pieces of paper. According to the laws of time and physics, labeling should take about the same length, if not shorter than it does to date stamp. Yet, this process may go on for a number of weeks because we are basically proofreading the documents as well. In short it hurts my head and I'm not able to really listen to music while doing it.

I also need to watch my mouth cause it is easier to make cynical comments to the temps who don't quiet seem on top of their game. Like the Southern Belle, who is from North Carolina and will add, that's what she said to anything anyone says.

Me: I work fast and efficiently.
Southern Belle: That's what she said.

Or the sassy black girl who asked me immediately, "Are you a top or bottom?" When I mentioned I was seeing someone. Excuse me Sassy Black, but I did not ask you how you were able to put so much makeup on every morning and false eyelashes and somehow manage to paint your eyelids three different shades of purple. pink and I believe burnt s every morning and still make it to work before 9 AM.

Me: We should lower our voices or else we will get in trouble for being to loud.
Southern Belle: That's what she said.

There have not been anymore firings, but the Latina woman keeps whispering with the one temp that they seem to have put in charge. There is this odd heirarchy they have created and the Head Temp seems to think that because he does not date stamp like the rest of us he is somehow higher. This much is not true, just because a Latina lady favors you over the rest, does not matter in the grand scheme.

Me: I'm gonna go to the break room and have a Cliff bar.
Southern Belle: That's what she said.
Me: *blink*

The things I have found odd are two of my fellow temps are both from neighboring towns that I grew up and graduated in the same class as myself. What are the chances of that? It's weird to actually say my hometown's name out loud and have someone recognize it. What is weirder is that Harry Potter 6: The Half Blood Prince came out yesterday and none of the other temps were excited for it. In fact, most of them mocked my excitement for the movie.

Me: None of you are planning on seeing Harry Potter?! Did you not read the books?! They were amazing!
Southern Belle: That's what she said.
Me: I HATE YOU!

Trying Times of Temping

The last two days I have spent eight hours date stamping. Being a temp is not a glamorous job, now is it mind boggling. It's numbing in fact. You're given the worlds most mundane tasks and are expected to do them for hours at a time. I have been stamping thousands of papers over and over again with the date Jun 29, 2009. Over and over again.

It gets me out of the house and gives me a little spending money. It's not my life's calling, but I am doing it because it seems that no real jobs will hire me to do work that involves, you know. What's it called? Oh, yes. Thought.

A week ago when I came into this company and was asked to sort junk (or as they call it there BAD) mail for 8 hours. Stamping in a room full of about nine other temps seemed like a blessing. When I first started date stamping I apparently sucked because I would mess up a stamp every thousand pages. You'll be happy to know that after 16+ hours of practice I can stamp for without messing up one stamp. That may go on my resume. I have also perfectly a way of stamping so many palm does not get sore so quickly. For the other temps who pound viciously on their stamp will wake tomorrow with a mild case of carpal tunnel syndrome. Yet, they laughed at me because I took my time when stamping and rested my hands every now and then.

Here's the secret other temps. Listen to me closely . . . You listening? We have 270,000 pieces of papers to stamp. Did you hear that? You're not getting paid by the sheet, you're getting paid for accuracy. You finish 9000 pages in one day they won't care if some of the dates are smudged or redone. That's why at the end of the day. I was asked to stay and work a little later and the rest of you when home exactly at 5.

I'm taking the simple triumphs and making them my own. Because when you're a temp, the simple wars have the greatest victories. Especially at the end of this day . . .

It was a group of about 12 of us Temps in one room. ALL date stamping. Some people listening to music and two temps talking. Two talking temps who chat and talk and gab and never shut up. They talk about anything they can think of. You simply would need to open your mouth and say a word. They would jump on it and it was gone!

Michael Jackson, VHS Tapes, 9/11, the blackout of 2003. This one temp had the uncanny ability to link a personal story to each and every topic someone brought up. It wasn't just a comment, it was the truth as he told it. And the voice he had was loud, his volume control seemed to be broken and he could only speak in a deep booming voice about everything. Thank God we were all date stamping, or it would've carried across the office. This man's life story is told through a series of stamps and clamps made while he spoke.

I saw there before lunch enthralled with his complete lack of awareness of how far into the office he could be heard. He had to have an idea that the President of the companies office shared a sliding door with ours. HE HAD TO!? He kept openly saying, "How can a 6-8 week job suddenly change to a 3 day job?" He boomed this out loud and to no one in particularly. Every other temp merely shrugged. We'd all been told various things. I was told it would only take 2 weeks, others told 3-4 weeks. The loud temp was told the job would last from here to eternity. . .

All of this drama playing out amongst the drumming sounds of stamps hitting a table. There's no beat that's formed because people move at different speeds, they stop at different times. It's a John Cage wet dream. The day wears to an end and the supervisors enter the room.

When these Latina women walk onto the stage a transformation should be made. The gabbing goes and the sudden interest in date stamping commences. That should happen when anyone who is not a temp enters the room. Yet, the loud temp (in his age) doesn't seem to understand this rule yet. He keeps talking and talking and talking.

We're all a bit antsy. It's ten minutes to 5, but I have been asked to work later. I agree, because it means they like me and know I am dedicated to working. My ethics are in place and I'm not annoying.

A different temp offers to stay later too. She is an annoying on and is quickly brushed away, but not before they take the loud temp in the hall way and tell him he is fired. He walks back in and loudly declares to all the other temps (packing their bags to go home and intent on hopefully returning tomorrow), "We'll that's it. I'm a goner. It's been real."

There's some panic in the room. The Latin renters the room and says, "You can pack up and leave for tonight. Don't forget to fill out the time sheet." I stand up to ask her if she wants me to stay late and she points a finger and says, "You're not going anywhere!"

This causes more panic in the room. I have obviously been selected amongst others. It's A Chorus Line all over again and I feel just like Cassie. The ones leaving are nervous and manic. "Am I returning tomorrow?" I hear them whispering, "I stamped well enough. . ." And the loud Temp simply ponders, "I don't know what I did wrong." How about being annoying? That may have tipped the scale.

I feel nervous that they will not return to this office again. I feel secure that I will be returning to work. For more date stamping. Did I really win out in this power struggle?

Transformers 2 with Trannies

Tonight I watched Transformers 2 in a room full of trannies. It just feels symbolic in someway. They were baffled with the incomprehensibility of the plot. Just look for the subtext in all this, you'll find it's intense.

I worked again today, sorting and sorting mail. The good news is the company I'm working with (sorting mail) wants me to continue working for them into next week. Possibly something different from sorting mail! It's like a scene directly out of How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying!

Yesterday my Wounded Soldier made me a birthday dinner.

I call him my Wounded Soldier because he's an Iraqi War Vet. Yes, I kid not. I am enjoying this whole caring about me thing. He gives me a lot of attention, which is nice and I appreciate it. Though he has so much baggage that I get so nervous. Except, in the right way he works for me.

I wanted to try and see Shakespeare in the Park and my roommate went at 4AM and didn't even make it to close to 2PM. They sent her home and she entered the apartment at 8AM. They were sending people away by 8 AM. I'm sorry, but Ann Hathaway doesn't even had an Oscar yet.

I'm 24 now. I need to be off to bed soon so I can do the gym thing at 6 AM. It's not impossible, I have done it before. . .

Insomnia and Birthing

Ambien seems to have no effect on my body anymore. I'm also feeling pensive and worried about something. I guess it's the aging thing that's finally settling in.

I have been sorting junk mail for the last two days. I asked for a temp job and my boat came in. Sorting returned mail to a company that helps bankruptcy. I get paid $12 an hour to look at envelopes all day. The only person I can speak to is a small Chinaman who stutters and mutters. He's a little daft, but I like him. He seems to speak in riddles, but they're not that difficult to solve.

I apparently can sort junk mail faster than any human being I've ever known. I remembered financial printing and how when a job came in you did it. In the Temp world there's a feeling of lethargy is key. I finished today [granted it was my birthday] an hour early, I was in overdrive. I've been sorting mail since I was a boy working in my mom's office. The Chinaman looked at me and said, "But you won't get paid for the last hour . . ."

He had a point. Yet, it was my birthday and I was eager to actually be out realizing it, rather than starring at a bunch of envelopes declaring bankruptcy to people who no longer live at their addresses or are deceased.

People called and facebook messages! So many facebook messages! It was nice when people I cared about wrote stuff. Yet, there's a ping of wonderment when someone like The Tall Man writes: Happy Birthday Iguana!!!

We're facebook friends. So I suppose there's no hostility. He's engaged to his boyfriend, the one he got after he gave me that phonecall that ruined my mindset. He's getting pleasantly chubby again, but his boyfriend. . .I mean fiance remains muscular. I am sure they are immensely happy. Okay, there's some hostility, but I'm working on my own happy ending. I deserve happiness too.

So I'm 24. Ridiculous. 24 and filled with insomnia.

Happy Birthday

As Tradition goes. . .

Did I Die?

Am I even here anymore? Let's see shall we. . .

There was pride and then the 4th of July. Then my birthday is coming up.

I've been looking for a job, it's such an upsetting notion. I am trying temp agencies and the last week I got two calls from the temp agency basically saying, "I have a job here. . ." They then proceeded to give me the statistics and my mouth began to water. The first time I was offered the woman paused and said, "But it's in Long Island City, that's so far from Brooklyn. . . You don't want to travel out there. . ." That ended that.

Then the second one was waiting for the woman to call her back for the job and she never did. It's upsetting to feel like you may get work. Then suddenly it's nothing. I'm giving myself a little while longer before I decide that I am going to get just any job.

Then I've sort of been dating someone. I do not know how to really start this whole discussion. He has a lot of baggage and that makes me nervous, but I've talked about it with my therapist and we both came to a conclusion that his baggage is what helps me like him. He sort of makes me feel normal when I'm around him. My roommate told me to dump the chump, but the thing is I know what it's like to reveal yourself to someone and then never hear from them again. It's depressing. Plus, I've made it clear that I move slowly and though he makes me weary at times, I think this man means well.

During this time when I'm so unsure about so many things. It's nice to have one thing that's sort of grounded. He makes me dinner and it tastes good. On July 5th when I apparently drank to much (though I only had 3-4 drinks) and I spent the entire day puking. He played Dead Space while I threw up all day. It was sort of sweet in this little way. . .

Who knows.

My berfday

Is less than a week away. That's all for now.

Lilac Wine

This job hunt via temp agencies has been a little frustrating. I've gotten two phone calls that proposed nice opportunities, but then were snatched away from me before I could fully get the job. It's a strange setup, the whole thing.

It's nothing I am doing wrong, but yet, I feel I am going about this all wrong. I missed another job call as I went into my support group. I thought it would be rude to jump up and leave the room. In short, I missed another job.

My mother asks me about my jobs and I get tense and angry. She gives me advice and I appreciate it, but want to scream. In a way of calming myself I tell her, "Yes. YES! I will do just that. . .Look I have to go."

My dad calls asking me how the job search is going. No doubt he has been sent by the queen to discover more information. I am complacent and he asks when I'll turn to taking any job. I respond with: In the fall, when the leaves began to turn colors and I don't sweat when I walk down the street.

I go to therapy and he offers suggestions of networking and I finally said, "I am feeling really anxious about all these suggestions. . ."

It's true, I would much rather listen to solutions. I want people to tell me what I should be seeking. Not what I can possibly do. I feel like I'm being given tomes that are easy to read, if you know the native tongue. While here I am, having just bitten off my own. I need to learn by talking to people. Then gathering all their suggestions into a big pot, mix for 4 days and I'll pull up a solution!

An answer to all this fogginess. A fan-like apparatus that will blow off uncertainties, leaving only direct responses that are clear of indecipherable bullshit. I need to invent this machine and change this quest I am about to partake on. . .

Another Week

The weekend was good and full of little surprises. I saw a double rainbow. It's a rare occurrence and I saw it! I almost expected a gateway to open up and suddenly gay marriage would be passed in NY state.

Then it was Pride this weekend. I drank so much beer, I am home at a normal hour because I am hoping that my Temp Agency will call me tomorrow with work. I light a candle every night praying that work will come my way. The double rainbow is a sign of luck, of this I am sure.

I have no appointments this week, I am but a bore. I am running to Coney Island, but it's not as romantic as it sounds. I bothers me to walk by the Ringling Bros. Circus and to be heading to the unemployment office. Oh to run away to the circus and to actually run away.

Happy pride and double rainbows!

An Ending Drama

Today has been a strange, but mildly optimistic day. I started it off with another interview at a temp agency. This one was bustling with people and more than the place I went to. My coordinator/guru/giver-of-jobs looked at my resume and asked, "Well, the question is what do you wanna do with your life?" The man was round, shaped like a boulder and had a red face. He looked like he was filled with possibilities to the point of bursting.

He then proceeded to go through my resume and make changes. Move this here, take this out, the title of "financial printer" is a dead term to him. I was a project assistant. I then took tests for my skills at know Microsoft Office programs. I scored 28 out of 30s. I can only type 52 WPM, we call that speed typing in the business.

My round sage lead me around and introduced me to a woman who looked like Barbara Walsh in the revival of Company. A man out of a Mamet play and a woman who offered me a chance at working at the US Open in Queens some August. Just like that! I stuttered and asked her if she was an illusion.

My shoes, they give me pointed toes. I look like the devil come down to Georgia with them on.

From the Temp Agency I went to the GMHC to get my free lunch. I stripped off my work shirt and wore a tank top. I seem to be into this idea of being trashy, but I don't think I look ridiculous. A man then asked me if Anita Morris presided on my arm, the discussion began and I smiled. Piano music played in the background, something by Gershwin.

I went to a second job search and met the opposite of my round wizard! A small black lady, but with lots of sass. She seems to be new to social work and wants to do good for all. It's a positive match.

I moved on to the YMCA and saw the cute trainer naked in the locker room. It's the little things in life these days. I think that's a good sign too, I'm hoping at least. I went to therapy and spoke of something that I have been milling about in my mind. I'm not ready to open it up to the world yet.

Then I returned home and listened to some Barbara Cook and played some Dead Space. Those things don't necessarily go together.