Destroying the Tower of Label

It's brilliant, this temping atmosphere. I think it works on a sliding basis. They let you feel calm for a few days and then they threaten you. Today's threat was brilliant and terrifying. . .

We all arrived to work finding out that the Sassy Black girl had been let go. There was a shock in the group, apparently yesterday she messed up majorly. It's like the And Then There Were None. Everyone was expecting her to be booted out, but what terrified me was now that she's gone. Who is next?

The Sassy Black Girl was the "shoe in" for worst worker. I had one personal moment with her really, no two, now that I realize. I'd like to share them with you now:

Moment #1

IGUANA: I'm seeing a guy.
SASSY BLACK: U da top or bttm?!
IGUANA: Excuse me?

Moment #2

SASSY BLACK: We gotta wurk 2getha! We be-so funni!
IGUANA: Are you literate?

Needless to say, I will miss her.

Everyone worked and I had to work with the man from the post office. He is straight and moved here to be a comedian. His hair is graying at 25 and he has a homophobic tone in his voice. He is from Virginia and probably voted for Obama. He is here trying to be an sketch writer. He promptly stopped to chuckle about "Tom Queen" while reading the names. I asked him if he had made many friends since moving to the city in December?

He quickly muttered with, "I have a girl I am currently dating."

I shot back, "That's the only person you hang out with?" He chuckled to himself and then punched me for being a fucking faggot. He wouldn't laugh at anything I said, so we sat in silence for the better part of the 8 hours. Labeling and silence. On top of it all we were at a table that was behind a huge pillar. So we were hidden from most of the small talk from other tables.

Throughout the day people chatted while labeling. Making jokes and texting on their phones. They did this proudly because the Head Temp insinuated that texting was okay . . .The disaster was obviously going to happen, and here I was hiding behind a column. Actually doing solid work! Ironic Gods!

The Latina woman came in, looking pregnant as usual. She promptly yelled at all of us for using our phones. The morale in the room plummeted and everyone stood around like scolded children. Scolded students, when in fact we all were. Newly graduated from college and this the first work we'd had in months. The first job in a year! And we couldn't label correctly? What kind of cruel play was this?

Somewhere deep inside, I chuckled at the Latina woman's poor grammar. But I was behind a pole!? Why must I be reprimanded too? I am not guilty. . . today. What was more interesting was how everyones insecurities appeared. I saw people I've watched for weeks turn into animals. . .

The Head Temp looked like a sad puppy because something had happened in the hall. The Latina women spoke to him and he no longer cocky and arrogant. People's minds and insecurities were running wild. One girl in the group who was quiet and perfect, she always smiled. The entire day felt like anything you talked with her about, she was always agreeing with you. Always being modest in someway. A creature who means no harm to the world, I saw her smile drop. Since she smiles more often than she frowns, her frown somehow curved upward. Still happy for her mistakes.

Another girl's complete insanity came out. The nervous office girl, fearing for her job. She was told this was the only temp job that hires long term! Did the Head Temp name names? She had her phone out only a second before the Latinas entered the room. Was she on the cutting block! She could kill the Head Temp!

People compete in temping? When did this happen?

I took a lexapro and calmed down. It's ridiculous, but it's a job. It's probably just a threat to put you in your place. I keep repeating: I'm a Temp. I have to believe that and not feel like my integrity is challenged because I'm not fit to put labels on a paper. That because I may have been making a small joke to make people laugh and some angry Vice President walked by and wondered "Why is that temp smiling?! They must go!" Then I must walk to my doom, but today I was behind a pole. A survivor of a horrible explosion because of this pole. I was behind a fucking pole not making small talk, not texting and talking softly. The bomb went off and I should have been the one talking loudly, but the other temp homo was. I looked to him and saw he suddenly looked sick.

An endangered spieces! He may be next to go!?

Or was it all some little joke. A warning? We're not a Hive Mind.

The Tale of the Wounded Soldier

I feel like this story should begin with, "Once upon a time. . ." because when I sit and think about what I'm going to write about. Involves a relationship, a small child, revenge, poison and a "mildly retarded faggot. So you'll allow me a moment to open this with that lovely phrase.

Once upon a time there lived an Iguana who lived in the Land of Sunsets. One day he met a Wounded Soldier who carried around way to much baggage. These were bags filled with goodies from all the wars he had been in. There was the War of Iraq where he'd gotten shrapnel in his back and hurt both his knees. This made the Iguana feel warmly toward the soldier. There was the War of the Divorce where he'd gotten a small child and a jilted wife who hated him beyond belief. So much that she'd have him arrested for not being able to pay child support. This made the Iguana a little uneasy, but a child in a different state is a child that the Iguana never sees. Then there was the War of the Homo where the Soldier got mixed notions on what being a homosexual is, a crazy Ex-boyfriend who was hit on the head with a brick and now was unable to tell the difference between wrong and right, and all other kinds of silly things. This made the Iguana laugh because: Who would let that kind of thing into their life?

So the Iguana and Soldier stayed together for a month, living contently. When the Soldier left his immense burdens in the other room, things were good. The Iguana smiled and the Soldier felt content, because a Soldier without an army wife is like an Iguana without an eccentricity. The two cannot exist without the each other.

Then one day the Crazy-Ex boyfriend began to come around more and more. You see the Crazy-ex was gifted . . .literally. He was a sob story within himself. For when the Ex was a young boy someone hated him enough to hit him in the head with a brick. That seemed to have damaged his sense of what was right or wrong. Then when the Ex was a little older he dropped out of school in the 6th Grade. That seemed to have damaged any chance of him being socially adept or remotely tolerable. Then through his whole life the Ex grew up with seizures and brittle bones that broke from even a gust of wind.

Into the woods we go again! We have to every now and then!

With all these problems in his past, the Iguana could not help but feel slightly sorry for the crazy-Ex. The Iguana had a special power though, something that the Soldier in his kindness seemed to lack. The Iguana had the most special gifts of all: Common sense and little empathy.

One day when the Iguana and Soldier were having a picnic, the Crazy-Ex appeared in a puff of smoke. In his hands he had two apples, the Soldier was hungry and quickly took a bite. The Iguana though, slapped the apple from the Ex's hand and yelled, "I only eat organic!" After finishing his apple the Soldier began to sweat and feel dizzy. The crazy-Ex went on discussing his last trip to the land of Divorce and talking to the Queen.

"But you're not allowed into the land of Divorce!" Cried the Iguana to the Soldier. The Soldier remained quiet and let the crazy-Ex berate him more. Then the Soldier began to throw up.

"I've been poisoned. . . again!" Shouted the Soldier.

"Oh my. . .Wait, again?"

"Yes, again!"

"You let a mildly retarded man-child poison you, twice? I'm supposed to understand this? Wait and why is your Ex-bf still hanging out after a month we started seeing each other?! I mean you dated for like two months? What part of his absolutely disgusting and childish attitude did you not catch onto first? Why is he even here offering you edible and drinkable things? Why is there the possibility that he poisoned you. . .for a second time?! And why does he have your ex-Wife's phone number?"

"And I just found out your home address too, one of my Goblins got it for me." The crazy-Ex cackled.

"Excuse me? Okay you know what. I have three rules and they've all been broken in one swift move. First, I don't do drama in my life. I have enough and this, my friend, is a little more than I would ever want to get involved in. Second, I have my own affairs to tend to and as far as your Crazy-Ex is concerned. I don't exist anymore, if I get a knock on my door, I will have him arrested and I don't have any backwater shit for him to threaten me about. You got poisoned twice?! And third, I do not involve myself with people who believe that poisoning is something that enters an equation."

And they all lived happily ever after . . .

The End

The 24th on the 18th at 12th and 5th Ave

My party was a success I do believe myself. About an two hours before the party, seven people called and canceled on the entire night consecutively. Apparently there is a bug going around these days and it's called "I'm-to-lazy-to-travel-into-Brooklyn-itus" and it's going around. Some of the excuses were legit and others were cop outs, but you know who you are.

The people who assembled were a fun and interesting mix of people. Margaritas can bring people together and when you are all characters out of a Noel Coward comical farce, the night makes for a lot of wonderful little moments.

The only issue was the Wounded Soldier. I knew the night would end up in this situation. It was a three act play that began this morning and ended tonight. Tennessee Williams in real time, he threw up and talked to much. He brought drama into my life and at my birthday party.

That does not sit well. Which has not been sitting well for the last week, but that's oh-kay. Then I had my dream last night.

I dreamed that I got accepted to a very prestigious Graduate program in a private college in the middle of nowhere. It was this beautiful building with old but sturdy dorm rooms and I was going to college with my roommate. I guess that means she also went back to school for her Graduate degree, since the college probably would not let her live in the dorm unless she were a student.

My dreams are a little to realistic sometimes. My dreams consist of real life scenes that could happen, but are slightly absurd because nothing quiet makes sense. In the dream there was a lot going on with meeting other people in the class and figuring out the room situation. Watching sunsets and I think the season was spring. It was like a scene from a Lifetime TV Movie—an Emmy nominated one—and then there was the Wounded One throwing up into the bushes and showing me text messages I did not need to see.

These thought bombarded my good dream and I awoke quickly in shock. It was also extremely cool this morning, which was wonderful and I fell back asleep. I just did not like waking like that.

Today is a new day and I am going to handle the issue as I feel comfortable. We shall see.

The party was a success otherwise. People got along, there was levels going on. It was loud and funny and enjoyable. Then I remember Wounded Soldier by Tennessee Williams (2009).

For now I am sitting and listening to the mix CD Mr.Marx made for me. That marries my musical taste with his. Which makes me excited and I am only half way through! Today is a day of meditation and the gym. Oh I'm running. Tra-la.

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. . .