Temporary Mundanity - Day One
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| Life as a Temp. Yawn. |
Apr 16, 2008 at 01:34 |
Day One
I arrive at the Personnel office fashionably dressed in head-to-toe black, Tom Ford sunglasses in hand, and I ask for Sue.
Sue is an ogre that lurks behind a decrepit old desk, and when she gets up to greet me, I watch as she endlessly pours out, like a multi-coloured scarf appearing from a magician's trick pockets. She's friendly, and offers to walk me to the office that I'll be working in. As we walk side by side she tells me that things are very laid back around here, and that her manager told staff they don't need to be dressed too corporately for work, but that they should look smart. She informs me that she hasn't done her washing in two weeks, and that the t-shirt she is wearing didn't look too bad when she pulled it out of the washing basket this morning. I am fighting the urge to tell her that buying the shirt in the first place was a crime against humanity. I am in disbelief that she has just told me her laundering habits. I want to scratch her eyes out. She gets puffed out when we reach the top of the ramp, and leaves me to climb one flight of stairs on my own. I long to introduce her to the benefits of climbing stairs regularly, but the moment passes.
Angela, the reigning temp, is here to do a handover with me – a handover of typing and answering phones. We are joined by a Supervisor. The day seems to be slipping away without any of us venturing outdoors. I feel like the grey walls and fluorescent lights have wrapped themselves around my neck in a death grip. As our Supervisor explains very gravely the importance of the function of the department, within the institute, I wonder about my plans for the weekend.
This is to be my office for the next six weeks.
Angela is outgoing and helpful, and almost fabulous. She leaves this assignment to start a new role in Marketing for a large corporation. I hate her. Although not wholeheartedly, since I fight hard to not grab her by the ankle and beg her to stay at day's end.
There is a lot of autonomy in the role, so I feel positive about that. I have my own desk, a key to the office, my own highlighters and my own stapler.
Mid afternoon the boss presents us with Lebanese sweets, and I try at least six of them, which doesn't really count as sampling, after the second, and third, forth or fifth. I may as well lay back on the desk and get someone to pour a sack of white sugar down my throat. I imagine drowning in sugar and decide that that may be a more entertaining way to pass the time. The sweet sugar fix blinds me to the fact that I will be here for the next six weeks of my life. I know that I do not belong here, and nor do my Tom Ford sunglasses.
Posted By: Mel Ogier
Tags: Fashion
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