2002-10-03 - 12:04 a.m.
Sometimes the words just donít work out like you think they ought to. Say you think that your life is boring. Nothing is happening, youíre under a lot of stress. Things are slow and you might feel dull and uninspired. Then god/universe/chance (you pick) goes and hands you the gayest temp the world has ever seen. You think that with that kind of element for an update, it would write itself. Like Spielberg you could just go through the motions of doing something and BAM, you have another winner. Like AI. But such was not the case tonight my friends. No, tonight I languished over my entry. Wanting the reader to share in the schadenfreude of my day. My temp is the darling of the office, winning everyone over with tales of his illicit past and flashing his contact colored eyes and bottle blond hair and generally pissing me off. So, I had the hardest time coming up with anything. This is what I did manage to punch out, between IM conversations and staring vapidly into space, my brow furrowed pensively as I sought to reclaim the easy flow of words that eluded me:
Having help today set me back further than no help at all. Because I spent the better part of the day training my File Bitch Temp the basics of my job so that I could be free to do the not so basics. He picked up things fairly quickly, and only asked the standard stupid questions that Iíve been answering for years now. Towards the end of the day, things were going smoothly, I suppose. Just before 9am I had been called by HR to come pick up my slave for pay as he had been all processed. I was told his name was Scott. I finished what I was doing and went to fetch. How Scott was not setting off any fire alarms is beyond me. He sat there, looking like he was 10, chatting animatedly to the receptionist. His hair was cut very short and bleached blond. His attire rivaled mine for corporate prep, where I was BR he was JCrew. I introduced myself. The slight narrowing and nearly imperceptible flicker of his eyes told me that he knew I thought I knew him. Thus began our little dance. But not after a hug for the receptionist and a mock, Iím off to earn my pay groan to which she tittered. I know I was not what he was expecting. I was not some dowdy middle aged manager who would neither be entranced by his youth, glib tongue, and pretty looks nor intimidated by the alternative sexuality he wore on his sleeve. I jumped right in with job details, not wanting to get personal, as we walked across the parking lot to the sales area. I ran him through the basic things I would need him to do, some scanning of documents into the system, filing, checking order dates and sending acknowledgements to customers, basic stuff that was easy to do but also time consuming. So he started at the empty workstation. Everyone had to cruise on by (and with Steve from product marketing, it was cruising, trust me) and see the new guy. He quickly made friends. I couldnít understand it. This fey punk with his lisp and dramatic gestures had won over these people in a few moments where it had taken me years of hard work and sly remarks in meetings to get the recognition that I had earned. I was in the trenches man. And this upstart comes rolling in and suddenly itís a laugh riot in order quality. Yes, Iím bitter. And jealous of my temp. If he brings in baked goods tomorrow, thereís going to be a tragic copy mishap.So, anyway. There you have it. I would also like to thank Genghis Jon for his rather flattering entry. The check is in the Mail.
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