12 Days of Being a Temp: Days 1-4

DAY 1:
I suppose i should start by saying Ive been here for nearly 3 months already. Three very life-fulfilling, confidence boosting, ambition driving months.
Ha ha! whew! that was a good one. I work at an office. Much like an office you might work in, or someone you know, or maybe you've heard about an "office job" in a newspaper headline (most likely "Man hangs himself, office work probable cause").

I can't say its the worst job Ive ever had. (#3: Fine Art Distribution Center-3 years- #2: a "Family Fun Center "-5 months- #1: Trucking Co invoice processing- 6 months-) But it is, above all other things; soul crushing. Not in the "i saw my family die tragically in front of my eyes" kind of soul crushing, more like " I enter over 100 invoices a day, and no matter how many i do, there's always, and i mean always, more."

More "Office Space" than "Braveheart", if you will, ( and yet sometimes i yearn to be punctured with a spear, or to have one readily available).

So there's the basic outline of my job. Tomorrow: Dreaming of fun while dealing with faxing.

DAY 2:
So today i was originally scheduled to talk about my friend the fax machine, but there is a much more urgent, pressing subject to talk about: my hair.

Yes, my hair.

Now usually, this wouldn't be a normal subject of conversation, i comb it, put it in a band, and I'm done (appx ready time: 12 seconds). Here's the thing though. I work in an office building of around 250 people. Given the regular ratio of worldwide male vs female population (%51 female, %48.9 percent male, %.1 jerry springer guests) the are about 123 or so males. I'm guessing that ive seen probably around 90-100 of them. Why is this important?

Im the only one with hair longer than 2 inches. in fact, as i stated earlier, my hair is in a ponytail, and after that ponytail, it sticks out 2 inches. I'm the only one. I feel like i suddenly have been transported into a parrallel universe, where they know i'm different by the length of my hair. So i am now officially naming the short cropped cut that apparently every business man is forced into wearing: The Bullette (pronounced like 'mullet'). Its business in the the front and business in the back.

As for me, I'll keep the long hair for now, but a Bullette might someday be in the future for me....

DAY 3:
So tomorrow i get moved to a new desk. Not a permanent location, mind you, just a temporary new desk until 'something gets worked out.'

I think i finally understand what Willie Nelson meant when he said "On the road again, Goin' places that I've never been, Seein' things that I may never see again...'

So in all reality, I'm moving 5 desks down, but understand, Ive been here 3 months, and this is going to be my 5th desk. 13 weeks, 5 desks, that's a lot of moving. I think I'm going to start packing a backpack for work, containing such moving necessities as: duck tape, a flattened box, scissors, margaritas, and 2 friends. It might need to be a big backpack, or really small friends. I also might need some more margarita mix for 3 of us.

Tomorrow is also my 'work birthday'. Its a long story (that i will more than likely tell for tomorrow edition), but i purposely avoided my birthday here at work, and didn't tell anyone, because i didn't want to celebrate it, but they found out, and although it was 10 days ago, we are' celebrating' it tomorrow, which also happens to be casadilla day. (another thing to explain for tomorrow).

Is that a little strange for anyone else? Forcing someone to celebrate their birthday? It's like the anti Jehovah's witness's are running the joint. I apologize that i don't want my desk covered in the same 'happy birthday' flyer's that have been passed around since the 1st bush administration. But here's the best part:

Not many people know my desk is being moved, so I'm really, really hoping they decorate the wrong desk. how great would that be?

DAY 4
Today I'm writing this towards the end of the day. It was especially hectic today at the ol' office. It was, indeed, casadilla day, and it wasn't, in fact, a celebration of my birthday (yay!) although a thoughtful coworker did buy me a 2lb bag of Twizzlers. (top 3 all time favorite snack candy: 3. Charleston Chew, 2. Three Musketeers, 1. 100 Grands. Oreo's wins top prize under cookie category... anyways)

The casadilla's were delicious. When i get here, there were elaborate taco dips, a giant thing of sliced chicken, steak strips, diced hot peppers, etc etc. What did i bring? 2 bags of shredded lettuce (1 of which i am now taking home with me) and a bottle of hot sauce (which another person already brought in). Talk about feeling like as ass. So what did i do? Quietly place my lettuce and hot sauce down on the table and sulk away? Not have a casadilla? No! I volunteered to help make them! Yes, thats what i did, temp Bob here at your culinary pleasure! What can i do, for you to give me a raise?

"Hey man, what do you want on yours, steak, chicken? what, lemme know and I'll hook that up".

Master chef, that was me for a little while, until i, while still at the top of my game, retired and ate my own. I don't want to say I'll be replacing emeral on t.v. anytime soon, but BAM! you better watch out lagassi.

To Be Continued!...