Tuesday, 17 December 2013

Ok, if I multiply X by 8 hours, 5 days week and take out tax...

Today I started the next temp job which goes for 4 weeks and fills in a gap until I start my new permanent job. Temps – we’re hookers – we’ll do or say or feign fake emotion as long as you pay us…oh baby, oh baby, sure, I’ll type, file, answer the phone, look diligent…just give me the money, honey.  So, this temp job – I walked in. There are three women in the office. They all hate each other. I got that straight away. Frosty air and deadly silent, evil stares tend to be a dead giveaway. No surprise whatsoever because rarely, in my experience, do women like other women in offices. “Whatever,” I said to myself. “Kill each other. Who cares?  Keep me out of it. I’m here to get paid.” It’s the temp’s mantra.  As I sat down and started work – which, there was none - again, not a surprise because I often find with temp jobs the inmates wail about too much work and demand help and when help arrives the help looks around and thinks "there is no work" followed closely by "I hope they have decent internet" and the ever popular "Now, what do I have to print and how much paper do they have?”

So, there was stuff all to do at work. That was okay because I worked out how much pay I should get paid doing stuff all followed by making plans to spend as little time as possible in Brisbane when I’m in that city  during the 7 weeks of training I have to do there and then I came up with a fantastic idea for the backyard patio that required my sketching lots of drawings.

Temping. Use your brain. You’re not there to work for god sake.