Uncle Fester's sister...

There’s this woman, at the temp job I’m working at until December 6^th – I mention that date because it would take a million, bazillion dollars and George Clooney naked begging me to marry him for me to extend that date. Some temps jobs are just like that... “love to stay but I would have to scream a lot, in between bouts of falling asleep, if I did.” Anyway, back to the woman. She is so desperate for a man – any man, any age, any how, any way, any kind. She watches them in a predator kind of way and if one of the penilely endowed ones inadvertently glances at her, she’s on him like a rat up a drainpipe – and she hates the fact that I’m the only other woman there and I’m the chatty sort and I talk to people – the men – in the office. I know she hates it because she does that slitty-eyed look that is as mean as cat piss and you know she’s not my buddy. Did I mention she looks a lot like Uncle Fester? Sort of like his sister? Now, I’m not big into how anyone looks – people are people – but I gotta tell you when Festerette does the slitty-eyed thing it freaks me out somewhat.     

This all begs the question, is it acceptable for a woman to be so creepy when it comes to stalking men? I say not. I say if it was a man doing it women would call him a pig. I’m contemplating an intervention with Festerette. Maybe she’s unaware she’s stalking them, drool at the corner of her mouth and lust in her eyes…yeah, I’ll try and take a picture. 

Elephants consult me...

I had to, at work, well, not strictly 'had to' at work because in theory I was supposed to be doing work I was getting paid for but that’s a moot point and temps are bad buggers when its comes to following rules because you’re the hired gun for such a short period of time that by the time they work out you did stuff all or this or that is wrong you’ve gone, cash in hand.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so I was doing personal stuff at work. I’m dealing with a legal challenge at the moment and I was writing my responses out to the crapola/fairytales I have to deal with regarding this challenge. As I typed away all this stuff I had locked in my brain – good, detailed, juicy, kick-your-enemy-in-the-arse-at-the-appropriate-time info came back to me. I have a phenomenally long memory. I forget nothing. Ever.  You never know when you’ll need it. My confidence level over this legal crap? You couldn’t jump over it.

Elephants and me? Simpatico baby. We forget nothing.     

Ah, paperwork...

Every day at the temp job requires a plethora of paperwork –

1. Type all the crap from one piece of paper into a computer program.
2. Click on button that sends info to an official person in another office.
3. Print out all the crap you’ve typed in then staple it to the original bit of paper that you took the info from. Why? I dunno.
4. ‘Get email back from official person indicating you did not scan the original bit of paper.
5. Scan paper.
6. Get another email. You did not tick the box on screen that indicates work all completed. We have rejected your submission.
7. Tick box. Swear under breath. Re-send info to anal twit…I mean colleague
8. Get another email advising the date stamped on the scan is wrong. All info rejected.
9. Play with mobile phone for five minutes while muttering.
10. Stamp the proper date five times and re-scan.
11. Smile when an email comes back rejecting the scan with the five stamps as it’s ‘not policy’. One stamp must be in the left hand corner only.
12. Liquid paper out four stamps and paint two fingernails with the white liquid paper.
13. Email to say scan sent all the time knowing it hasn’t been because you are following a theory that they really don’t want the scan. It’s job justification for them.
14. Email back advising they have no scan.
15. You email back ‘Please see attached’ knowing there’s nothing attached.    
16. They email ‘attachment approved. Please file all paperwork.’
17. Look at bin. Contemplate options. 

Peace and mung beans...

So, I’m at work, bored as hell and rooting around in my handbag for my lipstick. Yes, there was work to do but this was a lordy-when-will-the-day-end moment. I’m a temp. We’re like hookers. You pay us but we don’t necessarily do everything you want. Anyway I pulled out my lippy and the compact mirror. I flicked open the mirror and looked at myself…actually, my upper lip. Mien Gott! When did a forest of hair suddenly sprout above my lip? It wasn’t there yesterday. I contemplated global warming, the testosterone in the air, man’s inhumanity to man and stuff like that. In the end it came down to the hair was there and it was 10am and I had no wax strips. I can tell you, from previous experience that sticky tape doesn’t work on your upper lip. Oh sure, stick it on and yank it off fast. The result? Zip. I looked at the scissors. No, not enough foliage for that. Jeez Louise. Could I go home sick? Possibly. My time-sheet is signed by someone else in another office that has no idea what I do and I like that...

In the end, as I cleared up half a dozen pieces of used sticky tape sans hair, I decided to treat the whole thing Zen-like….the hair is not there. The universe sees nothing. Love is all around. Bunny rabbits play with kitty-cats and the sun shines down on you in benevolence. Peace and mung beans to you…

The second I got home? Wax. Rip. Ahhh....

Because they're watching...

So, GPS’s are being installed in government fleet type cars/trucks etc, at the temp job I’m working at. They gave me the job to ring around and book them in. Now, this is a terrifically contentious issue at the moment that has these government workers pissed that their employer wants to see where they’re parked and what they’re doing. Cries of it’s not fair or right or bastards (ok, that may have just been me entering into the spirit of the moment) and everyone wants the union to do something or they’ll do something but in my experience people rarely do because talk, as we all know, is cheap.

Anyway, I’ve been ringing…

Hello, we have to book your vehicle in for a GPS installation.

Why?

I don’t know man, I’m just the temp. (standard answer to all questions) I have a list and a series of different coloured highlighter pens.

Why the different colours? (Suspicious sounding)

I just like different colours (said casually to make people wonder what ‘colour’ I have used for them and why)

Who says I have to have one?

They do.

They?

Yeah, you know, them. The powers that be.

I’m not happy about this.

No one is ever really happy. Now pick a date…any date.

My thoughts on the GPS thing are this. If you are doing the wrong thing at work or parked outside the pub, the local knocking shop or in your own driveway, I have no issue with that. If you are too stupid to have worked out a plan, an alibi, a medical condition to cover it or the ability to lie with superb rat cunning when required, then maybe you just do the right thing. Because they’re watching…

Torturous, bitch of a thing....

So, I wore this nice black lacy camisole under my shirt today, at work. I was having a girly day with the lace. While it looked nice – and yes, only I got to see it – it also had the benefit of being one of the fitted stretchy ones that also holds things in. You know – possible bulges, enticing love handles – all those loveable things the best women have. When I first put it on it felt pretty good.  I had just finished my 5km run and boxing session and I felt streamlined and ready to take on the world. An hour later at work, on a tropically humid day,  I walked swiftly to the ladies loos and ripped my shirt off, dragged the lacy, torturous bitch-of-a-thing off and threw it across the bathroom. It landed with a thwack and lay all pretty and lacy looking on the floor.  I then stood in my bra, letting my natural curves all hang out and swore as god is my witness I will never wear that again.

There’s a lot to be said for letting it all hang out. 

Would you stand on your head?

There’s this ghastly woman at the temp job I’m working at who swears disgustingly. Why does she swear? To be one of the boys. It’s a male dominated workplace. The ‘boys’ swear – though, in saying that, not as much when I’m around. I figure it’s because I’m a princess.  Anyway, this woman’s swearing is so disgusting, I pulled her up on it. She said ‘everyone does it at this job.’ I said, channeling my mother,  “If everyone stood on their heads, would you?” She had no answer to this mainly because she looked confused, embarrassed and pissed that I confronted her. Did I have the right to? Yeah, I don't want to listen to a vulgar harpy on heat. Do I have a friend for life with her? Nope. But that’s okay. My point was made and taken on board. Yes, I swear but not like a drunken sailor. There is a time and place and I find that any woman who swears to fit in with men is desperate and doesn’t understand men at all.  But then, who does?

Goss...

I know for sure when working as a temp/hired gun in any office, people – men especially - love to gossip. I find being the fill-in worker gives people the freedom to vent their spleen about what they hate, who they hate, what’s going wrong in the company, which manager sucks, who’s sleeping with who and "did you ever wonder what’s going on behind that locked door with the warning sign, Amarinda? Well, I’ll tell you but tell no one.” Sure, tell me. Sure, I’ll probably tell no one about the locked door, the people screwing around or  whose fiddling with the system, the accounts, the lady who comes in and looks snotty at everyone but ‘we all now she’s screwing X and Y and just wait until W finds out she lifts her legs in the air for anyone.' Nope, I probably won’t use any of it unless I can use it to my advantage of course. I’m not silly. Know where the dirt is and stow that goss for ‘ron. Even as a temp power is knowledge.

It’s not just being the hired agency gun that makes people feel they can spill their guts. It’s me personally. I attract gossipers just by saying ‘hello and how are you?’ Call it a gift. A calling. An inner light that shines from me inciting gossipers to let go and tell all. Today, let’s call him, er – Barry – came into the office. I never saw him before but I said hello and it was on. He told me so much dirt. Barry, is somewhat of a troublemaker and flouter of rules. Barry also makes sure that the ‘system’ doesn’t screw him over or he’ll go on sick leave, claim discrimination, declare legal action, sit with his legs up on the desk or just go into go-slow mode to make sure nothing gets done and everyone knows he 'knows his rights'. I like the Barry’s of the world. They’re useful. I’ve used information from the-Barrys-of-the-world.com.

Yes, it’s wrong to listen to gossip to store information. Yes, very wrong. Thankfully, wrong works for me. 

Irrelevant...

So, I get this email with an excel attachment at work indicating anything in yellow had to be checked and it was MANDATORY – yes in caps letting me know that they were being serious and I had to be as well - and no checking would be bad. Why? I don’t know. I didn't read the rest of the email. I opened the attachment and scanned down the list. Yep, there I was. I was one of the naughty ones highlighted in yellow. My crime? Not having Mrs, Ms or Miss beside my name and that ‘must be rectified immediately.’ Why? I don’t see what my marital status has to do with my job so I closed the attachment and sent it back to the Corporate Nazi who sent it and said ‘checked it.’ That’s not a lie. I did check it. I just chose to exercise my right to be a perverse bugger and not play along with their little games. Now, if they had asked by 'martial' status then I would have said deadly.  

Besides, when was the last time a female had to register their marital status? 1950?  

Genital consideration…

So there was a meeting today with us (Cairns) and them (Sydney) about not making up customer names  in the testing database – i.e Mr Dick Head, Mr Hugh Dick, Mr I M Awanker etc. It was stressed to us in very sanctimonious terms that we needed to keep our minds "above our genitals." Baaad, baaad Cairns. And nah, I’m not one of those in trouble due to genitals. I’m too busy at my desk looking for other jobs, writing and playing Taipei to consider my genitals at work. 

Gee? You want my opinion?

I met the new Business manager yesterday. He’s interesting to watch as he plays everyone in the office. With the men it’s football, cars, the women he met last night in Cairns even though he’s married but ‘hey fellas, a man’s not dead.’ Insert vulgar laugh, leer and back slap. With me? Well he tried charm. I looked deliberately vague. He tried, ‘You’re the backbone of the office, Amarinda.’ I raised one eyebrow and said ‘well, yes’ like that was obvious. He then tried asking my opinion of all the troubles and issues we had. Big, huge, deadly, extreme, caution, handle with care mistake. I gave it. His pale faced response, “Yeah. Right. Okay.” Translation? Fuck, why did I ask? Exactly…don’t ask and I won’t tell.  

The arvo email…

We have a critical situation that needs to be rectified immediately. Please advise immediate course of action to avoid catastrophe.
Is it really critical?
Well, pretty critical.
Catastrophe?
Sorta – well, they think so.
They?
It’s a pushy woman.
Oh, her. Can it wait until next week?
Sure. I don’t want to interrupt you guys if you’re busy.
Yeah, we have a couple of meetings tomorrow and I’m away for a couple of days after that.
Going somewhere nice?
Nope, just lazing around at home.
Okay, well, this can wait.
Are you sure?
Yeah, it’s only pretty critical – not like its super critical.
Well, yeah, super critical could be done but pretty critical is well, just pretty…you know?
Yeah. Let ‘em wait.
Er hello? I’m cc’d on the email.
Oh
Oh
So I’m thinking this needs to be rectified now as worlds will indeed collide. While I understand there is protocol, havering, corporate bullshitting, work avoidance and navel gazing involved and clearly I’m not high enough up the food chain to understand this at your level, all I can say is please do what I want now.
We can do it tomorrow 

Yeah, we planned to do it tomorrow.
Of course you did.      

In my defense....

I have this writing mojo thing happening at the moment. Up until now, I have been writing mojo-less due to other life stuff that was more important. Anyway, I was pretty pleased yesterday when I wrote a solid 3000 words at the evil day job. Yes, some could argue that I’m wasting time. But, in my defense  while I have the internet, the corporate joy killers have destroyed all access to Facebook, Hotmail, yahoo mail etc. So, technically, by me looking busy and productive, I’m actually doing them a favour.   

I reckon I have 1000 more words to write to finish today at work. Oh, and I have to get a Gaelic translation. Busy, busy…   

Longest Monday ever...

I don't know where I'm going from here, but I promise it won't be boring ~ David Bowie

It's all just a means to an end...repeat that 17 times over, Amarinda.

I’m just the Admin chick…

So, a  high faluting manager type nonghead from  Sydney called me in a panic about an engineering structural change and what did I know about it? Had I sent it? Passed it on to anyone? Been asked about it? Er, that would be no, no, no and fuck no man, I’m doing personal printing I don't have time for work stuff today. I also added that as an office manager I managed the officey type thingys and didn’t deal with feral engineering people who, in essence, were quite yucky and reminded me of pubic hair. He then said he would send me info on the engineering thing. I pointed out if he had the info why was he asking me about it because frankly that seemed pretty damn dumb to me.

Anyway, so he sent it to me and said can you format this – he couldn’t – and send it out to everyone. I said sure, whatever. Everyone? Yes everyone.  So I sent it out to everyone. Five minutes later I get a panicked phone call asking me had I sent it out to everyone? Yes.  Every single person in every single office? Yes. Dead silence over the phone before he said did you read it? Er no, I don’t care about metal things with screws and holes punched in them. Did I see the mistake they made in it in it? No. He seemed relieved by this until I mentioned that as a non engineering person if I had of read that sticking steel girders together with spit and sticky tape was the new trend I would have said ‘whatever.’ Silence again. Are you there?  Can we recall the email, was the panicked response.   Sure, but I lets face it that’s not all that effective is it because the minute you send a recall out there like "Amarinda Jones would like to recall the email entitled ‘Spit – the new wonder glue for steel super structures’ due to a boo-boo in it” pretty much everyone is going to want to read that email to find out why the recall. What will we do when they ring and ask about the email? My standard defence to everything in the office? “I’m just the Admin chick man, I don’t know anything.”  Did they ring? Yeah. I said my line and transferred them onwards and upwards as a good admin chick does. I had printing to do.   

Zombie free zone...

So, every zombie called in sick today at work. On a Monday. To be honest, being the only one in the office was like a normal working day because the zombies never speak unless they are in fear of missing out on free food.

The world’s second most boring man, let’s call him Lester, who is in the Sydney corporate office and I do not answer to in any way, shape or form, called me, to justify his existence, after I sent the email to Sydney advising I was the only one in the office today.

Lester: - So, no one but you is in the office?

Me: - Correct

L:- So, zombie one isn’t there?

Me: - No

L:-Is zombie two also away?

Me:- Yes, did you read my email?

L:- Yes I did. Is zombie three there?

Me: - Did I write that he was on the email? I wrote no one in the office but me. By no one I mean not a soul, nada but for me, on my Pat Malone, bugger all, zombie free.

L:- I wasn’t sure when you said everyone was away that you meant the whole office.

Me:- Uh huh

L: So, no one’s coming in?

Me:- No Lester

L: - So, it’s just you?

Me: - Correct

L: - No one else is expected in?

Me: - Is there a point to this conversation Lester?

L:- what do you mean?
Me:- what do you want, Lester?
L:- just checking who’s in.
Me: - dead silence
L:- So, you’re not expecting anyone in.
Me: - dead silence
L:- So, it’s just you?
Me: - Bye Lester

Reply email from Lester. “Thank you for your email advising the absences in the office. Please advise when the staff come in to work today.”

Fuckwit.

Anywhere but there...

I was sitting at my day job today, nothing to do but my writing and going through my Blackberry deleting half-arsed photos when I saw this one of my knee at Green Island and I thought to myself I want to be anywhere but at work...  

Arse showing...

Weird thing. I spoke to someone in a position of power today and asked what his deal was and did he have a problem with me because he was pissing me off. Yes. Correct. It’s the old Jones Family go-for-the-jugular-move. Life is short. Don’t piss us around. We rarely stand by and say nothing. Anyway, so I asked the question and the answer came back that he was ‘unsure’ and often ‘needed to ask several times to reassure himself’ what he was doing was right. Huh. Fancy getting paid a shite-load of money and need to be reassured? Ever noticed how the plebs like you and me, getting paid the basic wage, need no reassurance? Is it because the higher you climb up the corporate ladder the more your arse hangs out and the more you have to fear? Or is it, as I suspect, that the real people like you and me have lives outside of work and if our arse shows then hell, you were damn lucky to see it.   

Neville Nerd...

So, I rang Neville Nerd – the head high poo-pah doo-dah manager type person who lurks in the big smoke of Sydney. Now, Neville is always too busy and important to speak to me over the phone or via email so when he answers he cuts me short due to his magnificence before I can say anything. This time I cut him off before he could indicate his god-like status to me.  I told Neville there was a problem in the making and explained what. He said ‘I see no problem.’ I said, okay, no worries then. He was quiet for a moment before asking what the problem was. I told him ending with ‘a bullet can be dodged or it can be slammed into someone’s arse.’  That wouldn’t be my arse because I’m just a lowly Office Manager. It would be his – which I would enjoy seeing.

So, Neville said ‘send an email to everyone.’ Now, Neville is particularly anal and needs to see all emails that go out ‘to everyone.’ I said I would write it and send it on to him to do his anal checking. He said ‘I’m too busy to read it.’ Okay, I said in that way that indicates I could write anything in that email while running with scissors. He decided then to dictate an email over the phone. ‘Send that off.’ I did.  Two minutes later he rang and said ‘Why did you send that? It could be misconstrued.’ I pointed out they were his words.   He was quiet and then said ‘do you think people will read it the wrong way?’ I said, I couldn’t say. I nearly said Fucking hell nitwit, it’s nearly knock off time. People could read it upside down while swallowing a knife and patting a croc and I wouldn’t care right now.

He then dicktated…er dictated another one and he said ‘what do you think of that?'I said I would send it. ‘But what to you think?' My response, if you’re happy with it then that’s all that’s required. There was a lot of silence then because I freaked him out, as I wanted to, due to non-committal I’m-just-a-dumb-woman stuff. I may be a nobody in the company but I’m an expert at playing with people’s minds especially in upper management.  Did it get sent? Yep. He ended the call with ‘I’m very busy please don’t ring again.’ Fair enough. I understand that. I had to stop writing at my desk to deal with a boring work problem. We all have crosses to bear.     

Biff...

So, I always enjoy it at work, like today, when a male says to me ‘do you think you can do that by yourself or shall we get Biff to help you?’ The inference is that as a woman I am too dumb to be able to do something that a male – I’m conveniently calling him Biff – can do. My answer to this is ‘Oh, golly gee no. Let Biff do it.’ Could I have done what they asked of me? Yep. Absolutely. No problem at all. Why didn’t I? I didn’t want to waste my time doing some menial, boring task a ‘Biff’ can do. See? That’s female logic for you. Let the Biffs of the world do the tedious stuff. I’m going to get paid either way so it works better for me to do what suits me. I’m sure most sensible women would agree.