"How was your day?"
Oh, same ol'. How was your day?
"The usual. What's for dinner?"
Not sure, probably something in the freezer. What sounds good.
"Not that hungry. I'll figure something out."
Our life, our conversations, our intimacy, our emotions. This is the exact point at which they became moot, non-existant, avoided. So we sat. And we watched sitcoms and movies and commercials, and more sitcoms. And we forgot to talk. But we fought. We remembered to do that.
I'd wander back inside my thoughts and explore for a few hours after the fight ended and he disappeared after slamming the door. It's always more peaceful in here, even though my thoughts are always in a state of turmoil. It's oddly calming, even the anxiety is relaxing. It reminds me that I can feel...even if the feelings are only dreadful and dark. So I swallow the big white pill that I know society has forced down my throat, with my dirty, foul-smelling tap water, chase it with a benadryl, and lay back to watch the fan spin.
*ring ring*
Hello.
"Valerie?"
This is she.
"Hey is Lisa, you have a minute?"
Of course, how are you?
"Great! Hey, I have an opening. It's for a design firm in Scottsdale. They need a receptionist. The position is long-term temp."
Ok, where in Scottsdale.
"North. Way North."
Ok, does it pay well? What are the hours?
"It pays very well, more than what you're minimum is. It's 8-5, Monday through Friday. They need someone today. Do you think you can be there at 10?"
I need to shower. I can be there at noon.
"Great, ask for Myra Allen. I'll email you directions."
Awesome, thank you. I appreciate the call.
"Oh, well, just to let you know...they don't have the, um, greatest retention rate. So if you don't like it, well, I completely understand."
I'm sure it's fine. It sounds easy enough.
*ding*
"May I help you?"
I'm looking for Myra Allen. Is she available?
"No. Are you the temp?"
I am, yes.
My first day of my new (temporary) job. It's July 2010 and I've been through the toughest two years of my life. No steady job, can't pay the bills, unemployment runs out, boyfriend is tired of paying the rent and utilities alone...so I succumb. It's not so bad really, the pay is pretty damn good and although there aren't benefits, I at least have my COBRA for a few more months. Plus, there's always an opportunity the temp job will turn permanent. At least that's what these agencies have been telling me for two years.
"We do soft transfers here. Do you understand?"
Yes, I'm familiar.
"Have you used a multi-line phone system? We have ten lines."
Yes, I have.
"Ok, here's your login, here's my extension. Let me know if you have any questions."
Where's the restroom?
"Straight forward. There's a fridge in the kitchen for your lunch, which you'll take at noon."
Great. Thanks!
"Notify Elaine and Lorraine when you're going. If they're not here, you'll stay to cover phones until they get back."
Ok, sounds great.
It's a pretty sweet gig. I get paid twice as much as I did managing retail and being on my feet all day. And all I have to do is answer the phone calls, transfer them, and get back to my Facebook account. And stay awake.
Two hours later, three calls. More coffee. More Facebook. Oh my god my brain is going to turn to mush. How long can I handle this?
"Hi."
Hello.
"'Mornin'"
Good Morning.
"Do you know if there are any York Patties?"
I don't, let me check the candy drawer.
*ring ring*
How may I direct your call...one moment please...he's away from his desk, would you like his voicemail?
"I'm not sure what kind of chocolate I'm in the mood for today, any suggestions?"
Kit Kat?
"It's just my after lunch snack."
It's ok, I like Snicker's too.
*ring ring*
He's unavailable this afternoon, would you like his voicemail?
"I'm just taking a few pieces for my son, he got an A on his test today!"
Congratulations.
It went on...for six weeks. The extent of my conversation was to answer and transfer phone calls, and to advise on the next guilty candy jar visit. Kill me.
Not everyone understands what it's like to be a temporary employee. More people know now in the down economy than ever before though. There are more of us now, waiting, staring blank at the ceiling, wasting our potential and craving sudden death by building collapse or heart attack at 24. Only the lucky few get out alive, or dead, depending on preference. I remember that call like it was today. Jumping out of bed after watching the fan spin for a half an hour after he left for work angry at me again. I know I've failed, I feel like I've failed, people look at me and treat me like I've failed. The foodstamps and unemployment cancellation letter and credit card default letter remind me, constantly, that I've failed. If the walls could talk they'd remind me that I'm still failing even as I'm hoping, wishing, and applying to every job in the Phoenix Metro Area. Fuck my life.
"Good Morning."
'Mornin'
"Bob in yet?"
Haven't seen him.
"I need you to run to the mailbox."
Ok, I'll do that now.
*ring ring*
May I ask who's calling? One moment please.
Day, after day, after day...so I start writing again. I think, wow, my life is so boring, if I could just insert my satirical comments and know someone, somewhere is laughing, I would feel like I have some potential. Anybody? I wish I lived in a TV Sitcom script...life would be so much easier...
