Temp Within a Temp
After deciding the house husband life was not for me, I got out to the employment agencies and had a rite passage. I became a temp. A hired gun. The player you trade for to get you over the hump at the most critical time. Well, that last part only applies to sports, but I was happy, because I just secured myself three weeks of stable employment. However, the experience was so dreadful I pulled out after only a week and a half. So I temped at the temp job. I was a temp within a temp. (We can say "TWAT" for short, but that word would resemble more my coworkers than me.
I worked at a big women’s clothing company in L.A.’s garment district. The surroundings were dreadful, and mapquest said it was only 20 minutes away when the signature California traffic made it closer to an hour. And the company was so big that I had to park in a lot so far away the commute now became an hour and ten minutes when you factor in the walk.
Now when you work in fashion you can assume that your coworkers are either gay, snobby or gay snobs. It was remarkable. Robots had more personality than these people. At least with robots I could carry on an objective conversation. Like if I were hanging out with Data from Star Trek, we could kick back and predict sporting events, analyze stock quotes then I’d peel open his scalp so I could program him to dance.
These people looked away from you at all costs and were so imprisoned by their work that they only spoke in the language of fashion.
Them: "Check for the POs on cuts YED and PBO and run a cut & sold after checking the cost sheets."
Me: "How was your weekend?"
One thing I did like about the company was its diversity, but it was almost too diverse. It was so diverse I was the token white guy. In my office it was me, a black woman and a Hispanic woman working under an Indian man and I was temping in place of an Asian woman. I’m like what time do we all hold hands and sing "We Are the World?"
The black woman actually had personality, because she was like a throwback black woman. She was so good at making herself laugh you’d almost expect each sentence to end with "kiss my grits" followed by an encore chuckle.
One bizarre episode was on the first day when the Asian woman was still there and asked me to do some math for her. I was baffled. The Asian is asking me to do math? The Asian, who is 75% computer wants me to calculate? I had to step out for a moment to breathe into a paper bag before I started.
The final oddity was that the IT guy was British. I didn’t know if I wanted to ask him for computer help or challenge to a duel. Zing!
Well, I’ve babbled enough. I’m at home again, but I’m not a house husband. I’m a self-employed volunteer professional. Ok, I need to go breathe into a paper bag.
