To my (Temporary, thank GOD) coworkers, bosses & associated personnel
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To whomever did the office design:
You suck. And not just a little, like a hand-held vacuum cleaner or even like a shop vac. You suck like the intake valve on a jet engine. You have designed the single WORST office it has ever been my displeasure to try to function in, and I've been a temp for a while. It is neither an open office nor a cube maze. It is halfway between. The 'cubicle' walls are just high enough to prevent meaningful communication with coworkers (unless I stand up and interrupt my work), and low enough to ensure a total lack of privacy - I can't even scratch my... back without half the office being able to see it - approximately the number that's standing up at any given time, because they can't show each other vital bits of paperwork any other way. In addition, the filing system makes less sense than Bush's trickle-down economy lets-all-bring-back-feudalism theory. At least he HAS a theory. This is pretty much random. How the #&$% am I supposed to find anything?
To my _dear_ coworkers:
No, I do not know Shelley. No, I do not care that she is having a baby. No, I will not contribute 10 dollars (significantly more than my take-home for an hour) towards buying her an 'adorable' mommy and baby blanket. Yes, I will bring something for the party if you tell me about it at least 4 hours in advance. Yes, I resent being the only one working when you all go trooping off to eat little hamburger-shaped cookies and chips & dip. No, I will not 'cover' for you during that time - I get paid by the hour, I have enough to do on my own, and I don't get benefits, so what possible good could it do me? Yes, I can hear you play your music. Yes, I can hear the person on the other side of me and the person sitting across from me play THEIRS. I might like your music, but I never hear it. I hear all three. Whichever one of you plays hip-hop, could you turn down the base? Whoever plays soft rock, you're fine. It's ignorable. And whoever listens to glorified boy-band members try to convince themselves they're hetero and hot, could you turn it off? No one wants to hear that. Not even you. Or if you do, please feel free to turn your lungs, heart and kidneys off as well. That way they will match your brain.
To my bosses:
You pay me by the hour, remember? You don't get unpaid time. Not ever. And especially not at these wages. If there's a push on, I'll work extra hours, but only if I AM PAID. I'm not even asking for overtime. You can pay me the exact same amount you do the rest of the time. But no telling me you'll get it approved and then backing down so you get six or seven hours of work a week free. From now on I'm getting it in writing. Also, you hired me for my typing speed, education, and intelligence. My usual tasks - copying, stapling, filing, and collating -exercise none of these attributes. I might be challenged by this job if I was still five. I’m not. Give me some work I couldn't program a handheld calculator to do in a tenth of the time.
To my temp agent: GET ME OUTTA HERE!
Thank you all very much. I do not expect you to have paid any more attention to this than the current administration did to the popular sentiment against war. You have made me bitter and cynical, a task even my paternalistic, homophobic, misogynist university president failed at.
The recent college grad at desk #17, floor 9, building C. I know you don't know my name, and at least one of these designations is off by at least 1 digit. you figure it out - or don't and let me keep drawing crap pay for crap work.
P.S. To the dotty/skeezy shuttle driver. Yes, I am an old fashioned girl. I am flattered that I remind you of your dear, departed wife of 30 years. However, I do not want to replace her. Stop trying to flirt with me, it's gross.