workingfortheman.com

7:00 Alarm
7:09 Alarm
7:18 Alarm
7:27 Alarm
7:36 Alarm

7:44 Turn off alarm before it goes off again. Turn on local morning show. Wonder where regular host has gone. Am glad I'm not the one who died in the middle of the Nimitz. Think briefly about how we would not encounter any of the traffic this accident has engendered, as it is south of us. They say it'll be at least another hour before it's clear, then say the bridge has a half hour wait. Wonder why it's so heavy when everyone's backed up behind that accident.

7:57 Can't find shirt I want.

8:02 Start 16-block walk to assignment.

8:18 Stop at that little cafe that I've forgotten I'd promised myself to remember not to stop at again because their large coffee is barely medium. Order a large coffee.

8:24 Arrive at receptionist's desk on fourth floor. Receptionist is not in yet. Peek around corner and wave down employee to ask if can call the person I'm supposed to contact. He leaves a voice mail.

8:41 Contact person arrives, whisks me up to fifth floor for whirlwind tour of the department. Am unsure why it's necessary to introduce me to everyone when I am only there for three days. One of the two people I'll be admin to is half my age, obnoxiously perky, and probably making at least twice what I am. I hate her.

8:54 Arrive at my cube, and contact person spends ten minutes enthusiastically showing me seating chart of all the cubes we've just visited. Am told several times that I will get to type up file folder labels on the typewriter. Contact person finally leaves to have my computer login set up and get me a swipe card.

9:05 Am asked to take package up to sixth floor.

9:07 On return, am asked to file two folders in cabinet half a foot from the desk of the person who came all the way down to my cube to make the request.

9:30 Am given list of 24 files to retrieve from cabinets.

9:35 Am handed 24 other folders, with tracking numbers matching those on the 24 I've already retrieved (apparently copy and design cannot deal with each other in process), then shown how to "merge" the files, which entails removing files from one folder, then putting them in matching folder. Take great delight in pounding two-hole punch, and have plan to say that I am efficiently punching as many sheets as possible at once if anyone complains about the noise, but no one does.

9:58 Re-file now-merged folders. Slice open cuticle of right index finger. Have never felt so sorry for myself.

10:07 Re-read sheet tacked on cube wall, detailing instructions for turning off lights by phone, for tenth time. Try to remember what was on list of do's and don't's for temps I read recently. (Do bring something to do, so you are not sitting there reading phone instructions over and over. Don't work too fast, or they will give you mountains of work.)

10:25 Am given login, which allows me to do nothing except browse the intranet. Am now intimately acquainted with all standards and practices of the company, but cannot find out if we're at war yet.

10:42 Daydream about being offered a proofing job.

11:18 Am told guy who's not even with the marketing department has something for me to do. Turns out to be a file box full of every flyer put out by company over past six months. Seventeen copies of each. Two copies of each flyer are to be put aside, other fifteen are to be collated, then placed in intraoffice envelopes. There are a hundred or so different flyers, and they are all ugly. I hate everyone.

11:37 Cringe at ugliness of flyers. Daydream about being offered a design job.

12:07 Contact person asks if I've received my swipe card yet. She goes off to look for person in charge of swipe cards and tells me to knock loudly on glass door when I return from lunch and hope that someone will let me in.

12:10 Call the boy from office phone and leave whispered message that he's horrible for making me work and threaten to cry on him later. Call the girl, who has the day off school, to make sure she has lunch and that she's doing her homework; she has been playing the Sims and hasn't eaten anything all day.

12:15 Flee building, wander around, get horrible sandwich from the place that snotty friend of a friend recommended. Sit in park near men practicing tandem juggling and smoke a lot.

12:43 Knock loudly on glass and man I've never seen before lets me right in. Wonder about the point of having swipe cards. Am asked to put each pair of flyers in a clear protective sheet and sort them according to their tracking numbers.

12:52 Pour self Dixie-sized cup of industrial coffee. Wonder why there are big black Xs all over carton of cream. Start over when cream pours into cup in chunks. Briefly ponder returning carton to refrigerator, but decide to throw it away when it occurs to me that owner of carton might be so enraged that I won't be allowed back.

1:17 After notifying the guy of completion of task, he says, "Oh, could you do these, too?" and hands me several large envelopes containing several hundred more flyers dating back several years. I don't think I've ever hated anyone more.

1:28 Wonder why standard style was changed from not bad to downright hideous during the first quarter of this year.

2:35 Am offered Snickers bar that appears to have been in the guy's back pocket for a week. Lie and tell him I don't eat peanuts and he scurries off. Feel slight remorse at own rudeness, but still hate him.

2:50 Take break and wander around block, crying to the boy on cell.

3:40 Am told flyers should be sorted according to the other tracking number (each flyer has two) rather than the first, as I'd been told to begin with, and that they should also be separated by year. None of the three numbers has anything at all to do with the other two.

4:13 Am visited by the other lady I'm assisting, who hasn't asked me to do a single thing all day. She grins sympathetically as she peers over the piles at me, then mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like "what a bunch of bullshit" as she walks away. Am filled with love. Try not to cry.

4:47 Hunt down contact person to ask her for a time card, but when asked, she looks at me like her tab just kicked in. She tells me the guy is really pleased with my pace and asks how it's going. I admit it's rather dull. She barks out a laugh and hoots, "I know it is but we've all gotta eat!"

Gwen Harlow has been a retail slut, maniacal editor, cafe troll, data entry slave, PR bitch, school marm, dime-a-dozen designer, and, of course, an administrative assistant. Being in an office makes her cry. She complains regularly at www.ofrenda.org/rawr.

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