chemaccino good, but not good for you
Friday, February 27, 2004
Dominating the conversation much? Yes. Yes I am.
adminho: I am grumpy
adminho: Because they are interviewing for this job
adminho: and all the travel yesterday was all fucked up
adminho: but maybe that will reflect on me
adminho: I didn't know I had to REPLY to the email for them to get the ticket!
adminho: OK, see there's the travel dept. and I called. and arranged his flight. and they sent an itinerary by email.
adminho: But it turns out they never bought the ticket, because I didn't reply to the email.
friend: they are a stupid travel agency.
adminho: so then he gets to the airport in the morning and WHAT? no ticket
adminho: and then his return flight was cancelled, but did anyone tell me? no.
adminho: he calls to see if I can get him on an earlier flight, and when I call Travel, they're like, "Yeah that's a good idea, because that flight we have him on is cancelled."
friend: so gimpy.
adminho: and I'm like, "when were you going to tell me?"
adminho: so then he MISSES that flight
adminho: and has to take the train
adminho: so he calls me, "Get me a train"
adminho: and the Acela is sold out
adminho: "What? Awwww, Coach? You sure Acela sold out?"
adminho: Yes, it's sold out. Travel says so, and so does the website.
adminho: got you reserved coach on the 6pm
adminho: 5 min later, he calls back
adminho: "I got a seat on the Acela"
adminho: the hell does he need me for???
I have a confession related to last night's post. I have little-to-no fashion sense. Especially when it comes to corporate casual. Part of the problem is that I am hopelessly cheap: I'm certain that if I were a big spender, I would look really good, but any clothing item that costs more than $20 is a big investment and commitment.
I'm getting better, I swear. I have learned to tell whether something is cut correctly for my figure, which is ...ummmm, curvier than the average bear.
It's either too tight across the top (whore), or it fits but then doesn't nip in underneath (preggers). Here's me silently commenting on the shirts on the rack at Marshall's on Tuesday:
"Preggers, preggers, whore, eww, whore, whore, preggers, eww, whore, preggers preggers....."
At least I've figured out that most stuff doesn't fit right. The next step is getting it all to match. That could take years. I know that black matches black, but I can't wear all-black; it's too funereal. Thus the brown-and-gray debacle.
Does he know I'm black? Or does he think I'm white?
Andrea, the paralegal I support, cracks me up.
Friday Bagel Report
Today's bagels are brought to us by Betsey, the full-time secretary who does not sit next to me, but is two desks down. She brought in what appears to be the standard: bagels, lox, cream cheese, sliced tomatoes. But she also has a big plate of sliced onions out.
I am so not looking forward to a day of oniony coworkers. This is not good.
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Why I have nothing to say
I thought that brown would go with gray
and so that's what I wore today
But gray does not go well with brown
and so I also wore a frown
I like coffee. So does this guy.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Remeber how I mentioned that the ladies' room has a really well-stocked basket of tampons and pads, available to all? Well, when I went in there this afternoon, I noticed that the basket was almost cleaned out - only 2 pad-boxes remained.
What does this mean???
1. All the women here are on the same schedule.
2. This is a totally normal rate of depletion and I just haven't been around long enough to notice that.
3. Thief! Thief! Tampon thief!
candy candy candy candy!
Candy in the Records Room!
Hershey's Special Dark eggies!
Krackle! (not so excited about the Krackle, though, because it tastes really peanutty after having the SpDark.)
Jolly Rancher lollies!
Hooray for the Records Room!
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
I'm so hungry, I could eat a BABY!
When I went to get some coffee for my 4pm tea-time, I found a special treat out for public consumption:
How appropriate. It IS Fat Tuesday, after all. I took a bigger slice than I would have of any mere everyday pastry, but sadly, I did not get the baby. But I feel much more festive; when I get home, maybe I will put on some of my beads from Mardi Gras past.
omigod omigod omigod
Bitchy Temp in in a closed-door meeting with one of her lawyers.
Think he's talking to her about her attitude?
I think so.
I'll post updates as they happen.
UPDATE (5 min later)
Damn. she was out in like, one minute. it was nothing. But shit will hit fan eventually, I suspect.
You know how some middle-aged women who work as secretaries are kinda smart and snarky and can make little side-comments?
You know, the Pissahs?
Well, the temp who works next to me is NOT a Pissah.
She's just a rude bitch. Not to me; she's nice to me. But she does these little obnoxious things, like talking back to a caller after she's hung up the phone, or, when the phone rings, she'll go "oh, go away!" I don't need that, and she's just making her life more difficult and the environment less pleasant.
Driver Hall of Shame: Inductee #2
(Click here to read about Inductee #1)
I was in the left-hand-turn lane. She was making a left-hand-turn from the street on my right in heavy traffic, which is why I could see into her car so well. More the pity for me.
The cell phone was tucked under her left ear, and corded; this means that when dropped, it gets pulled under your feet.
In her left hand, by the window: a ballpoint pen.
In her right hand: a burning cigarette.
Fear her. Avoid her. This can't end well.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Anywhere but here #2
You know that insane sign in that stall?
I really want to add another one in there:
PLEASE ENSURE THAT YOUR USED TAMPON APPLICATOR IS NOT STICKING OUT OF THE NAPKIN DISPOSAL.
THIS CAN BE DONE BY:
1. GETTING IT ALL THE WAY IN THE BIN
2. WRAPPING IT IN TOILET PAPER
TRY DOING BOTH, YOU DISGUSTING CUNT.
I wonder how the ladies' room is downstairs.
Anywhere but here #1
IceMaker Pantry has sandwiches out. Can I take one?
Is the pantry always more stocked on the other side of your floor?
There's a full-time woman who works next to me and we answer each other's phones when the other is away from her desk. We also have to coordinate our lunchtimes, and because of commitments with her kids' schedules, she has to take lunch from 12:30 - 1:30pm. That means that I don't get a lunch break until 1:30-2:30pm, and that's only if she gets back on time.
Which she hasn't so far.
I have already developed coping mechanisms. First of all, 1:30 lunch isn't all that late in the first place since my hours are 9-6. Second, I prefer to bring in snacky-type lunchstuffs anyway, so I just eat at my desk whenever I want.
I also have a plan for dealing with this late schedule and my snackity needs:
I have officially re-instituted my own personal Tea.
That's right: at 4pm, it's time for coffee and cookies. Three mini-Brussels, if you're wondering, and a handful of almonds if I'm really peckish. I haven't worked out if this will also be a Break as well, complete with web-surfing, etc. I think it will depend on the workload.
Friday, February 20, 2004
filling in the gaps from what you already know
You probably already know from previous posts that it's temp-to-perm, working with lawyers at a big company. Here's what you don't know:
(Click here for the review from my last temp gig.)
Food and Beverages:
Coffee: FilterFresh. It's free, it's some machine that brews for you, and you can watch through the glass but it's not great, taste-wise.
Soda: Vending machine down the hall.
Food: Bagel Fridays, and cake for transitions. Also, there's a cafeteria somewhere in the building I have yet to investigate.
Stapler: Stanley Bostitch 2000. This fucker is heavy. I will have a really strong left arm from this beeyotch.
Stapler remover: Crappy jaws-style.
Monitor: hp72. What the hell is that? It's okay.
Computer: Dell, and takes quite some time to load up and shut down.
Mouse: Dell optic with working scroll thingy.
Keyboard: It's on one of those under-the-desk swivel-adjusty things which is okay, but the cord is wrapped around the adjusty-arm, making it quite a production when I finally decide I really must turn it upside-down and empty out the crumbs.
Chair: The wheels are somewhat wayward and don't quite work together well.
Space: Three-sided, kind of reception-style.
Breakroom: (new section!)
Appliances: pop-up toaster, small toaster oven, microwave, dishwasher, large fridge and freezer, about medium-full of stuff. My next apartment should be so lucky. Also the site of the Big Copier. Why? why?
Culture: no room to eat in there. People eat at their desks sometimes, but more usual is that they leave for lunch. Bagel Fridays already explained.
Ladies' Bathroom: (another new section!)
I coudn't resist. I don't know why it's so dramatic around here with the flushing, but I'm trying to adapt.
Stalls: 5, the middle one is handicapped. 4 are autoflush, and you better WATCH OUT, because they SPIT. No extra charge for the unexpected bidet-like feature created by this, especially in the far-right stall. The far-left stall is manual flush, with a sign above it that reads, "Please be considerate and ensure that the toilet is flushed COMPLETELY" then underneath is a clip-art of a toilet with a text box pointing into it that reads, "FLUSHED??"
What the HELL is people's problems with flushing around here?
Anyway, so the stalls are pretty tricked out, though. They all have a "Napkin Disposal" (lined, for bonus points!) AND a fold-down "UTILITY SHELF: For Your Personal Belongings."
Sinks/Mirrors: Two sets of sink/mirrors with two sinks each. The set with better light has this problem: one faucet has no hot water, and the other has a broken soap dispenser. So I must dominate the entire counter.
Amenities: Oooh, la la, full-length mirror. Also, a lovely wicker basket kept stocked with both breeds of feminie products. Those would be pads and tampons, thank you very much, no you don't escape without my saying it! TAMPONS!
TAMPONS FOR FREE!
(Millions of tampons, tampons for me.)
Yes, we have Bagel Fridays, we have Bagel Friday today!
The Bagel Fridays here are the kind where the employees each have a day they have to bring them in. A rotation, if you will. But this company is so big, that there are at least two "Pantries" (that's what the door plaques call them) per floor. So I guess everyone is assigned to a 'Pantry' and that's the pantry to which you have bagel duties.
The refrigerator in my assigned pantry has a broken icemaker, so if I want ice (yes! I want ice! I want to put it in a cup and pour in my warm Diet Coke that I brought from home! Then it is not warm! And I don't care if it makes me a fat girl to Paris Hilton! It keeps me non-sluggish without the psycho sugar-high!) then I have to go to the pantry on the other side of the building. This brings up an interesting dilemma:
Can I eat the food that's over there? or even: If it's mid-afternoon, then can I?
Also, there was a pot of manually-brewed "Cafe Godiva" coffee - can I have some of that?
I'm burning through this Phone Message Book like a fire through Colorado.
The Other Temp
There are four secretaries here in a row, all facing the hall/corridor/path/street. Two of them are full-time, one is me, and one is another temp who has been here for about two months. She is older, 60s-ish, and kind of high-maintenance in the health arena. Her sneezes are the Drama Of A Lifetime. Her phone manner leaves something to be desired; she is, shall we say, less than cheery. It borders on "annoyed-that-you-called" which is not appropriate, especially since people calling aren't even calling for her and would rather have gotten the person they called to speak to in the first place.
The upshot is that if this is the standard to which they hold ME, I'm psyched.
Drama queen temp can't take the spiral staircase. "I can't do it," she's telling the FT woman she works with who is trying to give her directions to somewhere in the building. I think spiral stairs are safer I mean, if you fall or trip, you don't go nearly as far as on a straight staircase.
Thursday, February 19, 2004
And here's another way to save time and also blog: Recycling!
Thanks to my friends whose permission I didn't seek before posting this. I'm sure they not only understand, but appreciate it, too.
AREN'T YOU EXCITED?!?!
friend1: Your Feb. 10 entry made me angry at the world.
friend1: I mean, seriously angry...especially considering I was reading someone else's blog.
friend1: Knowing you were supposed to make copies.
friend1: Deena looking over your shoulder while you were IM-ing.
adminho: oh, yeah
friend1: Once I read that, I'd had enough for the day. I just wanted to go home. (It's a good thing I didn't read it first thing in the morning.)
adminho: and wait until you hear how I got home that night to a message on my parents' answering machine from some random lady (not my contact) at the temp agency telling me not to go back the next day because the client ended my assignment
adminho: …and when I spoke to my contact at the agency in the morning, she was like, “I don’t know why” and even the next day they hadn’t called her back and she didn’t know why. She’s having trouble keeping people over there. Wonder why.
adminho: anyway, why did it affect you so?
friend1: Not sure, really. I think it upset me because you're working with people who are probably not nearly as intelligent as you, and yet they think you're stupid and incompetent.
friend1: I mean, if you can't even *recognize* talent, that's a sad state of being.
friend1: Maybe also the implication that if you were IM-ing someone, you were shirking your actual work, not to mention the voyeuristic aspect of it.
friend2: How did your interview go last week?
adminho: The interview I had last week for the Legal Sec. job went OK, inasmuch as it's the job I'm at right now, on a probation of sorts while they decide whether to keep me
friend2: oh, that's cool. so you might be perm from this?
adminho: So, I'm trying to be Really Good here.
friend2: Is that the same as a paralegal?
adminho: no, it's support for a paralegal.
friend2: i'm not versed in firm hierarchies and things yet. I'll get my fill this summer
adminho: Well, actually I support a patent attorney, an HR attorney, and a paralegal, but the paralegal mostly takes care of her own stuff.
friend2: but the important thing is... k-cups, filterfresh, or conventional coffeepot?
adminho: oh, it's the same system as the vomit place. so I fear it greatly.
adminho: also, I'm holding off on chemblog because I don't want to be distracted
friend2: chemaccino machine type thing?
adminho: kinda, but a cheap version
I'm going to try to get out some of the things I want to blog by doing short-short notes, rather than giving them each the full post treatment they deserve.
Here's one such thought-post:
All the lawyers here have a TV on a shelf in their office cabinet. This may be because the company is media-based, but it totally reminds me of Brewster's Millions, along with every other "you've unexpectedly inherited/not inherited large sums of money" movie. I keep expecting an old person to cackle at me on the screen.
I'm at a new assignment that actually keeps me busy, can you believe it??
I have so much to say, though; I'm more backed-up than someone on an Imodium overdose.
The sign in the bathroom HERE reminding people to flush is super deluxe with a clip-art of a toilet and a sign pointing to where things are that need to get flushed... ...it's so amazing and I need to share it with you all in-depth as soon as I get the opportunity.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Wow, check out this story.
Guess she won't be working in gun safety anymore.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
The letter opener is too blunt to make it through my ribcage
This job just gets worse. Deena and Hope treat me like I'm fresh from jail, and might steal office supplies or download porn at any moment. The brokers treat me like a copier that edits: put papers in tray, and edits will magically occur and be delivered.
This afternoon, I caught Deena looking over my shoulder while I was IM-ing with a friend. When I turned to see if she wanted to talk to me, she continued on her way as if she'd never stopped. Damn right I'm going to IM when I've got nothing to do; I'm not ashamed at all.
Later, I had to call Hope over to help me with finding a template on the computer. She was huffy, brusque, and condescending. When she pulled up the Start menu (why? to open Word?), she lingered on the menu for EasyMessage, the IM program I installed. Was she wondering if that was the location of John's signature file? Or was she trying to passive-aggressively point out that she had discovered that I installed a program?
To make matters worse, while she was engaged in this help-the-useless-and-criminal-temp drama with me, Matt (broker#1) stops by to see if I have copies of the correspondence he gave me to mail.
Why would I make copies?
Oh, because we always keep a copy of all correspondence that goes out; there are files for that in their offices. (And I'm supposed to already know this because...... ...because nobody told me?)
No problem, I'll get copies to you. (This is just a matter of opening the envelopes, copying the docs, and making new envelopes.)
During and after this interaction with Matt, Hope is giving me this tight, cold, intense look, like HOLY-SHIT-YOU-STUPID-GIRL-WHY-DIDN'T-YOU-ALREADY-KNOW-TO-MAKE-THOSE-COPIES. Maybe, Hope, because you never mentioned that to me in your incredibly incomplete and unhelpful "training".
I'm calling all my pimps tomorrow morning. I want out.
After all, in the words of Dorothy Parker,
"might as well live."
I set my phone to "Ring Again" to Hope and just called her with a bullshit question, just to prove I was here.
Have I mentioned she's kind of icy?
Storytime: How dumb I am
Ooo! Oooo! I got here EARLY! Hope would cream her panties.... if she were here yet.
Anyway, I've been meaning to tell a story from Friday. Now's the time.
I had been really impressed with myself at this new gig, because every time I got onto the elevator and I turned to press the button, I always turned to the side the buttons were on! This had not been the case at the previous place, and I was very happy with myself for getting this right.
Until I noticed that these elevators have the buttons on both sides of the door.
I am dumb.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Somebody in this office is not shy about letting their cell phone ring, and it has a particular ring such that every time is goes off, I can't help but think to myself,
"What's Sydney's mission this time?"
More fun from Metafilter!
Here is a list of some job application cover letters. They make me feel better about mine.
(Well, they would if they were real.)
Watch People Smile.
This may cheer you up, watching people smile and then judging whether it's real or fake. Fun!
(found on Metafilter)
On Beyond Beyonce: Typelicious
TheSmokingGun.com has posted Beyonce's Hospitality Rider: a three-page document outlining all the amenities the SuperBowl people were required to provide. It's hilariously high-maintenance, which isn't so much a reflection on Beyonce as it is on her managers, corporate deals, and possibly on requests for specificity on the SB people's part.
No matter who it was who created the demand for this high-maint document, I can't help wondering about whoever it was who had to type this up. An underling? A paralegal? Imagine being that person; the person who has a computer with a boilerplate Hospitality Rider at the ready.
And imagine getting the edit notes:
"Put 'Heavily Seasoned' in All Caps!"
"Write all numbers out as words and numerals!"
"Capitalize all condiments!"
Slave Trafficking, Tardiness, and the Difference Being a Temp Makes.
From what I've read about the international sex slave trafficking industry (can't wait for the Google hits from that intro), there is a generally held practice that the best people to break a girl's spirit and ready her for what we'll call her new "job market" are older women. Girls are more likely to trust and respect older women, and that makes these women the best agents for torturing and crushing these girls. The men don't have to do the major work on dishing out cruelty, though I'm guessing it comes naturally.
Anyway. The same principle seems to be at play in this new temp assignment, where Deena and Hope are the older women in charge of keeping a strict hand over the younger women of the administrative staff. I was late this morning, due to a serious traffic snarl from a downed power line. What had been two lanes in each direction became one lane, total, with some cops letting each direction take turns. Anyway, so I was late.
Hope met me at Reception, coldly announcing "Your brokers are looking for you," while shooting daggers at me with her eyes. She continued, explaining to me how it's important that I be on time, and if I'm going to be late or stuck in traffic, I should let them know. This pisses me off, because how dare she assume I have a cell phone? Or, would she rather I pull over to a pay phone and be even later?
I get to my desk, wondering what is so very very important that these brokers are freaking out that I'm not in yet, and I see three handwritten drafts of letters in my inbox, all from the same guy. Okaay, correspondence. Maybe it's correspondence he wants done right away, because he's going out soon, and he wants to drop them off at the post office personally. I start typing the one on top, and "Matt," the guy for whom I'm typing, pops by my cube, smiles, and says, "I'm going to a meeting, I'll be back in an hour and a half."
That's it? You didn't need these letters right away? This correspondence which, as far as I can tell, is crucial, deal-making, "thanks-for-meeting-with-me" follow-ups?
Suddenly, I realized that it wasn't that he had been freaking out about where I was, he had probably just enquired with Hope whether I was coming in because he just didn't know. After all, I'd only been here 2 days. She's the one who freaked out, especially since it is her job to make sure that all the girls are available to the men whenever needed.
I, however, am way too old for this shit and refuse to be intimidated by some borderline anorexic who walks like a puppet and has bad breath. I called my pimp Donna about the whole thing, and she was like, yeah, they're just freaked because the last woman there was late all the time, and we had to replace her. They're real sticklers for time, but I know that sometimes, you just can't help being late.
What really pisses me off about this is that if I were a full-time employee, I would have been treated with a bit more compassion and respect, because I would be their employee, and therefore a part of their company and worth some emotional investment. They seem to have what I call "temp burn-out", meaning, they've been relying on temps for this job for so long, they are sick of having someone new to teach everything to and re-train. I say, suck it up, take a chance, and hire someone for real and get over yourselves already.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Old Lady Breath: The Short-Short Version
Since I lost the entirety of the post I just finished, you will only get the short-short version.
There are two ladies here who showed me around yesterday. They are both really skinny, and approx. 45 years old, but don't quote me; I'm a terrible judge of that.
Deena showed me around first because Hope wasn't in yet, and Deena had heinous old-lady-breath that defied her age. Or mayber she IS 72. Deena wears matchy-matchy scarf-blouse-sweater-skirt ensembles that my mother would envy and that my mother also probably wishes I would wear because they are so nice and they match themselves so well.
But I am too damn cheap.
Hope showed me around when she got in, and she too had the old-lady-breath, but not as bad as Deena. This made me worried that there's something in the water or the coffee. I'm now ever-vigilant. Tic Tacs abound. Yesterday Hope wore a cutesy white-with-green-embroidery cardigan with cutesy pearl buttons. Viewed from the side, you can see between the gaps between the buttons. Hope was not wearing a shirt or anything under the cardigan. Just a bra. A green push-up bra. Also, Hope walks funny: bent forward at the hips like a marionette. All the better to see your bra, old lady!
You may think I spent the morning doing work. I did have a little to do, but mostly I read about The Apprentice on Television Without Pity. Also, I had to cover Reception. The woman at reception is really nice and friendly, and younger than me, I think. Anyway. She's nice. It's nice to talk to a nice person. Nice.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
I'm gonna write it on the bathroom wall...
Right, so I'm still obsessed with the idea of wreaking havoc. Particularly, for those just tuning in, messing with the bathrooms signs. This afternoon, I used the second of the three bathroom stalles in the ladies' room, and lo, there too was a taped-up sign reading
PLEASE FLUSH AFTER USE.
As I've already mentioned, I have the urge to replace one of these with
PLEASE BLUSH AFTER USE
and now I'm thinking it would be funny if a few days later, I replaced that sign with one of these:
PLEASE FLUSH BEFORE USE
FLEAS BLUSH AFTER USE
LEARN WHEN TO FLUSH, DUMBASS
While thinking about that is funny, doing it would probably piss somebody off. So maybe not.
The 411 on the new digs
I'm here at this corporate thing "indefinitely". That means anywhere from just until the end of next week to forever and ever. Originally, Office Pimp sent my resume in to them a month or two ago as a candidate for permanent placement, but they didn't think they wanted me, but apparently, they didn't want anyone, so they took on a temp to cover until they found someone. That temp was chronically late to work, and they complained, and that's where I come in. So now I'm a replacement temp. I support 4 commercial real estate suits. I've only met 2 of them so far; it's been a very quiet day.
All the better to give you the lowdown on this here hoe-down!
Click here for the review from my last temp gig.
Food and Beverages:
Coffee: Hooray! K-cup coffee in the breakroom! But, in keeping with the corporate thing, there aren't any of the better, more imaginative flavors, like Dark Magic or Lake & Lodge. But I won't complain because they do have the perfectly acceptable French Roast. And it's free, unlike the sodas and snacks kept in the vending machine. Speaking of which, one of the items in there is a package of Pepperidge Farm Milanos, kept about 4 feet up from the retrieval drawer. Don't they break in the fall, right before you retrieve them? Maybe not. Maybe they are packaged by the guy who won your middle school's egg drop contest. But I digress.
Food: Vending machine, like I said. But there was a open-to-the-public chocolate Bundt cake this morning. Time will tell whether there's good food available for free. There's a cafeteria on the 4th floor, and the lady who showed me around said it was cheap, but if $6.75 is cheap for a sandwich and a soda, I'm screwed. Across from the cafeteria is a fitness place of some sort. Very intriguing. I don't think they'd allow me in, though.
Stapler: GBC Bates Euro style. Attractive, effective, but not a smooth ride at all.
Stapler remover: Crappy jaws-style.
Monitor: Nokia makes monitors? It's wide-screen, I think, which I'm not very comfortable with. But I bet movies would be great on it.
Computer: Everything loads reeeeally slowly. Even Windows Explorer and all right-click menus.
Mouse: Standard. At least the scroll works.
Keyboard: Ugh! It's this weird Compaq silver-and-black thing and the keys are permanently dirty. I tried to clean them with Glass Plus and Kleenex, but the dirt won't come off. Gross.
Chair: Too deep. I have to perch on the edge.
Space: Regular three-sided cube. I sit facing the far-right corner, so my back is to the opening, which is bad feng-shui. Everything else is so boring, it's too boring to write about. But it ALL MATCHES!
There's something about this ultra-corporatey corporate place I've started at today that's giving me a little case of the crazies. That is to say, I've been inspired to be insane. Little things strike me as hilariously necessary to engage in. It's only my first day, so it's really jumping the gun, but whatever, this place is corporatastic, and it's freaking me out.
How corporate is it?
-Each broker (I'm supporting for R.E. brokers) has his own set of letterhead stationery. (And yes, they are all "he"s.)
-There is also "second-page" letterhead, with not only the company name/logo, but also a disclaimer across the bottom.
-All of the office furniture in all the cubes - chairs, file drawers, blotters, in-trays - all of it all matches.
-All of the matching office furniture also matches the letterhead stationery.
-Everyone is wearing department-store ensembles. (Except me. Oh, well, I guess Target is technically a department store.)
Here is what I mean about getting the crazies:
In my cube, there's a corkboard area above the phone for phone lists, voice-mail directions, etc. I didn't dare remove anything, but I have decided that only orange and green thumbtacks may be used. Oh, man, it's the best. It clashes with everything else, and it's so goddam psycho.
Crazies planned for the future:
In the bathroom stall I used this morning, there's a piece of paper taped up on the inside of the door, facing the 'user', that reads in big-point Times New Roman: PLEASE FLUSH AFTER USE. I am DYING to sneak in there and replace it with an almost identical sign that instead reads: PLEASE BLUSH AFTER USE. I'm obsessed with it. I can't NOT think about it now. I'm going to hold off at least until tomorrow on that one, though.
Crazies already in place, with no help from me:
It may be that I'm inspired by my surroundings. There is some strangeness going on in this here cube.
#1 Strangeness: Next to the fax machine in here, there's a plastic bowl full of pennies. What the hell is that about? As far as I can tell, the fax doesn't RUN on pennies. Maybe it's a tip jar?
#2 Strangeness: The cubes are made of solid wall material, not fabric divider things. The bare cube wall on my right (not the phone wall on my left w/ corkboard) has a random, scattered spattering of thumb-tack holes from where previous residents thought it would be good to shove thumbtacks into the drywall. It has a freaky, mini-bullet-hole feel to it. And so bare. So... bare....
Maybe I will use the rest of the thumbtacks to create a lite-brite picture on it.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
My Work Here Is Done
...so what am I going to do until 5pm? The guy I'm working for at this little 2-day assignment is really-really-very impressed with me. To the point where he talked about hiring me as a consultant to do software work with the employees. I was like, yeah, sure, I'd be glad to help you, as long as the work is substantially different from what the temp company hired me to do.
I'd love to come in and charge them $50/hr just to teach folks how to Take Back Control of Page Margins.
Possible Bumper Stickers
Lately, for no particular reason, I have thought of two little adminwhore-type mottos, each of which would make for a cool bumper sticker, if that's the kind of person you are.
Here are the two little ...
IMPRESS PEOPLE: UNDERPROMISE AND OVERDELIVER
THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN AMUSEMENT AND DISDAIN IS A SMILE
Consider those little bitches © the adminho.
Smoke 'em if ya got 'em
The ladies' room for the floor I'm working on has four stalls. The first two have little "No-Smoking" emblems on them, and last two do not. Does that mean that in the two that do not, it is okay to smoke in those stalls? And if so, does anyone think that there's really an appreciable difference between adjacent "smoking" and "non-smoking" bathroom stalls?
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Incredibly Disgusting Coffee-Type Experience
or, "That's not Teen Spirit!"
I'm at a new temp gig - just a three-day thing, typing up some financial statements. I'm going much faster than they expected, so I need to slow down or else they'll give me more to do. Anyway. On to the Disgusting Experience.
I just now went to the little breakroom to re-fill on water, and noticed a coffee machine. It was unlike any I'd seen before, and I was intrigued. There was also a button for making "Cafe Mocha", and this intrigued me further, to the point where I decided to give it a shot.
When it was all done, I took the styofoam cup, raised this brave new mocha to my lips, and....
and it smelled like vomit.
"Maybe it tastes good, though," I thought to myself. I tried to take a sip, but only one drop made it past my lips when the overpowering aroma of bile made me instinctually pull it away from my mouth. I poured it all in the sink and threw out the cup. I can't even tell what that drop tasted like; as far as I can tell, it tasted like nothing at all. Which is a mercy.
Okay, it's back to work for me. Non-caffinated work.