Temp Is a Four-Letter Word

Anyone who's ever done a quick succession of temp agency interviews can tell you it's nothing like doing "regular" job interviews. It's the same thing, over and over: typing tests, stupid Windows 3.1 tutorials on Office 2000 programs, and questions about what kind of job you really want. (What kind of job do I really want? I'm at a temp agency! Do think I have any room for preferences (or dignity?) at this point?)

It's trying to cram your well-designed resume into some squinchy stock application form fastened to some shitty clipboard balanced on your knee as you try to comfortably perch in a freakishly designed modernist chair next to a fake plant potted in real dirt while weird, jangley Musak is piped in through stealthy Bose speakers because, "Yes, honey, I see you have a resume but this is what we use. Next?"

It's basic math tests, like you blew $10.99 on 25 sheets of paper for your at least mildly impressive resume and ran out to Wal*Mart at 2 a.m. to buy pantyhose just so you could work a cash register. It's 693 + 431 with a note beside it saying, "You may use the other side of this paper if you need additional room for calculations."

It's those, "If you caught Sally Mae smoking the reefer in the lavatory while she was on her break, would you tell someone?" questionaires, that make you doubt your answers so fiercely by question #33 that you just want to stand up, stab yourself in the eye with your No. 2 pencil and run straight at the receptionist screaming, "Okay! Fine! One time I got called into work on a Sunday morning and I was at the end of one VERY LONG ACID TRIP and I've also had sex with coworkers despite the very specific No Relationships With Coworkers policy in that manual I had to sign in blood before I got hired and one Tuesday morning I woke up really early to drink a gallon of PuriTea just so I could pass a drug test and I used to steal cigarettes when I worked at that gas station and even though it was only $5.25 for third shift I suppose that's no excuse and fine, yes, okay, you caught me, if I found Sally Mae smoking a fatty in the bathroom at any job THIS place would get me, not only would I not tell on her I'd probably ask her for a hit! Okay?" and then collapse, catatonic, onto the beige industrial carpeting.
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This is from Shannon Campbell's blog Pet Rock Star (voice of an angel, mouth of a truckdriver.) You can request her songs at Whole Wheat Radio. It will make you a better person.