|Koko and her kitten, photo courtesy of this place (though I doubt they originated it).|
Okay, I haven't been there long. I've been there for exactly 55.5 hours, so I'm not fully posited to complain about "remaining" a temp. (Though I am awesome and my awesomeness should have caused my hiring managers to weep with joy and offer me their jobs upon our first encounter, obviously.) But I don't consider myself un-funemployed. The last time I stopped adding to this blog, it was because I thought I had embarked on the next chapter of my career. Apparently, that would have only applied if by "the next chapter of my career" I meant "bleaching my brain every evening." But whatever. This time, I know this job is just a job. It pays the bills (or rather, it helps make a teeny, tiny, ball-peen hammer-sized dent in them). It's the responsible thing to do. I'm practically a full-fledged adult.
So I did as I said before, and I relinquished some idealism for a paycheck. (Incidentally, I did so for a lot less than I mentioned in that post.) On the upside, my working environment is very diverse and full of very amicable people (a few grumps here and there and one woman who refuses to cover her mouth when she coughs), and extremely laid back. I am encouraged to wear jeans to work. There's endless free coffee... not that I need it. I'm pretty sure they pump oxygen into the building like they do in casinos. And they keep giving me baked goods. It's bribery, but so far, it seems to be working.
On the other hand, my job could be done by a sign-language-fluent gorilla, or even signing-familiar gorilla, or a sleepy orangutan, or a dead cat. I take information from one sheet of paper, put it in the computer, and make the computer pop out THE SAME INFORMATION in a slightly different format. It's remarkable how many steps are required to do that. Or clicks, rather than steps, I should say. And what's more remarkable is how my trainer - yes, I will have a trainer for the next two months, not unlike Koko - treats me as though I'm some kind of coke-fiend-cum-idiot-savant because I can execute these clicky-clicks rather quickly. I feel like standing on my desk some days, when I have to ask for more work because I've finished what I was given, and shouting "KOKO LOVE KITTEN." I'm not working quickly because I'm trying to impress. I'm not working quickly because I find it enjoyable. I'm working quickly because if I don't I'll be bored into a medically remarkable coma not entirely unlike Robert DeNiro's experience in Awakenings, but without the touching humor of Robin Williams' furry arms to offset my depressing tale. (Seriously, I love that movie.) For Dog's sake, most of the people in my 30-or so person department aren't even allowed to contact that individual who originated the information. We have to go to a special point of contact individual who translates our gorilla-signs for the high-ordered thinking folk.
All that said, though, beggars can't be choosers. And I know I sound like the intellectual snob that I am, but I go, and I'm punctual and quiet and amicable. And I'll continue to hit this job every day until I find something that might - hopefully - be more in line with a career path I can ideally love, but more realistically survive. In the meantime, I'll be snuggling my kittens and trying to convince others that I understand more than I feel comfortable