It's Only Temporary

You need to get a job, but you don’t want to be hassled with some “contract” or “commitment.” You live your life day-to-day, and you want a job that reflects your unique sense of joie de vivre. You want something short-term that leaves your weekends, nights, and summers free. Something grander than waiting tables and something that makes less money than waiting tables. The answer: temping.

You will register at an employment agency and you will temp at some great place downtown where they will appreciate your mad Word skillz and your double major of Theatre and Anthropology. You will temp.

You will temp and it will be more of a challenge than you ever dreamed it could be. So, please, let me give you some advice. I am the Michael Corleone of temping—every time I thought I was out, I’d find myself back in some employment agency, winding my way through an Excel assessment test, disconsolate and desperate for a paycheck. I have temped East Coast, West Coast, domestic and abroad. And I’ve learned things.

You will sit at somebody’s desk. The desk of “Mary” or “Paul.” You will be “Mary” or “Paul.” People will stop by your desk asking you the whereabouts of “Mary” or “Paul,” or the files of “Mary” or “Paul,” or the orange Sharpie marker of “Mary” or “Paul,” and you will not be able to answer any questions about anything because you are the temp. “I’m the temp,” you will say. Sometimes people will ignore this claim of yours and persist in asking questions about “Mary” or “Paul.” But you will not be able to help them. Because you are the temp. You have no name. No one cares enough to ask. Your name might be “Jenny” but you will be called “the temp,” or “the girl,” or perhaps, if they exert a little effort, “Jill.”

The phone at your desk will ring. Don’t answer it. You can’t help anyone. Look at you. You have no answers and you don’t even understand what this company does. If the desk you’re at doesn’t have a phone, consider yourself lucky. Phones equal responsibility and you certainly don’t want that. If you come in one morning and discover your name on an updated phone extension list, get out. Get out now.

Lunchtime will come. And it will be awkward. You won’t know where to go or what to do or how long you can be gone for. It will be high school all over again. But maybe somebody has kindly pointed out the location of the refrigerator. So you retrieve your brown bag and then you must make a choice—do you go outside or do you eat inside in the (gasp!) employee lounge? Think carefully here. Even if the weather is inclement, you won’t have to talk to anybody out there in the rain. Note: the theme that runs through all my lessons here is “lie low.” You don’t want to get involved in office politics. That Brenda is a bitch, that management can suck it, that Rodney dabbles in sexual harassment—you don’t want to know any of this. Well, except maybe that part about Rodney. Steer clear of Rodney. You are the temp; you are transient, passing through this office like a gentle breeze and can’t be bothered to become mired in these people’s cubicle lives. Therefore, it is best that you go eat your lunch in the rain. It will do you good to get some fresh air.

You will report to the mother ship. Though you may be at XYZ Advertising for weeks, you are still not an actual employee there. You are a temp. You are paid by Super Superior Staffing Solutions and you work for them. Yes, that’s right—you are making money for Super Superior Staffing Solutions. Superior Staffing is your john, your pimp, your daddy money and you—yes, you—are the sweet-looking sugar snack on the corner. Super Superior has put you out on the street and they got you this gig. XYZ pays them, let’s say about $30 an hour for your copying and data entry, um, “talents.” You, in turn, pocket about $12 an hour. Feel dirty? Feel taken advantage of? You should. You are the temp. Now go get me that Anderson file, missy.

There will be other temps; you aren’t the only one. On your first day, you will be introduced to approximately 47 people of whom seven are named “Terry,” and four, “Brenda.” On your sixth day, you will reach a point in your assigned project where you suddenly put your college degree to use and realize, “Wait a second. All week I’ve been putting Files A through J in that box just like Brenda told me to do. But that doesn’t make any sense! Files A through C should have been going over there!” You will turn to one of the three people you remember from Day 1. You will walk over to “Terry” and ask, “Hey, Terry. Could you help me a minute?” You will explain your dilemma in articulate, earnest detail and then wait for him to tell you you’re brilliant, that this company has waited forever for someone like you to come along to help them finally solve the question of Files A through C. But Terry will just look at you, shrug his shoulders, and go, “I dunno. I’m a temp too.” Cue crack of lightning, clap of thunder. You never know who walks among you.

Overtime equals cash money. There is one windfall situation that you might encounter at your temp job. No, not a corporate refrigerator totally stocked with brand name sodas and juices. I speak of overtime. If you go beyond 40 hours in a week, your rate will suddenly bump up to time and a half. Beautiful. It will be as if—even if it’s for 30 minutes—you are suddenly being paid what you are worth.

An offer you should refuse. Or maybe not. Because you are, ultimately, truly most awesome—with your Word skillz and your knowledge of ancient Greek theater rituals—you will eventually be asked if you want to work at this company on a permanent basis. You have dazzled them. You have wowed them. It’s an important decision.

Think of the perks of a perm position! A steady paycheck. Benefits. A desk of one’s own. With one’s own Sharpies. You’d have a job. A real job. A job job. But the open road calls to you like a siren song. You don’t want permanency, remember? You have joy for life and that joy could be taken from you if things become too permanent and that desk chair becomes your desk chair. There’s a whole world of temping out there. A whole world full of cubicles and Brendas and companies that could care less what your name is.

I think you’re ready for your next assignment, Jenny. Good girl.

Cate Uber is a writer who lives in Boston. She is no longer temping.

~Cate Uber