Temporary Rant

I wrote most of the following while at an especially heinous temp job this past week - I've never felt so condescended upon (?) or been so happy to walk out for the last time. And they've called the past two days wanting me to come back. Suckahs!!!


This week I received my first of probably 10 W-2s for 2007, this one for $60. (Thank you, extra work...) How much that sucks aside, it got me thinking. My four years at a Princeton Review-ranked college in the Midwest cost approximately $100,000. Thankfully, we didn't have to pay even half of that, but I guess that's the appraisal I can carry with my diploma. It was a wonderful experience and I loved it. I had unique opportunities, was involved in great theatre, and got to study abroad in Russia. It was the best 1/10 of a million dollars I've ever spent.

Since graduating from college, I have worked as a traveling children's theatre actor/director, a law receptionist, a human resources assistant, a substitute teacher, a technology instructor, an upscale grocery store cashier, and a myriad of temp jobs which require an aptitude in phone answering and copy making. My highest pay has been $15 an hour. My average salary for the past 2 ½ years has been $11.30 an hour. Before taxes.

I am an actor. I always knew that in order to pursue this very difficult career path, I would have to work as many other things. I don't mind. I do struggle to make my half of the $1075 monthly rent my boyfriend and I pay for our studio apartment. But hey, it's Los Angeles. I'm living the dream.

Most of my acting happens in my current grocery store and temp jobs. I get to pretend that I am pleased as punch to not only scan every item in the customer's overflowing carts, but then proceed to bag said 200 items that are falling off of the counter as the customer stands and watches me impatiently, not offering to help, or, better yet, talks on their cell phone as they have throughout the entire transaction. That's what I do on the weekends.

On weekdays, such as today, I sit at a reception desk, utilizing my Bachelor's degree by answering calls and pressing corresponding buttons. When people come in, I ask if they would like coffee or tea, a bottle of water or perhaps a Diet Coke, and then, after they are done, I get to clear away and clean their dishes. I don't mind. They don't work here.

The best part, though, is when the people who do work here bring their dishes to the kitchen and promptly place them in the sink, so that I, the temporary receptionist, can handle their half-empty, lipstick-stained coffee cups, their crusty oatmeal bowls, and their dishes shellacked with whatever disgusting substance they smeared on their bagel, and consequently onto their plate. Apparently, higher education renders you above placing things in dishwashers. Well, little do they know that I, too, am a member of the elite club who hold B.A.'s, or, more appropriately, B.S.'s.

Except that they do know. When I reported for receptionist duty, I was asked to look for something in the email inbox. When I did, I saw an email with my name as the subject, and, since Outlook has a handy feature that makes the first line of the email visible without opening the message, I read the question "Did she go to collage [sic]?"

I don't know why they wanted to know. Perhaps they previously had a trainwreck of a temp who couldn't lift a phone receiver and press the 'transfer' button. But, funnily enough, that isn't something you learn in college. And neither is cleaning up after yourself.

I was angry, and I don't think inappropriately so. Throughout the week, I was subjected to amazing amounts of condescension, and surprise every time I showed aptitude at, well, anything. ("Lauren, can you print the Breakdowns off? Do you remember how to do that?" "Yes." "Oh, really!?") One of the assistants asked no one in particular how to spell something, and when he received no other response, I told him, to visible shock. I'm not sure what they thought they would get, but apparently I surpassed their expectations.

Which made me wonder. Is an office environment simply another food-chain hierarchy set up to put people in their supposed place? The condescension and "I'm above this" attitude are the same things that bother me with the customers at Trader Joe's.

I don't know the answer, and I don't want to think that I feel I've earned a higher spot simply because of my education and opportunities. But I sure wish people would stop treating me like a peon. And put their own damn dishes in the dishwasher.