Anita and the Eunuch

Yesterday was another turbulent day at work. Anita informed us that we were not allowed to leave the floor, a.k.a. our crammed workspaces, without first signing out with her. This new rule will be strictly enforced (it applies even to those taking a two minute cigarette break) and anyone caught violating it will be fired on the spot. The Eunuch, meanwhile, stood nodding in agreement with the new resolution and kindly reminded us that we were still allowed to use the bathroom. He warned us, however, not to abuse the privilege and to spend as little time in there as possible.

Confusion ensued, however, when someone asked if this new rule applied to the use of the kitchen sink. Anita and the Eunuch appeared perplexed by the unexpected inquiry and told us that they would have to get back to us with the exact parameters of what constitutes a bathroom break.

Lockdown

Periodically, when you have 100 weary, strung-out temps forced to review documents for 11-12 hours per day and only 2-3 supervisors to oversee the whole dysfunctional operation, the project goes into something known as "lock-down" mode. In "lock-down" mode, woe to those who dare go to kitchen to grab a cup of coffee or even take an extended bathroom break. In "lock-down" mode all bets are off, it's every woman/man for him/herself.

It just happens that last Friday at 5p.m., the project unexpectedly shifted into "lock-down" mode. The perpetrator of this sudden shift was Anita, the project manager.

Anita, with her six foot male sidekick, begins to troll up and down the aisles. A thin, pale, middle aged man in the center of the room is clueless about what is about to hit him. Apparently, unaware of the sudden "lock-down," this eye-strained individual, exhausted from nine straight hours of document coding, thought he could get away with a surreptitious game of mine-sweeper. He is in for the public scolding of a lifetime.

Like a tiger on the hunt, Anita closes in and pounces on her helpless prey.

"How dare you!"

A hundred people gather around to watch the impending slaughter. As if she were scolding an out of line school child, she tersely admonishes:

"You can't play a game. How did you get that game?"

"Brian {the tech guy}, I thought I made it clear to you that you were supposed to take everything off the systems of 'those' people."

The man, red as a tomato, and understandly mortified beyond belief, remains shaken like a leaf. The next day the man's possessions were packed away and his seat sat empty.

The Great Escape

Friday, 1/20/06:

It's 4p.m. I have been sitting at my workstation for the last nine hours. I am numb. I have been staring into a white, flourescent computer screen for the last three days from 9 o'clock in the morning until 9 o'clock at night. A sudden, intense pain shoots up my right arm indicative of early carpal tunnel. I can't bear to read another e-mail, review another spreadsheet, or code another document. There is no escape. There is no internet. There is no telephone. There is just me and the clickity-click of the coders around me.

In a sudden spat of desperation, I rise like a phoenix. I make it my mission to reach the Starbucks across the street. I quickly grab my coat and head for the door. A hundred stunned and silent eyes jealously stare me down as I skillfully weave my way past row upon row of coding terminals. One wrong move can lead to sudden unemployment. But, luckily, this time I am safe. The project manager, sealed off in her glass-encased cubicle, appears to be pre-occupied with the latest issue of the Joyce Leslie catalogue.

I have made it out. I am safe. I am a bona-fide refugee of temp land. As I quickly gulp down my steaming, hot cup of java, I am hit by a disturbing realization. How am I going to get back into templand?

The Mill

I started a new project today. You probably can't tell just by reading this but I am utterly exhausted. All I want to do is go to bed and cry. Once again, the agency lied to me. Although the physical infastructure of the project was adequate, the atmosphere was absolutely stringent. There was no telephone, internet, or any other communication allowed with the outside world. You MUST work 60-70 hours a week and you MUST arrive by 9a.m. Also, you MUST take an hour lunch and you MUST leave at 8p.m. Although you MUST work until 8p.m., there was, of course, no dinner or transportation provided. The project was an absolute mill. The idea that an attorney will be able to competently undertake document review for six hours straight after working an 11 hour day in a hellhole is utterly preposterous. The corporate clients are in no way served by such a fictitious farce. What a complete and utter waste of time and money!

Legal Sweatshop Award

Who would you nominate for legal sweatshop of the month? Who, while requiring you to bill 80 hours a week, sticks you in an airless hell-hole and cheats you out of overtime? While Tom the Temp and several front-line sources definitely have some candidates in mind, he is more than eager to receive input from his blog-reading audience. tomthetemp@hotmail.com