Stealth mode initiated: the light in my boss’ office is off, my Lotus Notes are shut down, the phones are in “service mode.” It is officially after-hours at my temporary job, so I finally have time to write this commentary.
Yes, another hectic day in temp world is over.
So what is this crazy temp world like? Why am I, a college graduate, working as a temp? How do I deal with temp life? Isn’t “temp” supposed to stand for “temporary”?
Apparently, temp is not synonymous with short. Nor with “I will work here just a while before I get my real job.” This is what I thought at first, when I was young and na?ve, fresh off the graduation-party circuit. When I started my temp job, I figured to work a couple weeks at the most before I found something else-something permanent, something that paid more than $7.50 an hour.
What was intended to be two weeks has stretched into two months. I am still aimlessly seeking meaningful employment, but before I blather about my job-search woes, let me explain the perils and triumphs of work as a temp.
First, the office equipment. I have become incredibly proficient with a number of peculiar gadgets thanks to my role as the do-anything-and-everything-I-don’t-want-to-do girl. For example, the postage meter. I can label, sort and weigh any piece of mail for any destination within seconds. Just a quick buzz of the machine and letters are licked, stamped and ready to go. Or the laminator, which coats business cards or signs with thick plastic for that glossy sheen we all ooh and aah over. Or the label-maker, which magically organizes whole file cabinets and desk drawers (so maybe a little human input is needed, but it is still really neato).
My most intimate equipment relationship is with the scanner. This special device is attached to the copy machine and connected to the Internet, so scans can be made using any computer. But of course, this versatility really isn’t necessary since I do most of the office’s scanning. I consider scanning a low-intensity work-out, a brisk walk to and from the copy machine to load each and every tiny little invoice. Not only do I get aerobic activity, I leave with the amazing feeling that my sole purpose for the day was scanning documents.
But my friendships extend beyond inanimate pieces of technology. I am blessed with a variety of personalities in the office, each with their own idiosyncrasies that I have to remember. My immediate superior is just a little older than I am, so we are natural “water-cooler” buddies. We joke about the incompetent temps before me, sigh over each other’s pathetic love lives and debate political viewpoints (he’s a libertarian, yikes!). As for his boss, well, imagine stodgy, lanky, goofy and hard-working in one friendly but frightening person. While I like him, sometimes I feel intimidated just delivering his mail.
The best character by far is my other boss, a crazy, Harley-driving, margarita-drinking, 40-something English major. She is impossible to figure out, and I still can’t tell if she likes me or finds me highly annoying. This woman is rather difficult to work for-she throws you just about anything and expects you to solve the problem. I have been asked to pick out office furniture, attach license plates to new vehicles, organize random stacks of paper into “files” and run to the grocery store for 36 assorted cookies.
How ever did I end up in this predicament? Only nine short months ago I was a proud pre-med, accepted into Saint Louis University’s medical school with beaming parents, encouraging friends, and a shining future. O.K, so maybe I was unsure _ uncommitted . and un-excited about the situation. That’s why I abandoned the scrubs and bought a business suit. I would take a year off, kick back at a 9-to-5 job and catch up on all that wonderful reading I hadn’t had time for during a chaotic senior year. Then I would journey off to Italy for a year and finally end up in New York City for law school. Ahh, what a life ahead of me.
Reality is trouble. Have you ever tried to find a year-long job as an inexperienced political science major? It’s nearly impossible and certainly tiresome. I’m over-qualified to be a bank teller, but under-qualified to process invoices. I can’t commit to grunt work on a career track, but surely I need a full-time job with health insurance. So I remain a temp, stuck in the Post-Dispatch want-ads somewhere between clerical and secretarial.
Worse yet, I gape at all my talented friends as they saunter off to bedazzling futures all over the place. My ROTC friend from Notre Dame is trekking to England for her two-year assignment, while my Georgetown pal signed on with a big consulting firm on the East Coast. Of my SLU crowd, several are serving across the country in Jesuit Volunteer Corps, one is venturing into the realm of grade school kiddos (wow, impressive), another will be a Broadway sensation or lose her voice trying and many are indeed going on to medical school. Sometimes I catch myself, jealous of even those poor med students. At least they have plans, albeit plans of cadavers, lectures and reading, reading, reading. Where am I amidst all these thrilling opportunities? Behind my desk, re-typing a 26-page legal contract about building codes.
And yet I survive. I suffer through the daily boredom of mindless office tasks. I grit my teeth and send out another resume. I smile sincerely as my friends revel in anticipation of their “real” jobs.
And, amazingly, I learn. I learn to appreciate the people who will always have a “temp” job, the selfless secretaries and clerks that keep offices running with often little gratitude. I learn that maybe the business world is not for me, that my application with AmeriCorps might have the most potential for happiness. I learn that I can exist with a lot fewer CDs, alcoholic beverages, shoes and road trips than I thought. I learn that living with my family is not only possible, it’s sometimes pleasant, and much more affordable than my own apartment. And, for the two-thousand, four-hundred and fifty-seventh time, I learn that procrastination is not good. Please, all seniors-to-be, do not put off the job/grad school/volunteer experience search. Temp life is bearable, but it is only good if it is temporary.
Mary Santanello graduated May 2001 with a degree in political science.
