The Worst Job
Thu., May 2, 08:30 AM
What made it the worst job? I knew it was bad while I was doing it, but in retrospect it’s even worse. Why did I stay? It was a temporary job, and I didn’t think I would be doing that kind of work for long. Meanwhile, having just been downsized from my last job, I needed access to a computer and fax in order to look for a permanent position. Finally, although the pay was low, it was still more than unemployment.
I’ve worked plenty of unpleasant temporary positions over the years, including several at Yale Medical School. But none of them made me feel dirty, as this one did.
“Don’t dress,” said the lady at the temp agency. “It’s a construction trailer in a shopping center.” That might have been a clue. But I should have known this wouldn’t be good when I found out that the trailer had electricity but no water. In other words, there was no ladies room in the trailer. (I’m the one who willingly exchanges a fifteen-minute coffee break for two or three bathroom breaks.)
There was an unoccupied store that the construction workers were using as a workshop, and they had set up a minimal ladies room in there. (I mean minimal; there was no hot water, and I supplied my own soap and paper towels.) Aside from the embarrassment of having to announce I was going out (so someone else would cover the phones), I also discovered – the hard way – that the workmen left at three; if I went in after that, I would set off the alarms.
Aside from the initial indignity, the working conditions were terrible. “Do not dress up” – I went to work in jeans. Although Arthur, the cleanup man, was called in to wash the floor once a week, the place was filthy. I might have to climb up to unclog the blueprint copier. I had a dirty fax and copier to maintain. There were lots of papers to file, because Maurice, the manager, saved every scrap, but the files were already full. In addition, the hardware was the wrong type for the file drawers, so that it often fell apart when I tried to fit in just one more sheet. Then I would have to pull out my screwdriver (they didn’t have one in the trailer), and put the thing back together.
I finally set up a couple of cardboard boxes as additional file drawers. Maurice said I could order new files, but I told him that when he had a permanent secretary, she could decide what kind of files she would like to order.
Maurice was a slimy sort of fellow, who generally ignored me unless he had a direct order to give. I couldn’t even talk to him without shouting his name first to be sure he knew I was there. He had hired a very stupid estimator to assist him; I’m certain he hired someone stupid on purpose to avoid recognition of how slimy he was. I had to teach the estimator how to use the computer.
As I soon learned, Maurice was stiffing many of his subcontractors. He used to lie to vendors and then leave me to follow up. Innocently I would say “this is the transmission number he gave me,” only to find out later that he told someone he was sending a check and faxed the guy a copy of the FedEx form, but never actually sent the envelope. When something was overdue, he expected me to cover it, like the postage machine. Those machines are supposed to be inspected by the Post Office periodically, and Maurice – having been threatened by the third reminder – had me carry it in. (According to the contract, clients are not supposed to send temps on errands, especially in their personal vehicles.) The red ink on my expensive white shirt always reminds me of the slimeball; I can’t enjoy the shirt any more.
Some kind of politics was going on at the New York office, and I came in one day to find out that I couldn’t access the database I was supposed to use. It was a week before Maurice decided that I could have the new password; otherwise, he would have to enter the data himself.
The assignment was supposed to last two months. After ten weeks I had to take a week off because I had made an educational commitment prior to being assigned. I asked if I should come back, and Maurice said, “Oh yes.” He was getting a top-notch secretary for low cost (I didn’t know just how low it was). And so I returned, because I still hadn’t found anything better.
The week before Christmas, Maurice brought in a case of gift-wrapped wine. He instructed me to give a bottle to any vendor or client who happened to drop in. He did not offer one to me. (The only person who remembered me for Christmas was Arthur, the handyman.) As a last word, he mentioned that they would be closed between Christmas and New Year’s, so I shouldn’t come in. When I went to the agency to obtain the necessary pink slip, I informed them I would not go back.
For a while I went to work for the agency itself, and that’s where I heard the final indignity; Maurice hadn’t paid the bill. He owed the agency for a couple of months of my work! I don’t know if they were ever able to collect the debt, since, as I knew, Maurice had been in the process of erasing the connection between the construction site and the owner company.
I have to admit, it was a rotten job, but I learned a couple of lessons. Though I might have unpleasant assignments again, nothing was ever as bad as that one. I learned to check them out more carefully, and I was also less hesitant about leaving an assignment I didn’t like. One of the advantages of temping is supposed to be that you don’t have to be so loyal to the employer. And somehow, I even learned something about contracting, bidding and proposals. Meanwhile, I drove through one of the most glorious autumns we had experienced in years, and I reminded myself that we had to take time to appreciate. Be grateful for small blessings, especially when the big ones seem far off.
It’s one of my standard mottos: Nothing you ever learn is wasted.
