Wednesday, June 29, 2005

As our president would say, mission accomplished

And in much the same fashion, this ejaculation is probably premature. But nevertheless, I have a 75 percent real job.

Real points

* Pays living wage (i.e. more than I made as a reporter)
* Involves a desk of my own and, possibly, a nameplate for the outside of my cubicle
* Does not involve scrubbing a public toilet, unlike my current "job"
* Could, in some way, lead to health insurance, braces, a haircut and an IPASS.
* Secret built-in promotion
* Free pens
* A lunch bell (unsure whether to file this under real or unreal)

Unreal points

* I am technically a temp
* I have absolutely no job security whatsoever, because I am technically a temp

But you know, we roll with the punches here at Loser Gets a Life. And toward the goal of getting a social life, I am making some progress. Once I have successfully disentangled myself from the home improvement hole, I will have weekends free to come see you and your hot sister (brother? Whatever.)

I also now have 14 percent more dignity!

I began training today and did loads of repetitive copy/paste/delete/transcribe crapola which is supposedly only a fraction of my job. But when someone who contracts with us popped in, the girl training me introduced my as her "backup." I'm sorry, but somebody in charge needs to enlighten her. She is not Mariah, I ain't the bitch's backup. My job title invokes the word "coordinator," and temp or no temp this irritatingly young professional with the conch piercing is done mopping shit.

That sounds sassy but if I'm going to climb out of this piss-hole I have to start asserting my own worth.


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