Hey.
Life courses on. I've been hired on as a full-time "Contracts Coordinator" at the company I've been working for since August. The unofficial job title is "Administrative Bitch for Three Contracts Attorneys," although my boss also suggested "Rad Chick from Hell." Her name is Jen and she's awesome. My personality has not entirely thawed yet, so I have yet to amaze my colleagues with my sparkling wit and charisma. I did manage to insert the fun fact about Tom Cruises's sole front tooth into an otherwise completely unrelated conversation today, so right now the future seems bright and golden.
As you might imagine, the job is very Office Space - I have my own luxury cubicle, almost always cluttered with thick file folders and random office supplies; I create Excel spreadsheets and print out twelve copies for the suits on the second floor; I get memos and then reminded about the memos. For the time being, though, I don't mind. For one thing, most of my activities are mindless enough that I can spend 90% of my time listening to podcasts on my iPod (that's right, bitch, I said iPod. No more UFO-sized MP3/CD player with peeling hot-pink paint. It was my first gift to myself upon finally acquiring steady income...and a credit card). For another, this is a really great company in every possible way. I won't reveal the name since I work for lawyers and they're nice but scary, but I will say that it provides a safety service that everyone from menial laborers to overstuffed CEOs can agree is a good thing. Everyone's super-nice and easygoing and nobody gives a shit if I arrive five minutes late and then duck into the bathroom for ten minutes to do my makeup. Finally, I just got a phat raise (plus overtime) and so can stifle my quiet desperation through rampant consumerism.
They're also totally okay with me leaving in four months to go "follow my dreams." That's the actual phrase my boss uses. She told me that when she was pitching me to her boss, an Accountant (capital "A" intentional), he said, "Jen, you once had dreams and ambitions, didn't you? And then you saw how it really is and came here! Because we can really help people, too!" and she said, "No, I'm talking more along the lines of administering detox in Haight-Ashbury, not providing safety services for Haliburton," and he said, "So, we'll support her going to, like, Skid Row once a week and hanging out!" HAHAHA!!! Except I can't even bring this up to anyone because nobody's supposed to know that he has a sense of humor.
So, with my newfound wealth, I bought a laptop, which I never have time to use, but it's cool. I also quit my fucking job at the fucking Outback Steakhouse. Goodbye Bloomin' Onions. Goodbye blinking Foster's pin. Goodbye getting lectured if my sales are under $21 per person, but then getting sat with children all night. Goodbye bitchy comments from my boss if I stand still for more than five seconds. Goodbye check-in sheets. Goodbye! All things told, the Outback is probably one of the better restaurants to wait tables for. I just fucking hate waiting tables.
After this week, I'll have only one job, and maybe with my vast expanses of free time I'll actually be able to update this thing more often. I'm also gonna finish my Pelican Bay story, which had a surprising epilogue a few nights ago.
Life courses on. I've been hired on as a full-time "Contracts Coordinator" at the company I've been working for since August. The unofficial job title is "Administrative Bitch for Three Contracts Attorneys," although my boss also suggested "Rad Chick from Hell." Her name is Jen and she's awesome. My personality has not entirely thawed yet, so I have yet to amaze my colleagues with my sparkling wit and charisma. I did manage to insert the fun fact about Tom Cruises's sole front tooth into an otherwise completely unrelated conversation today, so right now the future seems bright and golden.
As you might imagine, the job is very Office Space - I have my own luxury cubicle, almost always cluttered with thick file folders and random office supplies; I create Excel spreadsheets and print out twelve copies for the suits on the second floor; I get memos and then reminded about the memos. For the time being, though, I don't mind. For one thing, most of my activities are mindless enough that I can spend 90% of my time listening to podcasts on my iPod (that's right, bitch, I said iPod. No more UFO-sized MP3/CD player with peeling hot-pink paint. It was my first gift to myself upon finally acquiring steady income...and a credit card). For another, this is a really great company in every possible way. I won't reveal the name since I work for lawyers and they're nice but scary, but I will say that it provides a safety service that everyone from menial laborers to overstuffed CEOs can agree is a good thing. Everyone's super-nice and easygoing and nobody gives a shit if I arrive five minutes late and then duck into the bathroom for ten minutes to do my makeup. Finally, I just got a phat raise (plus overtime) and so can stifle my quiet desperation through rampant consumerism.
They're also totally okay with me leaving in four months to go "follow my dreams." That's the actual phrase my boss uses. She told me that when she was pitching me to her boss, an Accountant (capital "A" intentional), he said, "Jen, you once had dreams and ambitions, didn't you? And then you saw how it really is and came here! Because we can really help people, too!" and she said, "No, I'm talking more along the lines of administering detox in Haight-Ashbury, not providing safety services for Haliburton," and he said, "So, we'll support her going to, like, Skid Row once a week and hanging out!" HAHAHA!!! Except I can't even bring this up to anyone because nobody's supposed to know that he has a sense of humor.
So, with my newfound wealth, I bought a laptop, which I never have time to use, but it's cool. I also quit my fucking job at the fucking Outback Steakhouse. Goodbye Bloomin' Onions. Goodbye blinking Foster's pin. Goodbye getting lectured if my sales are under $21 per person, but then getting sat with children all night. Goodbye bitchy comments from my boss if I stand still for more than five seconds. Goodbye check-in sheets. Goodbye! All things told, the Outback is probably one of the better restaurants to wait tables for. I just fucking hate waiting tables.
After this week, I'll have only one job, and maybe with my vast expanses of free time I'll actually be able to update this thing more often. I'm also gonna finish my Pelican Bay story, which had a surprising epilogue a few nights ago.
