He Works Hard For the Money, So Hard For It Honey
It's official, I'm a corporate whore. I work as a Data Entry Clerk for Verizon 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Every day is long and tedious but who says that boring office jobs can't have adventures and antics along the way?
Entering thousands of orders and business transactions into the computer each day, I find myself mildly amused by lame aspects of my job. After I finish each document, I have to initial at the top. However, this proves to be a problem seeing as how my initials are NA (as in not applicable). Supervisors keep coming to me thinking that I am basically voiding each document. Every time though I just throw my arms into the air and say, "Those are just my initials." This is followed by a laugh from the supervisor and a WAAWAA in my head. The laugh is not a real laugh; it's one that is real enough to not seem rude, yet fake enough to make me turn around and get back to work.
I love meeting and encountering my other fellow TEMPs. Some of these people are just about as perky and chipper as Kelly Ripa after that morning sex of a talk show she does with Regis Philbin. But my favorite TEMPs are the really dumb ones that take 10 minutes to log-in to the main computer screen. I mean I'm no genius, but some of these people are borderline autistic.
I think my favorite time at the office is break time. During my break, I have 15 minutes to chow down on synthetic vending machine food while being entertained by the hanging television set. We don't watch quality television either. Hell, we don't even watch B or C list television. We watch UPN. Yesterday I had to sit through an episode of "The Parkers" completely surrounded by black women. Now I enjoy "Soul Food" and Roscoes Chicken and Waffles as much as the next guy, but I must say that "The Parkers" was horrendous. One notable scene had the entire break room laughing hysterically while I cynically cringed and looked back down at my elitist book on the New Left of the 1960s (ironically about Black Power). The "hysterical" scene has two black women counting money they mysteriously find in their car. When they are done counting, the token sassy, overweight lead actress reaches down the blouse of the other woman and finds a couple of dollars. [ahhh hell no glance by the sassy woman] Then the woman who had money amid her breasts utters the punchline that would launch a million laughs, "The wind must've done that."
Entering thousands of orders and business transactions into the computer each day, I find myself mildly amused by lame aspects of my job. After I finish each document, I have to initial at the top. However, this proves to be a problem seeing as how my initials are NA (as in not applicable). Supervisors keep coming to me thinking that I am basically voiding each document. Every time though I just throw my arms into the air and say, "Those are just my initials." This is followed by a laugh from the supervisor and a WAAWAA in my head. The laugh is not a real laugh; it's one that is real enough to not seem rude, yet fake enough to make me turn around and get back to work.
I love meeting and encountering my other fellow TEMPs. Some of these people are just about as perky and chipper as Kelly Ripa after that morning sex of a talk show she does with Regis Philbin. But my favorite TEMPs are the really dumb ones that take 10 minutes to log-in to the main computer screen. I mean I'm no genius, but some of these people are borderline autistic.
I think my favorite time at the office is break time. During my break, I have 15 minutes to chow down on synthetic vending machine food while being entertained by the hanging television set. We don't watch quality television either. Hell, we don't even watch B or C list television. We watch UPN. Yesterday I had to sit through an episode of "The Parkers" completely surrounded by black women. Now I enjoy "Soul Food" and Roscoes Chicken and Waffles as much as the next guy, but I must say that "The Parkers" was horrendous. One notable scene had the entire break room laughing hysterically while I cynically cringed and looked back down at my elitist book on the New Left of the 1960s (ironically about Black Power). The "hysterical" scene has two black women counting money they mysteriously find in their car. When they are done counting, the token sassy, overweight lead actress reaches down the blouse of the other woman and finds a couple of dollars. [ahhh hell no glance by the sassy woman] Then the woman who had money amid her breasts utters the punchline that would launch a million laughs, "The wind must've done that."