(no subject)
So, time for an update! You all. Yeah, I'm talking to you. Unless I'm scrubbing out dorm rooms that have sustained a week's worth of abuse from high school football players, I'd like to come up to Corvallis for the week. By dear mother's (50th) birthday is the 6th. I haven't been up forever. Unless the temp folks slap me on some job, I should be up all week. Huzzah. Though I need only one more full-time week before I can just call it quits for the summer and do whatever the hell I want. So it might also be all of August, who knows. My birthday's the 7th of August.
I get to confront Kurt today.
The rent is due. Literally the day after I handed in my last ten-page final paper, I was put to work, and have had about two days off since. Two weeks of full-time work with summer rent and all that means I'm prettymuch getting by, if just barely. So, as it's the end of the month, the rent is due. Unfortunately, things are all kind of fucked up and I don't know if there have been errors, mistakes, things I don't know or the very real possibility that I'm being intentionally screwed. It'll be fun. I'll actually fill in details later, it's fucking early.
Work is... fuck.
I spent a forty hour week, 7am-330pm shifts, scrubbing out dorm rooms. That included my old hall, which was a little trippy. I realized it was basically the old school schedule, except instead of learning and being intellectually stimulated, my brain was being pulverized to teh point where it began running out my ears. Which, of course, meant I had to wipe down the surfaces again. I washed windows, scrubbed counters, wiped out drawers. Wash, rinse, repeat. And again, and again. It didn't help that each dorm room was the exact fucking same. Though oddly enough, I spent so much of my time right at open windows looking out on the nice sunny day, I actually may have gotten more sun and fresh air than I ever would have otherwise.
I'm working for Westaff. Kit referred me, and then they went and gave me hours cleaning dorms, while completely forgetting about her and giving her nothing. Which tells you a lot of what you need to know about Westaff. I recall going up Memorial Day to Portland for an excellent trip, and while there reading an article in the WW about how evil Westaff is. Kindof funny. There is just something so demeaning and soul crushing about being contract labor. You are owned, regulated, property of some faceless enterprise, some voice on the phone from Salem. If you have a question for your boss about anything related to anything outside of teh immediate task at hand, they don't know the answer because really, you don't work for them. You are something seperate. You aren't an employee, they don't employ you, you are just a worker, a pair of hands. Kindof like that movie El Norte, except without the infected rats. The crew was an odd make-up. The first day cleaning dorms (we had a crew of about eight) there were maybe two older men, like forties, fifties, who were there because their unemployment ran out. The rest were around my age, though the guy I was working with first was the single father of a one-year-old son. He smelled horrible, but he didn't show up two of the days and so I worked most of the week with Gary. Gary needed the money so badly, so it was kindof a given that he didn't get any hours the second week.
My second week I slung food and garbage for the Hamilton food service's production of "meal time for a thousand high school football jocks!" It was glorious. Still monkey work, but infinitely better than the dorms. I'll expand later, its fucking early.
I get to confront Kurt today.
The rent is due. Literally the day after I handed in my last ten-page final paper, I was put to work, and have had about two days off since. Two weeks of full-time work with summer rent and all that means I'm prettymuch getting by, if just barely. So, as it's the end of the month, the rent is due. Unfortunately, things are all kind of fucked up and I don't know if there have been errors, mistakes, things I don't know or the very real possibility that I'm being intentionally screwed. It'll be fun. I'll actually fill in details later, it's fucking early.
Work is... fuck.
I spent a forty hour week, 7am-330pm shifts, scrubbing out dorm rooms. That included my old hall, which was a little trippy. I realized it was basically the old school schedule, except instead of learning and being intellectually stimulated, my brain was being pulverized to teh point where it began running out my ears. Which, of course, meant I had to wipe down the surfaces again. I washed windows, scrubbed counters, wiped out drawers. Wash, rinse, repeat. And again, and again. It didn't help that each dorm room was the exact fucking same. Though oddly enough, I spent so much of my time right at open windows looking out on the nice sunny day, I actually may have gotten more sun and fresh air than I ever would have otherwise.
I'm working for Westaff. Kit referred me, and then they went and gave me hours cleaning dorms, while completely forgetting about her and giving her nothing. Which tells you a lot of what you need to know about Westaff. I recall going up Memorial Day to Portland for an excellent trip, and while there reading an article in the WW about how evil Westaff is. Kindof funny. There is just something so demeaning and soul crushing about being contract labor. You are owned, regulated, property of some faceless enterprise, some voice on the phone from Salem. If you have a question for your boss about anything related to anything outside of teh immediate task at hand, they don't know the answer because really, you don't work for them. You are something seperate. You aren't an employee, they don't employ you, you are just a worker, a pair of hands. Kindof like that movie El Norte, except without the infected rats. The crew was an odd make-up. The first day cleaning dorms (we had a crew of about eight) there were maybe two older men, like forties, fifties, who were there because their unemployment ran out. The rest were around my age, though the guy I was working with first was the single father of a one-year-old son. He smelled horrible, but he didn't show up two of the days and so I worked most of the week with Gary. Gary needed the money so badly, so it was kindof a given that he didn't get any hours the second week.
My second week I slung food and garbage for the Hamilton food service's production of "meal time for a thousand high school football jocks!" It was glorious. Still monkey work, but infinitely better than the dorms. I'll expand later, its fucking early.