The Rat Race
I'm hoping the mouse (or mice) we have at work survive the exterminator. I had one of them on my desk twice this week, and he's actually very cute. Fast, clever, just out to make a living. Nice break in the monotony for me. Fellow editor, Stan, named it "Mousemont," though I also call it "Stewart Little," which drives another fellow editor, Stewart, nuts. Then again, it drives Stewart nuts when I hog-call him with a good, high-pitched, "Stewiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" and I don't stop doing that.
At least we don't have rats or cockroaches.
We could use a mascot or some kind of color around the place. Black cubicles (which the mice see as their jungle gyms), white walls, fluorescent lights, recycled air, no windows. I go home after an hour's commute each way and 10 hours of work in the building and just want to sleep. This is my life. For now.
I'm a long-term temp. It means I'm like a permanent worker, but with no benefits, job security, or year-round employment.
I often think that a temp would be the perfect corporate assassin or saboteur, especially if the hire is made through a temp agency. (This is a theme I've explored in an X-Files gen story, but the more I think about it, the better it seems to me.) Sure, they check out your credentials in the beginning, but who says the credentials they check have to belong to the person who shows up? No one knows what you look like or who you are, yet you have this pass that gets you into the building. You can ask almost any questions you want, since it's your first day and they want to get you acclimitized. In New York City, everybody carries a bag, and it would be beyond easy to accidentally leave it somewhere sensitive....
Is it a sign of psychosis that I think these things?
At least we don't have rats or cockroaches.
We could use a mascot or some kind of color around the place. Black cubicles (which the mice see as their jungle gyms), white walls, fluorescent lights, recycled air, no windows. I go home after an hour's commute each way and 10 hours of work in the building and just want to sleep. This is my life. For now.
I'm a long-term temp. It means I'm like a permanent worker, but with no benefits, job security, or year-round employment.
I often think that a temp would be the perfect corporate assassin or saboteur, especially if the hire is made through a temp agency. (This is a theme I've explored in an X-Files gen story, but the more I think about it, the better it seems to me.) Sure, they check out your credentials in the beginning, but who says the credentials they check have to belong to the person who shows up? No one knows what you look like or who you are, yet you have this pass that gets you into the building. You can ask almost any questions you want, since it's your first day and they want to get you acclimitized. In New York City, everybody carries a bag, and it would be beyond easy to accidentally leave it somewhere sensitive....
Is it a sign of psychosis that I think these things?