Business Hours

September 20, 2007

I got a temp job entering data. That’s what the job was supposed to be anyway. What it really entails is entering data from papers into the computer, then filing those papers, then sending those papers (invoices) out as checks, and then filing them again… in a different set of drawers. It seemed easy and entertaining enough my first two weeks.

Eventually you realize every day is the same, add invoice, hit INSERT, type in invoice number, PO number, cost of invoice, any tax information, whether or not its considered a “job” or otherwise (which requires a specific 12 digit number which you must some times research), and continue.

By 9:30 every day I wish I had any other job than what I have. I’d rather suck the shit out of your septic tank then do what I do. I’d rather sit in a prison cell and read books. And that’s sad, because I’ve had some pretty shitty jobs. I don’t know if it’s the anti-depressants or simply the job itself — I’m betting it’s the job — but every day, even after two cups of coffee, I start to get confused, and I feel like I want to fall asleep. Kind of like riding in a car for 4 hours and staring at bullshit scenery. You start to nod. Then you startle and wake up. Then you nod. Rinse and repeat. But do that for nearly 4 hours. The other 4 hours you’re actually doing the repetitive tasks you’re asked to do.

I’m happy I’m working and I’m happy I have a job. It’s why I get up at 6:00 or so and go to it every day. But you know what? It sucks ass. I even wrote something about it on a sticky note while no one was watching whether or not I was being “productive”. I can’t let my guard down. It is this:

Styrofoam bleeding coffee through cracks
Nodding off for millisecond naps that startle
more than rest.
False light that turns
reality into a slow, horrible blur.
Old men shouting obescenties at speaker phones.
Is it lunch yet?
I should have gone to college.

Thank you.