And then there are days when I wonder why I even bother...
It was a Monday just like any other Monday. The promise of slightly more than minimum wage awaits me at a job where my intellectual capacity will be tested by either a photocopier, a fax machine or a multi-line telephone.
Everything seemed off to a normal start. I was at my assignment at 9 a.m. Right on time. Of course, I was the first one there and had to wait to be let inside. Remember, time is an approximate in Hollywood. That's how people like Winona Ryder can stay 31 forever, even though she's a breath away from 38.
So I ready myself at the computer when the boss (a cross between Timothy Leary and Cousin Itt) asks a simple but telling question.
"Who are you?"
This wasn't the "Who are you?" as in "What's your name because I might as well know who's working for me for the next few days?" This wasn't the "Who are you?" in an existential "Explain your inner being to me and tell me why you're here on earth." This was the "Who are you?" as in "Who is this stranger in my office and you better have a good excuse before I call the cops?"
Well a momentary chat revealed my Pimp did everything right except confirm the company actually WANTED a temp. So in a business procedural sense this means my Pimp did everything wrong.
This was followed by the requisite call and screaming match between Itt and my Pimp. To be honest, I didn't pay much attention to their conversation and I spent my remaining minutes there having a very brief existential crisis.
And that was my Monday. I got $30 for "travel time" and promptly spent it on cereal, milk and coffee. Oh and I called my Pimp and said "I'm available."