Lady and the Temp

Under threat of becoming a commission-based real estate agent in an office directly across the street from the place I worked two years prior, I unleash another barrage of resumes on offices around the city.

This time I am considerably more desperate, having at last reached the end of my liquid assets i.e. cash, and so I have, much to my father’s chagrin,   But  importantly my future office comes equipped with bathrooms that even the neighborhood bum is loathe to use. I saw him considering the use of our facilities then opting for a good pants-pissing and swig of Thunderbird.

There is something to be said for presentation in an office. The place might be a piece of shit, but trick me just for a little while into thinking it is a real, thriving money making machine. Put some up to date People magazines in the racks, and maybe a Time magazine that has not turned yellow and been put on microfiche by libraries nationwide.

If I am going to be on a ‘team’ with some rag tag bunch of failed actors in fake leather boots, high-school drop outs saving up for prom and a Proactiv skin care system, and a general populus of over-zealous unintelligencia that have compensated for the absence of valuable braincells with gobs of Dep hair gel and Axe body spray then at least give me my own desk.

I was willing to do it though. I needed the money, and real estate could be a good way to find a rent controlled apartment until the commissions cheques were divided up, cut, and doled. I was all set to begin, and then the call came.

In a moment of sheer job hunting delirium, I forwarded my resume to a person in need of a household manager on the Upper Eastside. Despite the totally inappropriate and impersonal cover letter riddled with declarations of love for writing, editing, and the publishing industry, I was hired for a temporary part-time position as household manager, the highest ranked among ‘the staff’ in a private residence of an employer who so shall be known as, the Lady.

To work in a private home, where your daily responsibilities range from answering the phones, ordering things on Amazon.com, and making labels for designer wicker basket filled with hand-blown light bulbs, one must accept that he is staff. A staff member is a sub-human, a lesser branch of the species, whose concerns range from service, food, sleep and the commute.

The staff member is a simple creature without lofty dreams nor aspirations beyond obtaining 8 hours of sleep before repeating the cycle. When placed in the same room as a Lady, the staff is meant to marvel, agog at the luster old-money lends to blue blood.

Much to my surprise, the Lady’s aura of wealth intertwined with class, ensnared on tradition did appear to stultify the staff. I being a temp was spared the strange enchantment and intoxicating effects.

My firm grasp of my wits and sobriety unnerved the Lady, and I was relieved to know this strange world would not consume me. My joy was eroded slightly by the looming reality of a job hunt from which I was pardoned temporarily.