Temping, Prositution of the Corporate world

01-desk-dog
Temping:

temp [tɛmp] Informal
n
a person, esp a typist or other office worker, employed on a temporary basis
vb (intr)
to work as a temp

Turns out Temping is better paid than retail (not by much, but enough for me to go buy those Croc boots which I swear aren’t ugly, just give me a chance to show you) and because I continue to be ignored by the world of Full Time work in an industry that I am dying to work in, I decided to give Temping a go. Since the beginning of the month I have taken on four different assignments, 2 x 1 day assignments, 2 x 1 week assignments, and learned about a whole new world that I never knew existed.

The world of the Temp.

Let me give you a little run down.

The world of the Temp is a place ungoverned by your average 9-5. You wake up at 7.30am with the hope that at 8am, someone (Pimp) will call you and tell you they need you at XYZ location, and the dress code is *blank*. You slap on some make-up, make sure you vaugely know where you are going and sprint out the door. On the train you wonder again what you are doing with your life, but the other part of your brain says “this is the last job, I promise you. We’ll get the money and then move to Florida.” You get to the destination, you make small talk, find out what the client (John) likes and what they need. You settle down, close your eyes, and daydream you are somewhere else (like at a real job). When it’s all over, they thank you plenty of times, and you shuffle out clutching your time sheet. You buy yourself a couple of drinks to try to forget the disappointment in your mothers eyes.

Temping is the Prostitution of the corporate world.

But you know what? I don’t hate it.

My first two assignments were in Film and Television production companies, and you bet your Chihuahua’s left nut that I worked it like I was on the sinking Titanic and had to get my third-class ass on a lifeboat. The one day gig was a bit of a bust, it was a monday and quiet as hell, but the week long gig yielded fun, a bit of professional networking with an awesome Aussie guy who took my resume and some new surprising friendships with girls my own age who worked in the company. Turns out some of them had been in the same boat as me and some of them even got their jobs after temping first.

Actually, when I started to look into it, Temping seemed to be one of the ways a bunch of people I know got their full-time jobs. They’d go for an assignment and the company would say, you know what, why don’t you stay on, or, why don’t you give us your resume to take a look at. It was kind of like a pre-interview. And hell with the number of resumes and cover letters I have sent off, any chance of getting into ANY company as more than just a name on a piece of paper is a big bonus.

So why did I always think there was such a stigma attached to Temping? I couldn’t even tell you. Maybe there is, but now that I’ve joined the ranks I just don’t care. The job market is so tough out there, and lots of people who want to do what I want to do are stuck in menial jobs, frittering away their youth and talent.

I’d rather wake up each day with the fresh and exciting opportunity of meeting someone that may assist with opening a career door for me, than be marking down sweaters for the third time this week.

End Rant

4 Reasons I wish I had a Sister

I grew up in a household with three kids, Girl, Boy Boy.
There are some great things about having brothers, and I love mine very much. But there were many times I wished for a sister.

And here are some of the reasons.

4. I could steal all of her clothes and shoes
I never wanted to steal my brothers clothes, because A) Most of them had pictures of Thomas the Tank engine or Power Rangers and B) Obviously they were too small and ripped/torn. I was with a friend on Sunday who was in Toronto for the weekend. Before we left her house so she could get back to her Uni town, she went into her sisters room and borrow/stole a cardigan. Imagine twice the wardrobe!

3. My Barbies would have been safe from harm.
My brothers took perverse pleasure in torturing my toys. I once came home to a pile of decapitated and de-limbed barbie dolls. I cried hysterically. My parents laughed, then scolded. Great parenting guys.

2. No one ever taught me how to do my makeup.
I did a lot of community theater when I was in Middle School and High School. My mum wore a lot of lipstick, but didn’t really throw on that much face slap (being youngish), these two factors led to me experimenting with makeup, copying off the Pantomime makeup that was done to my face. Think BIG eyes, OVERTHETOP lips. HUGE blush spots on my cheek bones. I am embarrassed to say that it was only in June last year, at the age of 22, that my stylish and makeup loving friend dragged me to a cosmetics store to stock up on things before summer camp. She did my makeup before a few nights out and taught me how it was done. Thank god those drag-queen days are over. For one member of my sibling group at least.

1. There would have been someone to fight with.
Fights with my brothers during childhood ended one of two ways. Before they were taller than me, they would cry. After they got taller than me, they ended with punches and objects being thrown. I never had the verbal wordplay kind of fights between my siblings (and when I had them with my parents I would always lose), which are a necessary part of sibling-in-fighting and teach one about comebacks and bitch attacks.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade my brothers for any one else (most days), but when I see my friends that have sisters, and the bond between them, sometimes I am a little jealous. That’s okay. I now have two roomies to steal clothes off, no barbies to protect, kind stylish friends to teach me how to not look like shit, and my brothers have developed a huge amount of sass between them. I guess rolled into one, it’s like I have a sister after all!

P