A Rat in a Maze

So, I'm not so sure I like this job anymore. Today I was informed, through a weird trickle-down communication method (Dan the Man tells Sharon tells Kathy to tell me) that this call log I'm required to keep is getting more complex. And in my opinion, creepier.
On my second day of work ever, they sprung the original call log on me. Not only did I have to answer calls, reply to e-mail and return voicemails with no real help, I also had to keep track of exactly when calls occured, how long they took, what they were about and how much the person spent if they bought something. Okay. I got used to this. I got used to accounting for every second of my day, in which I never take lunch, hardly ever take even a five minute break, and am never thanked or praised for being thus committed, nor told that once in a while I should get up and pee. Fine. Fine.
Today, the trickle-down message states that not only do I have to account for everything I do, including lull periods when I am required to look like I'm busy, instead of playing games or reading a book while I wait for the phone to ring.........I have to keep track of how many sales calls there were (can't Dan count them himself?), how many products I sold, and which products (meaning how expensive they are) I sold. Apparently if I do well in "selling up" and trying to get people to buy more than they want to (which I was told I wouldn't have to do in this job), then I get a prize. But what happens if I have fifteen sales calls and five sales? Five cheap sales? Sometimes people just can't afford to spend $600 on three levels of language learning. Do I get an anti-prize? Do I get the boot? Do I get a stern lecture about how we're supposed to be trying to "sell up"? I am extremely uncomfortable. But what can I do? I need a job. What if I quit and the agency can't find me something new for another two weeks? I have bills to pay. But I also have a sense of foreboding, and a creepy sense that my every move is being watched and studied. Which it is.
Should I call the agency and tell them my problems? Should I tell them to my supervisor? Should I swallow them and get on with my life, my life that requires a paycheck? What do I do?

Lost!

Does anyone else out there watch Lost? The season finale was last night. Whoo! I almost died of suspense. Who knew that Walt was "the boy"? And the Others were really quite creepy, out there in the middle of the ocean in a fishing boat. And I definitely think opening the hatch was a bad, bad plan. But I also think John Locke knows more than he's letting on. And I really hope that Sawyer's okay.... I like him a lot, and it would be terrible if he died. Which reminds me, the high-school-teacher-blowing-up thing was really insane. Becky said he was going to die as soon as he first appeared a few weeks ago, and she was right!
The getting-on-the-plane montage was interesting, though a little corny. It made me think about how I always notice people on planes, I watch them to keep my brain occupied. And if I suddenly crashed on an island with them, I'd probably remember what my first impressions were. It was an interesting thought process.
I'm having some trouble imagining how much farther the story can go, though. I mean, clearly I'm not a screenwriter for the show. But it seems to me that once they figure out what's going on with the Others and can get Walt back, they can just build another raft or fix the old one and set sail again. Granted, they could stretch the Others out over another season, maybe two. I guess I'll just have to wait and see what else could possibly happen once the Others are explained and dealt with in whatever way they're going to be. Maybe a new plane will crash on the island! ;)

Scientific Experiment--Are All Temps Gay?

Okay, I know that's pretty rude of me. I'm just trying to express my amazement at the fact that the vast majority of people I've met who work for the same temp agency I do are homosexual. What's up with that? I mean, 5 out of 9 is more than 10% of the temp population. If you're a temp, sound off. Yay temps. If you're interested in this bit of wonderment, sound off again. If you're interested in sharing your temp and sexual status, definitely say something. My inquiring mind wants to know.

New Job! Also Shows.

Well, here I am goofing off at my new job. It's okay, though, the phone isn't ringing, all the e-mails are answered, and all the voice messages returned. And there was pizza for lunch today, courtesy a guy I never actually met who's leaving the company. Chicken and broccoli! It was yummy. And piroulines, my favorite........ Anyway, the new job seems to have a weird sort of passive-agressive flow to it... Monday and Tuesday were insane, Wednesday was better, and today is calm and slow. I hope tomorrow doesn't put me in a coma. But hey, I can't complain if they're gonna pay me to play internet games all day.

Last night Becky and I got in to see Savion Glover dance for free. Free for us, not for everyone else. Which was cool. Yay for Becky's job. He was fantastic, so completely...I don't know, it was like he was entirely composed of pure energy. But I've never seen a human being sweat so much.

Anyway, perhaps there will be more tomorrow about seeing shows--we're going to see the second part of Angels in America tonight, and I expect it will be fantastic, because the first part was. Hooray!

PS

PS--Please, temp agency, please please find me a job. I need moolah.

The Death of a Laptop

Okay. Is it just me, or should a good brand laptop computer last more than four years? I mean, come on. Not only does the stupid thing always turn itself off at random times, mostly in the middle of watching dvd's, but now it has gone completely insane. All I wanted to do was share photos with all of you from May Day, which was wonderful! But no. Windows decided to go totally insane and never start up properly again, and now although it's likely I'll be able to rescue all my files, I'll have to re-install the entire operating system. Then there's today, which was an insane tale too.

I asked my dad to express mail the cd's I need to fix the laptop. So he did, charming fellow that he is. Now, picture me dead asleep after a night full of coughing, curled up naked in bed. Well, don't picture it really, but you know. The buzzer rings. I know without being told that this is my precious package, and I have to get downstairs before the mailman gives up and goes away without delivering it. I run around frantically pulling on clothes, tempted to run downstairs buck naked, yelling "I'm coming!" because my intercom doesn't work and I hope beyond hope that the mailman is psychic. When I finally get down to the door, my hair a mess, my contacts stuck to my eyelids and my breasts flying braless under my nightgown, the mailman is getting into his little truck and pulling away. NOT GOOD. I call the post office in a fit of rage, but get a nice polite man who arranges for redelivery tomorrow, with explicit notes about my intercom situation. Who knows if it will work? I can only cross my fingers and sleep in my pajamas.