Do not shed a tear for me. I ride in on the smell of musky cologne and the feel of ill-fitting trousers. I type as the wind, and file papers like an android. My skills increase each day as I grumble about my new assignment. I earn my $6.50 per hour. Earn it through light industrial labor. Earn it through data entry. Earn it through clerical work, and sometimes through sitting around contemplating the office furniture.
Do not shed a tear for meI am a temp.
Every day I face a new horizon; a new horizon which heretofore had been unexplored by any normal wage-earning office worker, or their cousin. This new horizon may be a spreadsheet, may be an arcane interface to a program written by a third-party developer, may be some foreign unfamiliar coffee machine. But I will, repeat, I will conquer these challenges!
Nobody can hold me back. Nobody can brace the fires searing through my soul that make me work harder than anybody’s sibling because they have no job. No one can type faster than a man whose spleen is filled with the bile that hates makes a call asking for the forbidden overtime.
Sure, I fill out my own time sheet. Sure, I receive no benefits. Sure, I drive to a new location every day, or depending on the office situation every week or so. Sure, any monkey could do what I do with a modicum of training. But I dare you to find a monkey that can answer the phone in a new place every day and have to think for only a split second as to the company’s name. No monkey could ever sort through an invoice packet and remove the mailers with such aplomb. No sir.
So do not shed a tear for me when I leave (if you notice). I will pack my belonging, don my coat, and drive off into traffic in my ’86 Escort. Do not weep. Do not think about the tasks which I have performedthose tasks which increased productivity by "at least a percent." Do not ask for me to linger for I am of the same blood as a Bedouin: Transitory, mobile, living near rivers until they dry up (and, it would cost about $7000 for me to stay). Remember, I have to keep moving.
I am a loner. One office is not enough for this heart. One set of co-workers can not keep me busy enough. One route in traffic is not worthy of my time. Someday I may return, but do not count on it. My heart goes where the paycheck is. I bid you adieu.
(And please do not notice the office supplies in my pocket.)
Sincerely,
The Temp