The temp tells all

The good old days

2007-02-13T17:03:00.000Z

There's really not a lot to say about the job I'm doing at the moment. I come in at 8.45, wince as dogsbody Jeff gives me a rancid cup of tea and get stuck into the day's work. At the end of it, I'm gone. I've been temping for years now and I'm sure they used to seem more eventful. It got me thinking about other temping jobs I've had.

Handing out orange juice at an exhibition

This was one of my very first assignments and was supposed to last two weeks. "Any more than that and you'll kill yourself" my then agent had said, which had bene very reassuring. I actually lasted three. The job involved dressing up in a very orange outfit which consisted of a kind of leotard with a horrible blue pleated skirt overt the top. Like a gym outfit really. As people arrived at this very boring and second rate trade exhibition my job along with two other girls was to hand out small trial sizes of orange juice that had had some kind of vitamin pumped into it to make it more healthy. Ordinarily this would be a total nightmare but the one saving grace was the look on the drinkers faces as they supped the juice. It tasted like shit and probably had weird side effects and not one person thought it was any way decent and worth finishing the absolutely tiny sample. The weeks just flew by.

Demonstrating a trouser press

Yet another trade exhibition. I was working as a temp in the office of an electrical firm and they wanted someone to do the Ideal Home and demo a trouser press and a coffee machine. No-one wanted to do it but I hated the office and saw it as an opportunity to escape. Amazingly, they agreed to let me do it. Me and a guy from the office were entrusted with the precious objects and people from work would pop by every now and again to check on us. Needless to say we got bored very quickly and so would ad lib quite a lot when it came to describing what the products could do. Penis enlargement, zero gravity and dry cleaning were just three of the hidden functions we said the coffee machine could do. We were very young and stupid. In between fanciful lies we put just about anything we could in the trouser press and dropped small blocks of hash in our cappuccino. We were never caught but going back to the office seemed so dull afterwards and we both left the company to do, other things. In my case, more temping. Am I ever going to grow up?

The vital signs

2007-01-31T17:39:00.000Z

Whenever I first start an assignment it takes me a little while to find my feet and I usually judge how well a job is going to go by how quickly I can suss out what the permanent staff and/ or other temps think of the place. By making a few observations about its employees, you can easily assess the company and its management and decide whether it's worth sticking around.

Don't get comfortable if

- People go for lots of fag breaks. This either means that the management are too slack and therefore aren't serious about their jobs (which is bad because you'll never move forward) or the staff are so miserable that speeding up their inevitable death by smoking themselves stupid is the only way they can get through the day.

- There's never any loo paper in the toilets. This means that the cleaners hate the staff and every temp has to befriend at least one cleaner, to avid them rifling through their belongings or to make sure they're always stocked up with refreshments.

- You have to pay for hot drinks. A company this tight will never up your rate for work well done or loyalty. Strip the stationery cupboard bare and ask to be reassigned.

Things are looking up if:

- People wear nice clothes. Even if they're not designer, the fact that people wear nice clothes and look good is a sign that people are happy at their job. Sitting on reception and watching everyone walk by in badly-fitting polyester is soul-destroying and rings alarm bells to me.

- Lots of people go for lunch together. While this can also demonstrate a pack mentality of twats, it also means that people generally get on well enough to spend free time together. Watch out for companies where lone lunchers sit with their Marks and Spencer sandwich on a bench outside the office.

- Your email, web access and phone line is operational within thirty seconds of you arriving on your first day. Any longer than that and you'll have to deal with IT morons all day and any company that would put you through that shit isn't worth it.

Back from the brink

2007-01-25T15:47:00.000Z

When things go well for me, they fly, but when they go bad, it's pretty bad. For anyone out there wondering where I have been for the last million years or so, the simple explanation is that I've been ill. Being ill gives a person a lot of time to think and I've been having mini crises day in day out, one of them was should I grow up and get a permanent job, but I then realised that I didn't really know what it was I wanted to do. So this means that although previously I saw temping as a way of life, it's now something to do while I think about what I want to do. Got me? No I'm not convinced either.

Having been off ill for quite a while, starting back on my first assignment was a weird experience. Like a leader who's been exiled, it was weird coming into a office and re-familiarising myself with all the tools of my trade. I took my place behind my desk as if getting back on a horse after a nasty fall. My new boss had clearly been briefed that I'd been out of the game in a while and explained everything very slowly as if teaching a child how to go to the toilet. I sat impassively as she explained every last button on a phone I've used at hundreds of different jobs before. Why complain? If she wants to waste her time teaching an old dog like me new tricks then so be it.

My new job is at a publishing house. They publish magazines, but believe me, Ugly Betty this is not. The publishing house distributes mags about angling, caving, and bat watching (possibly). Basically, it's a load of sports that you know people do but have never met anyone who actually does it. There's also the odd knitting title and lots of baking magazines. The only up side is my boyfriend's thrilled with the amount of new recipes I'm brining home. I don't cook them, he just likes to read them and imagine what he could eating if I wasn't such a lazy cow. So I've been her for two weeks almost and so far, so same old same old. It's a busy reception, with lots of stupid enquiries about subscriptions, article submissions and all manner of fraught housewives desperately searching for recipes for pastry. I have a cohort to help me with reception and wonder upon wonder it's a man! Well, a boy. He's called Jeff and is about 19. He's also a general dogsbody for just about anyone but is here to help if I need it. His first conversation with me entailed him telling me not to bother asking him to make a cup of tea because he'd "only do it wrong". I pointed out that I would just keep sending him back until he got it right and that I had all the time in the world. Either that or he could get his arse top Starbucks, his choice. Whether he admired me or thought I was a bitch I've no idea and he'll probably spit, piss AND wank into my tea, but at least I get to stay seated.

There's lots, lots more to tell but my wrists are aching and Jeffrey has been taking an awful long time in the kitchen...

Belly up

2006-11-17T16:49:00.000Z

I've turned into the worst blogger ever, but it's been a busy few weeks. My boss has finally realised what a PA is for and is fast becoming the king of delegation. When the internal tone goes on my phone I don't need to look at caller display to see that it is him asking for his arse wiping yet again.

I have finally met his wife and she seems nice. She's around six months pregnant. She came in a week or so ago and he was in a meeting so she sat with me for a while. It was a bit hard looking in her eye knowing what I know but I managed it. She was telling me how boring pregnancy is- everybody telling you to sit down or relax- and all people ever want to talk to you about is the baby. She says she can feel clients- she works in PR- just look at her bump when she comes out with ideas, as if her being pregnant means she couldn't possibly have a fucking clue what she was talking about. I liked her. The adulterous bastard doesn't deserve her.

No other real news at all. Because I am sitting in a small office pretty much on my own I don't get to fraternize with other members of staff much- suits me. Everyone seems to be resolved to the fact they're not going to be doing fuck all now that Christmas is on the way, but they all try and look busy as I click-clack through their departments on the way out. I'm getting a lot of sneering because I'm the ONLY temp in the place- the company has tried loads of PAs in the past but they've all been shit so because this is my boss's first PA, the company have plumped for a temp because permanent members of staff are notoriously hard to sack. Needless to say I'm shit hot so there's no cause for concern.

The infidel

2006-10-27T16:16:00.000+01:00

I haven't been updating lately because I've had a bit of flu. Nice and early this year so let's hope I won't be getting it again. Unfortunately my illness meant that I lost my dull as fuck job in the screening rooms but I wasn't bothered at all, especially now I've got a nice new job in a real office with real people and lots of fucked up office politics to keep me busy.

My receptionista days are behind me for now as I am PA to a company manager. He's about 26 and has never had a PA before so I have no footsteps to follow in at all. He's a lovely guy and at the moment isn't treating me like a serf but things will change- they always do. In typically office fashion, he's fucking one of the junior secretaries and she seems to be having a hard time of it. I haven't met his wife yet but she phones up occasionally and I've had to take her stuff to the dry cleaners every now and again. As far as I know she's pregnant which makes me feel a bit bad for her but it's none of my business really. His mistress must be all of 18 but I think she reckons she's ion with a chance of usurping the current wife. I see her wandering past my open door around fifty times a day on the off chance she'll bump into him. I'm finding her quite useful for taking post down to the post room actually.

Not mush else happening. I'm quite near one of my old jobs so keep seeing hatchet-faced bastards from the past everywhere. That's the trouble with being a temp- only a footstep away from a skeleton in your closet.

You want answers? I got answers...

2006-10-05T17:14:00.000+01:00

The lovely One Snarky Girl said I had an STD (one pleasure I've never had in real life thank god) which I think means I have to fill this in and post it here. So I have done.

Three people who make me laugh
1.My boyfriend Matthieu
2. Anyone who falls down a set of stairs
3. The man who stands outside my local tube station shouting "Piss! Piss to you all!"

Three things I can do
1. type faster than anyone I've ever met
2. be more polite than the Queen (when I wanna be)
3. whatever I want, whenever I want

Three things I can't do
1. accept that I really should have a permanent job
2. knitting
3. listen to the Spice Girls

Three things I'm doing right now
1. squinting at the screen
2. ignoring the phone
3. wondering why the phone receiver smells strangely

Three things I want to do before I die
1. this
2. that
3. the other

Three things I hate the most
1. men with sweat patches on their work shirts- deodorant is freely available, boys!
2. people with no manners
3. getting the tube on a hot day

Three things that scare me
1. unemployment
2. bosses with hard-ons that they don't really try to conceal.
3. bosses actually checking their phone bills and my internet use

Three things I don't understand
1. why do
2. fools fall
3. in love

Three skills I'd like to learn
1. if i don't know it, it ain't worth knowing
2. (except maybe tennis)
3. (and time travel)

Three ways to describe my personality
1. sharp
2. pentagonal
3. in disarray

Three things I think you should listen to
1. the door hitting the arse of an enemy as they leave your life for good
2. the hold music at channel four
3. god I don't know- whales having sex?

Things you should never listen to
1. a word any permanent member of staff tells you
2. radio one
3. your boyfriend having a post-curry shit.

Three favorite foods
1. pre-shit curry
2. anything italian
3. sushi

Three beverages I drink regularly
1. latte
2. camomile
3. tomato juice

Three shows I watched as a kid
1. blue peter
2. simon and the witch
3. my dad attempting to do the ironing- he was fucking useless but it was front row stuff.

A permanent fixture

2006-09-29T15:38:00.000+01:00

The weekend is on its way and I can't wait. It has been a really dull and depressing week sitting in this place and I'm looking forward to a job that gets me back out into the sunshine. It looks like I'll be here for at least another two weeks though.

I had lunch with an old temping friend Debbie the other day. she was telling me I need to get my act together and get a permanent job. She says that going 'perm' has changed her life but I saw she's still wearing the same cheap shoes- her heel was hanging off for fucks sake.

I have had permanent jobs before but I've never liked them. I get really scared that if I need to get out of a shit job I have to give a month's notice and can't just escape like I can now. The downside of temping is that sometimes I really do get a job I love and don't want to leave. These jobs are scarce because the girl you're replacing usually can't wait to get back and oust the poor temp who's doing the job way better than she can.

Anyway I haven't seen Debbie for a while so it was good to catch up but she soon got on my nerves with all her big talk of her huge salary and how hot the guys are in her office. She said there was a job in the postroom if I was interested. I politely declined, but just for that insult, I let her go back to her office with a Bolognese stain on her chin. Postroom- what a cow!

Sorry to keep you waiting

2006-09-20T17:56:00.000+01:00

It seems like ages since I last wrote and that's because it is! Sorry! The TV job ended after a couple of weeks and then I decided I was fucked off with starting a new job every two fucking minutes so I went on holiday. And it was great.

But now I am back, a week and a half into one of my worst assignments yet. I'm receptionist at a film editing firm- well I say reception, I feel like I'm sitting in an upright coffin- with no daylight or view to the outside world and very dodgy internet access. No sooner am I halfway through eBaying handbags or paying my electricity bill than connection will drop and I'll be sitting staring at the screen with a look of horror on my face.

My phonecalls are from media types agreeing to come to screenings on the screening rooms or sales calls. I'm not that busy to be honest, unless there's a screening on and I have to point people in the right direction. It's dull, dull, dull and there's nothing remotely interesting or funny about it. None of the people who work want to be disturbed EVER so the most fun I've been having involves getting calls from sales people. It goes a little something like this.

Me (bored): Hello (company name)
Sales Loser (very enthusiastic): Hello there, my name is Big Fat Fucking Loser from Dicko Ltd. Can I speak to the person in charge of technical innovation please?
Me (almost asleep but recognising sales patter): The what?
SL: Can I speak to the person in charge of technical innovation please?
Me: Do you mean the person who buys new equipment?
SL: That's right!
Me: You selling something?
SL (lying): Absolutely not. I do have an exciting proposition for the person in charge of technical innovation, which will change the way you do business.
Me: Hold please. (files nails, attempts to log on to eBay, time passes, civilisations are founded and fall)
Me (putting on low, droning voice): Bill speaking.
SL: Hi! Are you the person in charge of technical innovation?
Me (putting on low, droning voice): The what?
SL (enthusiasm dwindling somewhat): Can I speak to the person in charge of technical innovation please?
Me (putting on low, droning voice): Do you mean the person who buys new equipment?
SL (more dejectedly): That's right!
Me (putting on low, droning voice): Hold please.

And so on. Sometimes for ages. I like inventing odd names for each and every person the poor fucker has to speak to. I do it around four or five times until the sales guy finally guesses he's been had or loses the will to live. I had no idea I was so good at impressions.

Nothing else interesting has happened here except that there was a buzz at the door yesterday and when I looked at the videocom to see who it was saw a transvestite being sick in the doorway, her head slammed against the buzzer as she vacated her colon all over the door. It was 1 in the afternoon- don't you just love Soho?

Settling in

2006-08-08T16:33:00.000+01:00

I'm bored of this already. Kez must be worried that I'm going to steal her job away from her because she gets to the phone before I can even lift my finger to push the button and she volunteers for everything. It's sweet in a way but she's making me look lazy. There's still plenty for me to do but every time a boss walks past Kez is looking busy and I'm just sitting staring intently at my screen. Although I pull a pretty good "I'm busy" face, Kez nearly blew my cover by shrieking "Oh they're pretty!" as I was Ebaying a pair of shoes earlier. A boss type was walking past and looked over. I felt like a fat schoolgirl caught stealing biscuits.

Being a receptionista at a TV company means talking to telly people who are mainly wankers. A gentleman caller came in at lunchtime when Kez was out getting the sandwiches and stood expectantly at the desk while I emailed off some forms to security- I know, what glamour! Being the professional I am I looked up and said hello and asked him who he was here to see. He told me and I replied that I'd be right with him as soon as I had typed this short email. He tutted, tapped his fingers and after what must have been three milliseconds of waiting said "God, could you type any slower?" I looked up, smiled from ear to ear and said "I'm sure I could, sir, would you like me to try?" This could have gone either way, but luckily for me, after he frowned for a few seconds he laughed, apologised for being a grump and said he'd wait in the seating area. I made sure he got fresh coffee as he waited for the fat bastard he'd come to see to come and get him.

It seems as if my arrival here has caused something of a stir among the various delivery men and couriers that come and go each day. This is quite usual wherever I go- not because I am stunningly beautiful but just because the receptionist I'm standing in for is usually so sick of their sexist remarks, pathetic jokes and chronic halitosis that she talks to them only in grunts and is generally a frosty bitch to them. A bit of new blood means that they can recycle their jokes and try a bit of friendly repartee with a woman who isn't their wife. I play the game for a while- it can break up the day and they're harmless enough really- but it does eventually get boring. Today we had a delivery for one of the researchers, whose surname is Mycock. Now, I realise that this is kinda funny in a puerile way for a second or two but surely once the joke has been made, that's all there is to be said. Not so with bearded pusball of a delivery guy, who stood and leered for what must have been 5 whole minutes chortling at the name, making references to his own deformed and- naturally- huge member and generally being a prick. Kerenza was in stitches the whole time so the guy thought he had a captive audience. Strangely, when the Mycock in question- 25 years old, 6' 6" and built like a rugby player- came down to collect his parcel, the delivery guy's face soon changed and suddenly the joke didn't seem very funny any more.

All change

2006-08-03T15:43:00.000+01:00

I spent Tuesday licking my wounds after what I guess was a sacking. Poor Donna phoned in floods of tears at my removal and has confirmed that Pam is a good friend of her mum's, so that's one little mystery sorted. And do I care? No! The poisonous bitches have done me a favour because now I've got an even better job.

I'm back across town working for a TV company. It's a two week assignment with the possibility of longer. The last receptionist went to go travelling and everyone's so busy they didn't have time to recruit a new one. I can see why- the last one was so shit she probably spent her last month frantically trying to cover up some of the mess she'd made and by the wrinkles on her supervisor's face, she wasn't entirely successful. Yet again I'm sharing reception duties but this time it's OK because like me she's a temp. I reckon I could be in for a long haul because Kerenza (yes, that's her name) has been here for three months and is loving it. Famous-ish people have been trooping through the doors at a rate of knots since I started yesterday, which excites Kez no end. She's your typical slavish Heat reader who gobbles up every bit of celebrity gossip she can. She spent half an hour yesterday extolling the virtues of Paris Hilton's new single and when a middle aged D list TV presenter asked her is she could call him a taxi she practically slipped into a diabetic coma so I see \i'll have to watch her . She's harmless, though.

The thing about TV people- the guys especially- is that they're really full of themselves. For some reason, TV still has some glamour attached to it even though in London every other person you meet a party is "in TV" or "putting money together for a film". I've already had someone over giving it the big flirt technique- asking my name, if I know anybody here already, telling me we'll catch up later. Sounds harmless enough I know but he must have touched his crotch a hundred times and he was leaning so far over my desk I could smell in minute detail what he's had for lunch and what washing powder he used. Usually in the first few days I lap this up and encourage it but I've had a hard week, there's a lot to sort out thanks to the inept young lady here before me and I'm not on the market anyway so I just nodded for a bit and then went back to my work while he was mid sentence.

The offices are super modern, the telephone systems fully functional, chair is less than a year old, desk space is huge, air con is on and delivery men are suitably reverent. I think I'm going to like it here.

Out on my ear

2006-07-31T16:16:00.000+01:00

I wasn't in a good mood when I got into the office this morning because the tube had been even more cramped than usual and obviously some people had seen the weather report that it might rain later so I had to deal with umbrellas jabbing me in the ass every two minutes. Not great!

Things got even worse because no sooner had I sat down than Pam trotted through and said she wanted to see me in her office. I smiled sweetly and went on inside. Once again, there was a pile of coffee cups on her desk. Either she'd been in there drinking coffee all weekend or the cleaners hate her as much as I do and don't clear her shit away for her. She sits me down and starts saying things like she wants staff to be consolidated and it's really important that the face of the firm is actually one that belongs to the team and is not from another organisation. My mind was ticking over like mad by this point but I thought it was best not to say anything and just let her carry on droning. Her saucer eyes didn't move from my face once the entire time she was speaking and I was determined not to look away so it must have looked like we were having a staring contest. She said that because Donna was intending to leave now was an ideal time to find a receptionist who can truly represent the firm and it was not suitable for a temporary worker to be manning the desk longer than a permanent one. What she was getting it here I have no clue, but I assume she didn't want a smelly old temp showing a new perm receptionist the ropes. Her mistake. She told me that Donna would be serving her notice period doing other duties and that I was being released from my contract that VERY MINUTE. Then she looked away and brought out one of my temp agency's timesheets. "We'll pay you for today, of course," she said and signed her name on the sheet before taking her copy and giving me the other for the agency. I just kind of sat there not knowing what to say. "If you could get your personal effects from the desk and then I'll ask David (a security guard!) to escort you out of the building." was her next move and so I took the timesheet, stood up and left the office.

When I got back to reception, there was what looked like a 17 year old sitting there obviously shitting herself in case the phone rang. She was tapping with one finger on the keyboard attempting to scroll down on the legendary crap operating system. I started putting my bits and bobs in my bag. I don't tend to keep much at any desk I have so it didn't take long. The 17 year old turned to me and asked if I knew what to do when the screen froze. I asked her if she was a temp and she said no she wasn't. "Then you're on your own love," was my reply and I made to walk towards the lift as David dragged his knuckles behind me. As I was stepping into the lift, I turned to see Jeanette stood there with a smug expression on her face and then she walked into Pam's office and shut the door. What a fucking joke.

I got outside and called my recruitment agent and told her what had happened and she was gobsmacked. She said not to worry and that she'd do her best to dig something out for me.

I'm not particularly bothered about not working there any more- temping is supposed to be temporary after all, but I found the way I was removed a bit weird and can't help but think that Jeanette has got something to do with it.

And so I'm at home on a Monday afternoon instead of answering phones and watching Donna work her way through yet another packet of Chewits. It's a funny old world.

The breakdown

2006-07-28T15:28:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I broke my unwritten rule of having too much to drink on a work night and went to the pub with Donna to discuss her future plans. She's very excited- like a Yorkshire terrier on speed- and kept getting the drinks in. The result was I could feel my speech slurring by nine and knew I had to get home. Today, I am hung-over in a bad way. If any callers have been taking too long to get to the point, I've just been disconnecting them and leaving Donna to deal with any tirades when they call back.

Donna's transformation from chav extraordinaire to super empowered independent woman is nothing short of miraculous. She hasn't said anything mildly racist in weeks and is actually not that bad to be around. I'd quite forgotten that my whole reason for helping her was to get rid of her so i could have the reception to myself, but now I've decided I don't really want to work there anyway. What am I like?

My usual supervisor goes on holiday today for two weeks so someone else will be overseeing my duties and making sure I don't spend the day on the web posting fake profiles on dating sites or booking holidays (just booked a weekend in Rome this afternoon). Her name is Pam- which every office worker in their mid fifties seems to be called these days- and she wanted to see me earlier this morning. This wasn't really good for me as I've been feeling like shit all day but I rallied a bit and painted on a smile and went on in.

Pam was sitting behind her desk in front of a mountain of empty coffee cups. I'd never seen her close up before so wasn't quite prepared for how large her eyes looked behind her very thick glasses. They were boring into me as I walked in. She told me to sit down and then said how much she was looking forward to working with me. Alarm bells rang straight away- when someone tells you that it means one of two things- 1. You're fired or 2. I'm gonna work you like a bitch and make your life hell. She explained that she'd heard that items of stationery had been going missing and she knew how temps loved to get their hands on post-it notes and pens (???). This totally baffled me because I never write anything down ever. In only pick up a pen to pick my nose! She then said that although my weekly timesheet told her how many hours I'd worked per day, it didn't say what I'd done. My face must have looked completely incredulous because she went on to explain further. "I'd like you to write down the tasks you've done each hour and tell me when you take your breaks and that kind of thing. It's like a breakdown of your working day. Be as specific as you can. You can start that from Monday if you like." She then got up and opened the door for me as I went back to my desk totally dumbstruck. What the fuck is going on? What does she think that is daily task list will consist of? I don't need to be a fucking clairvoyant to write Monday's 'breakdown' for the saucer-eyed bitch RIGHT NOW.

0830 – 0930 Answer phones and take deliveries.
1030 – 1130 Answer phones and take deliveries.
1130 – 1230 Answer phones and take deliveries.
1230 – 1330 Stand for ages in queue for sandwich. Get pissed off because sandwich is not what I asked for. Eat it anyway. Return to desk to hear Donna moan "I'm starvin" for the eightieth day in a row.
1330 – 1430 Answer phones and take deliveries.
1430 – 1530 Answer phones and take deliveries.
1530 – 1630 Do a handstand. No- only joking. Answer phones and take deliveries.
1630 – 1730 Answer phones and take deliveries.
1730 Skip home safe in the knowledge that my job is a load of shit.

Why exactly does this thrilling day need to be itemised? Or does she want me to tell the truth?!!?

Don't mess with the mother

2006-07-26T09:13:00.000+01:00

Finally I have the time to blog again, not that anything much has happened. My protegee is now ready to fly the nest and is handing in her month's notice this week. She's got her place at beauty school and is ready to rock. Her mother has been informed and is unsurprisingly blaming me- and so she should.

I don't normally eat in the staff canteen, preferring to go to the park or just sit anywhere but the office when it's time to have lunch, but the other day was so hot I couldn't bear to brave the elements and leave the air con behind (it was working that day). When I was deciding which kind of quiche was least likely to give me food poisoning, I heard a thunderclap behind me. I turned round to see Jeanette striding towards me with all the grace and charm of a birthing rhino. I smiled and got no smile back so I guessed the deed had been done and Donna had revealed her plans.

To cut a long story short Jeanette insisted on sitting opposite me as I pretended to eat my salad. She spat and convulsed like a Tasmanian devil, saying I was putting ridiculous ideas into her daughter's head. Now, Jeannie works in HR and is kind of important, but my lunch break is fucking precious to me and it was bad enough I was having to spend it in the building instead of out in the park checking out the hotties so I just said "Oh Christ, Jeanette, the only thing I'm putting into Donna's head is actual thoughts, something she's never experienced thanks to you suffocating her at every turn. Now why not go and discuss this with Donna and let me eat this poor excuse for a salad in peace?" She said I could "get fucked", which is absolutely correct- I can and DO get fucked unlike her- and then she was gone.

I was clever this time and forewarned my supervisor about the bust-up but she said it sounded like a personal matter and wouldn't affect my job here. If anything she said Jeanette;s swearing had made her look worse. All the same, I've decided that my work here is done and it's time to move on. It's not all bad, I reckon I gave Donna a boost and I even managed to nab myself a little souvenir of my time at this job- the beautiful Matthieu. Haha. I think I've got a couple more weeks while they try and take on two new members of staff so I've still got time to show them just who is the mightiest Receptionista of them all.

Too hot to blog

2006-07-24T09:32:00.000+01:00

Normal service will be resumed as soon as someone fixes the fucking air-con. xxx

Getting away with it

2006-07-07T11:58:00.000+01:00

Today's been a bit of a downer so far because it's the anniversary of the London tube bombings so everyone's been quieter and a bit nicer to each other. Donna and me have been spreading the love by wearing lower-cut tops today. We felt it was the least we could do to cheer up the boys. Some of the guys had friends who were injured or freaked out and one of the bombs was pretty close so everyone's just all subdued and thoughtful.

Donna's looking better every day- I think the breakthrough has been made and I know I've actually done this girl a favour. Even though I started helping her out for my own gains, I know that she's lots happier. Wow I feel like the girl out of Clueless or something- but not as stupid.

Anyway, we're still working on Donna plucking up the courage to tell her mum that she's going to train to be a beauty therapist, but I think we're close now.

Anyway, what else has been happening? It's been quite quiet really. My supervisor- who I hardly ever see because she's so busy sorting out all the young Pas who cry all the time because they've too much work- came to have a word with me about my run-in with the bitchy PA the other week. I thought I was in the shit because while my supervisor is a nice woman, she doesn't take any shit and is mega efficient- a woman after my own heart. She came up to me earlier this week and said she wanted to talk to me about Anne. "Who's Anne?" was my response. She explained that Anne was Colin's PA and had moaned about me because of my rudeness. When I quoted back almost word for word the exchange I'd had with the snippy bitch, I could see my supervisor's mouth tighten as if she was trying not to laugh.

She said "Look, this woman's a lazy bitch and we know it, and she knows we know it, but people are hard to sack...unless they're temps." I gulped at this point. "But," she continued, "as long as you just stay out of her way and try not to rub her up the wrong way again I'm sure I can sort it." She laid her hand on my shoulder quite protectively. "I think I've dealt with it now and while I'm not saying you have to take any nonsense from her or anybody, just watch your step. Some of these Pas have been here since before Stonehenge and can get uppity about newcomers pointing out how lazy they are." She then smiled and walked off. That's what I believe they call a result!

Spread your wings

2006-06-29T11:35:00.000+01:00

Like a butterfly, Donna is emerging from her chrysalis and starting to look halfway decent. Fake tan is being applied at a sensible level so she looks less satsuma and more sun kissed. Make up's looking way better and she's actually started applying for beauty therapy courses. The only sticking point is the hair but we've found a good hairdresser and the bleach blonde hell should be banished soon. It's like a makeover show happening live in front of me.

I think I might actually miss Donna when she spreads her wings and flies off into the sunset. The way she asks me questions and cocks her head to one side when I answer is quite cute. But leave she must. I'm not sure when this is going to be as Donna is still very frightened of telling her mother she's ditching the City life for the world of beauty. I hope I've got a good hiding place when the shit hits, because I know I'll get the blame.

I have been for a couple of drinks with Matthieu, the French junior partner, and he's very nice. I made sure that Donna and a few others came along so that it doesn't look like a date- I don't date colleagues from assignments as a rule just in case I want to come back- so he doesn't get the wrong idea. Or maybe it would be the right one- he's fucking hot. I'm not sure how I feel about him though. Donna was making cow eyes at him all night but the transformation hasn't been that effective. Unless Matthieu is blinded and loses his memory in a terrible accident- along with the ability to feel, smell and taste- I doubt he'll be getting busy with her, no matter how long her tongue hangs out at the thought of it.

My agent rang yesterday and asked if I was happy in this job and you know what I actually am. She said something ridiculous like "Oh darling you can't be a temp forever, isn't there something else you'd like to try? A permanent job maybe?" Does she think I want to make a career out of this? Be stuck on a 12 month contract with conditions like giving 2 months notice if I want to quit and being paid monthly. She's mental. What other job could I bail out of if I decided I hated it? Of course I don't want to be a receptionist forever, but that's kind of the point of temping.

The problematic PA

2006-06-22T12:56:00.000+01:00

Things are going slowly but surely with my new protegee. Donna is lapping up my supercool fashion and beauty advice and is now fully committed to becoming a beautician. She's wearing decent make-up, has splurged on the MAC and Benefit counters and is already dressing a bit better. She has yet to tell her mum of her plans but I'm priming her to tell all within the next few weeks. Jeannie's not been in the best of moods this week and has been stomping about the place like a pit bull with a twisted bollock, so Donna needs to tread carefully.

I got my first telling off the other day for connection a client through to a lawyer who is avoiding her calls. She's refusing to settle her bill but keeps calling for advice etc anyway. She sounded genuinely upset so I connected her to the guy's PA who went fucking nuts at me. She's the type that needs to dress you down in person so within two minutes of me connecting the call, she was in reception stinking of fags and Anais Anais with her eyes boring into me. "Which one of you stupid tarts put Mrs X through to Colin's office?" she screamed. Donna was halfway through a chicken sandwich and couldn't respond so I smiled and said "I think I'm the stupid tart you're looking for." She then railed at me for a few minutes about how Mrs X was never to be connected and what an idiot I was and best of all how she'd wasted 10 whole minutes of her time trying to get rid of the woman off the phone.

I didn't want to lose my job so I had to be calm but this PA's lawyer isn't that important and I reckon the bitch can't handle her job anyway so I hit her with a scale 4 glare and calmly smiled. Glancing at my monitor which tells me what calls have come in when and where they went, I said "That call came in at 14.50 and was transferred to you within a minute. As you appeared in front of me I had just ended a different call, this was at 14.53. It is now 14.59, so unless you have a Tardis or live in an alternate reality, you didn't spend 10 minutes on the phone to this enquirer. In fact, you seem to have spent the majority of this mythical 10 minutes shouting at me for doing something I hadn't been told not to do. I have to treat all enquirers to the company with respect and carry out their request unless otherwise instructed. I'll now note that Colin's PA doesn't have time to take Mrs X's calls. Now, if your time is as precious as you say it is, you'd better back to your desk in case any more calls come through for Colin that you're too busy to answer." Her mouth flapped up and down like a goldfish for a few seconds and then she turned on her heels and got in the lift. As a mark of respect, Donna put her sandwich down and said "Well done." She then finished the rest of it in one mouthful.

So far I've had no comeback and the PA has been scurrying past my desk so fast you'd think she'd been shot out of a canon. I sense it's not the end of the matter but I'll get Donna to lie and say she saw the PA threaten me if a stink arises.

My new project

2006-06-15T15:33:00.000+01:00

I couldn't help but notice that there were hardly any clients or visitors booked to come in this afternoon as I had a look at the schedule. Donna- sweaty from her usual lunchtime session in the gym- tells me it's due to the world cup football match today. It starts at 5 but the lawyers will probably have been getting pissed since lunchtime and will be watching the game on the huuuge screen in one of the boardrooms from kick-off. I was quite shocked by this- I mean I've worked with some skivers in my time but lawyers are usually more interested in charging the hourly rate rather than watching a football match. Donna tells me they'll bill for this anyway and call it research or something. All the clients are so stupidly rich they probably won't care anyway so I guess it's karma- too much cash and too thick to keep track of it, you deserve to be relieved of it in my book.

Donna and I have had a breakthrough. She confided in me the other day that her actual dream is to be a beautician- the mind fucking boggles, even a burns victim would have second thoughts about the ability of this girl to make anyone look like hot stuff- but her mum evil Jeannie has made her get this proper job and she's been stuck here for 3 years wishing she was applying lipstick or mixing foundation. Well, some old fucker once said divide and rule is the best way forward so rather than alienate Donna I'm going to be her mentor. I'm going to give her what she's never had- no, not cosmetic surgery, even better- a bit of encouragement. I've already been scouring the internet for courses she could do and I've brought in a few samples for her to try from a beauty therapist friend of mine. I'm going to do my best to empower my little charge so that eventually she'll be strong enough to stand up to the evil Jeannius and go for her dreams. And THEN, I'll be top Receptionista- until I get bored anyway.

It feels very weird to be doing something nice for a rival- I think it's a nice feeling, I'm not sure. Anything that's sticks one in Jeannie's bloodshot eye has got to be worth a try.

Hot hot hot

2006-06-12T17:07:00.000+01:00

It's very very very hot in London today- feels like more than 30 degrees- and so everybody's walking round with pink faces. Donna's no exception. She was at a barbecue on Friday, Saturday and Sunday and in between putting away ten tonnes of the cheapest frozen burgers she could find, she managed to bag herself a new man and in great detail has been telling me about the revolting sex she's been having. I'm no prude, but just seeing Donna in short sleeves makes me crave the solace of a psychiatric ward so imagining her naked is not what I need right now- or ever.

So much for these ultra glam offices- the air conditioning is fucked and so I've been dousing myself in Magicool to avoid matching Donna's beetroot red chops. It's at times like this when you wish you didn't have to dress up all the time. The last thing I want to do on hot days is cram my feet into heels but any Receptionista worth her salt knows that the haughty authority you need when you're manning the desk and meeting clients can't be achieved in flat shoes.

One amusing thing about being on the desk today has been watching people walk in expecting the lobby to be air conditioned. The look of horror on their faces as they step into this oven has been priceless. You can almost see them sweat out their spines as they stagger up to the desk.

Keeping mum

2006-06-08T14:33:00.000+01:00

And so Donna's raison d'etre becomes clear- her mum works here. As somebody commented on the blog the other day "The corporate empire would crumble if it weren't for the mortar of nepotism" and it seems it's true. Fuck.

Donna's mum is a thoroughly nasty piece of work called Jeanette or Jeannie to her friends- i.e. nobody. She's tasteless, tattooed and tedious and I'm shocked that she even got a job here. She's obviously been here for years and works –surprise- in personnel. She's too disagreeable for words, so let's not waste any more on her here. All I'll say is that it's obvious where Donna got her lack of brains, class or beauty. She's her mama's daughter, alright. They'd make magnificent gargoyles.

Four days in and I've spotted my Office God. In every job I get, I find a new victim for one of my hopeless and usually temporary crushes. By being surrounded by munters all day, you suddenly begin to find the oddest men appealing. Our lucky contestant this time on Blind Date is called Matthieu and oui, oui, oui, he's French. He looks very French but in a good way and to be honest the accent had me before I even looked up from my desk to see those dark eyes glinting at me. He's a junior partner and specialises in entertainment law which sounds exciting but in reality is negotiating crap like how big Jordan's allowed to have her tits- well not quite but it's all very mundane or so he was telling me. He's quite fit but not as gorgeous as I'm giving him credit for. I saw a better looking guy behind the fag counter at Tesco last night. What Matthieu does know how to do is dress. Suit dry-cleaned to perfection, crisp white shirts and understated, expensive ties. Nice one.

He also appears to be Donna's Achilles Heel- she practically slipped off her seat when he came over to say hi- so this could be my 'in' to getting her off the desk. Mind you, while Jeannie the bulldog is around looking she's trying to shit out a tampax wrapped in razor blades, I'm going to have to watch my step.

A little competition

2006-06-07T14:48:00.000+01:00

Not that anybody reads this anyway, but sorry for the lack of updates. The new assignment is quite intense, so it's taking me longer to settle into my usually daily routine of bidding for court shoes on eBay, getting my groceries online and booking flights for friends who can't be arsed surfing the world wide web.

This assignment is probably in my top 10 already for sheer swankiness alone. I'm sitting at a lovely desk in the hugest of huge lobbies. It's all marble, as these places tend to be, but with lots of glass and mirrors, too. Because it's so sucking sunny at the moment, the countless reflections off the white surfaces make me feel as if I'm sitting surrounded by snow, but it's better than my last job- and my chair is brand new and lump free. Yes!

My supervisor is female, which is a bit of a drag, but she seems OK so far. The only drawback to my position is that I'm not the only receptionist. I share my colossal desk for some of the day with Donna. Donna is one of those people you always get in an office but they're usually nowhere near me so my exposure to them is brief. Donna is in her early 20s, is from Essex and is a casual racist who, from what I can gather, does nothing but argue with her neighbours because they look at her dog the wrong way/ object to the endless parties she has/ complain about her smoking dope in the street. She's a real treat and I am mystified as to what she's doing here. She must have sucked some serious cock to get here because this is a classy joint and despite the fact that most of the City is overrun with coarse, ugly Essex types, the few ladies I've seen stepping out when the lift doors ping seem pretty respectable. Who has hired this troll?

My strategy is to watch silently for a few days and then use my usual psychological warfare to get her out of my way. This desk is not big enough for the both of us.

Take a break

2006-05-31T12:42:00.000+01:00

For the first time in years, I'm without an assignment. It's quite a weird feeling, but it's by choice. My agent had a really amazing one coming up for me that starts next week and I really wanted that one so have held out for it and as a result couldn't take anything on. My two weeks at the plastic hellhole got worse. My internet access caused boardroom clashes and internal enquiries the likes of which haven't been seen since Dallas was off the air, so I was disconnected a paltry 48 hours after first logging on. The rest of my miserable assignment was spent phoning my friends, meeting Rob for lunch(and hearing how since he went gay his weekends have been a whirl of bad clubs, shaven heads, sex parties, amyl nitrate and more Class A's than Jim Morrison would have known what to do with) sharpening pencils and generally being bored out of my tiny fucking mind.

Next assignment is in a top City law firm with an impossibly long name and very plush offices. It's pretty long term because it's for maternity leave and the money's lovely so I'll be doing my utmost to look like one efficient motherfuckin' Receptionista. I'm hoping for a bit of Square Mile legal glamour and that as well as the drop dead hot lawyers, there'll be loads of interesting crims who've been up to all sorts. Knowing my luck, I'll have got the details wrong and it'll be lawyers for a small claims court and they'll be dealing with old men who wave their cocks at schoolgirls or menopausal shoplifters.

Fantastic plastic

2006-05-17T12:59:00.000+01:00

New job not going well so far. I'm in a reception that's air conditioned up to the eyeballs, meaning erection of nipples is a permanent fixture. People seem whingey and depressed and everybody has been here about 200 years. Girl I'm filling in for has trapped her arm in a car door, which has got to be the most ridiculous excuse for not being able to pick up a phone I've ever heard. Boss is a moron called Tush (?) who wear synthetic fibres and clicks and electric shocks his way around the carpeted entree- last decorated in 1954. I have no idea what the firm does but it looks boring. I had no internet access until this morning because the receptionist doesn't usually have that privilege. What the fuck does the usual receptionist do all day? Work? She must be mental- no wonder she's trapping limbs in the doors of range rovers.

Hopefully my stay in this pit will be brief. My agency called to see how it was going and for an email address where I could be contacted. I said "I'm lucky to have a phone, love- it's like a museum here. How long until I get parole?" May agent's fake laugh tinkled down the receiver like someone pouring broken glass down a drainpipe and she told me that hopefully the girl I was replacing- I say girl but judging by her desk ornaments she's more of a gran- was not to be off long.

Met my new gay best friend Rob for lunch yesterday and was pumping him for questions about why- all of a sudden- he turned out to be taking it for the team instead of living his idyllic life with his girlfriend. He told me that when he realised he wasn't just going to the sports centre with her brother for a game of squash but also for a glance at his dick something wasn't quite right. Fair enough. Apparently his girlfriend didn't take the news that he was leaving very well and so he has lost a few shirts, suits and ties to some scissors along the way. Poor Rob.

Well, lunchtime waits for no-one so it's time for me to get out my pathetic sandwiches and try not to get too many crumbs in the keyboard. I get the feeling that the girl I'm standing in for is a clean freak. I might just throw a bit of cucumber down there to spice things up.

That Friday feeling

2006-05-12T16:36:00.000+01:00

Today is my last day in this office. It's been a thrilling couple of months- not. Sara the embittered blonde has been off sick for the past few days, so I've pretended that I didn't even notice she was gone and made sure that I've left lots of messages on her work phone saying things like "Sara, I'm just popping out to lunch with (insert name of one of guys she fancies here), so if you need anything, call X and she'll help you." That should keep her going for the next few days when she gets back.

Le Boss doesn't want me to go and offered me a longer contract with more money. I politely declined, but said any time they needed anyone in an emergency, I'd be here. Over lunch today, Le Boss asked for my mobile number and I really didn't know how to react. I had him down for a loving, dutiful husband but I noticed that now all-too-familiar glint in the eye and realised the awful truth- he's just a big fucking bastard like all the rest. What a shame. I gave him the number, but will never pick up when he calls.

Rob (I've mentioned him before) asked for my number too. As he's not my boss and I don't need a reference from him, I could say "Look love, you've got a girlfriend and I am not the mistress type so fuck right off. How dare you!" He then explained that he had actually finished with his girlfriend and was now seeing a GUY so could I please stop being such a hostile bitch and give him my number. Ha! I did. And I will pick up.

So what does Monday bring? More Receptionista fun in a firm making plastics. Ooh now that sounds exciting.

The wicked witch of reception

2006-05-02T16:58:00.000+01:00

My head is hurting as I write this. Yet again I overdid it at the weekend and so am caked in Touche Eclat to help avoid making people who visit reception when they see my eyebags- they're like hammocks.

I feel my time at this job is coming to an end. The temp agency hasn't phoned me for a while- they probably think I'm getting settled- but there's a bit of bitching and sniping going on that I could do without. Rather than buy me stuff from the deli on Frday like they said they would to cheer me up, some colleagues took me out for lovely, long lunch in the afternoon, with one of the PAs from upstairs who I really get on with offering to cover. Unfortunately for me, Sara, the embittered blonde who's always scuttling past my desk, now turns out to be absolutely madly in love with my boss despite the fact he doesn't know what her name is half the time and he is extremely happily married to the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen in all my days of scrutinising boss wives for imperfections. That my boss was among those wining and dining me was obviously too much for Sara and she felt I needed a dressing down.

When we got back, Sara was sitting on reception, stating that she sent the PA away because she was rubbish at reception. She was smiling at me like a cat that had just eaten a bowl full of cream and then done a shit in a dog's bed and I couldn't help but wonder why. Today I do know why. She's screwed up loads of filing, changed numbers on contact sheets so it's taken me five times to get people through to the right person or am phoning lunch orders through to mechanics and she's also rejected important deliveries.

Splitting on the evil cow to a boss isn't an option- I need my Receptionista reputation as one capable bitch to remain intact and no self-respecting temp would admit they were having a problem with a permanent member of staff, but I cannot let her get away with it. I reckon I'm going to haul my arse out of here in a week or two, but I want to make sure I exact my revenge on that witch before I do.

Back in the driving seat

2006-04-28T12:32:00.000+01:00

I guess you've been wondering where I've been. Or maybe you haven't. The truth is that I enjoyed my Easter break a little too much and ended up falling over and hurting my ankle. I've been a bad-tempered bitch all week and so haven't felt like blogging much. Today's my first day back at work and it's not going well. The clueless bag that replaced me while I was away has been pissing everybody off by putting calls through to the wrong place, sending deliveries away and generally being an uptight spinster when it came to doing little favours for the bosses.

What she failed to understand is that to be a good Receptionsita you need to make yourself indispensable. I think the fact that I'm back in the chair while she was out scavenging for other temp work speaks volumes. The bosses are so pleased to see me that they said they'd buy me whatever I wanted from the deli. Aw.

So I'm back and there's lots to do. It's Friday, though, so I usually start winding down for the weekend- ooh- about now.

More next week when I've got my groove back.

Good Thursday

2006-04-13T17:31:00.000+01:00

Because it's Good Friday tomorrow, half of the staff have been drifting off out of the door all afternoon and most of their bosses either never returned from lunch or didn't bother at all. All of those mini-breaks to places I've already been or have no desire to go can begin at last. I can hardly wait to hear all the tales of rip-off hotels, food poisoning and chi chi market bargains when they all get back.

I checked Le Boss's answer phone and had a sneaky listen to the message left by the previous receptionist yesterday. I needn't have worried- the poor bitch is obviously losing it. From what I heard from her whining pleas, her so-called extended sickness was actually instant dismissal for stealing, lying and being the shittest receptionist ever. So my position seems safe- for now. I left the message for him to hear.

I saw Sara, the embittered blonde, for the first time in a while today. She must have a stone up her arse about something, because I got nothing more than a growl from her. Perhaps she's upset because one of her former shags has been giving a LOT of attention to a new member of staff. He even took her out for a drink yesterday lunch time which is fast work because she's only been here a couple of weeks. And no, it's not me but another very lovely temp with legs that go on for decades. You go girl! Temp solidarity and all that. Anyway, poor embittered blonde is not a happy (Easter) bunny.

Le Boss swung by on his way out at midday and left me with a big Easter Egg and a lovely little card. I thought at first that he wanted to arrange this to be couriered to his wife but they are for me! How lovely. I wonder what the embittered blonde's boss got for her. I'd guess from the look on her face that whatever it was, it was sour.

Easter bunny boiler

2006-04-12T23:45:00.000+01:00

As Easter approaches, office work slows down big time.

Because it's a four day weekend, all anybody talks about is what they're doing for Easter, all hopelessly trying to out-brag each other. So far I've heard about trips to Barcelona, Paris, Cannes, New York, Malta, the Algarve and a rather bizarre camping trip to-er- Kent. I'm not remotely interested in any of these details but I think somehow it makes them forget their otherwise dull existences to think that a receptionist might sit in awe and be impressed as they reel of itineraries that I wouldn't wish on a convicted serial killer.

I've been getting quite settled here now, though. I've been here for a couple of weeks and so am on first name terms with the delivery guys and regular callers, which is actually nice in a familiar kind of way. It was annoying, then, to receive a call from the girl I replaced to speak to my boss. I'd been told that she'd been sacked by the powers that be, but this young lady didn't seem to think that was the case.

After grilling me for what seemed like hours on what my position was and who I'd spoken to, she insisted that she was on extended sick leave but would be returning much, much sooner than expected. "So," she said in a maliciously over-bright tone, "I wouldn't get too comfortable if I were you."

"Oh, I won't," was my reply. "This chair's obviously more suited to a much larger frame, so I shan't be getting comfy any time soon, unless they replace the chair." She then rather shittily asked to speak to my boss and so I transferred her to his answer phone, which I know he hardly ever checks. In fact, he usually just gets me to go through the messages for him...

Pecking order

2006-04-06T11:45:00.000+01:00

It's been a busy week so far. My relationship with the lazy cow has taken a turn for the worse- she caught me talking to one of the guys that she fancies (which is pretty much everything with a willy) and has started to freeze me out. It's not good to make enemies so early on, but I can handle this bitch so I'll just watch and wait and see how she strikes- and strike she will, believe me.

The guy I was speaking to is Rob- a really lovely guy who is a prince among twats in this place. As is the norm at new assignments, the fact that this guy doesn't have knuckles dragging on the floor and can do more than grunt means that I've elevated him to Office Sexgod status. This happens all the time and comes from hours and hours of sitting behind a PC on a not-very-comfy chair staring at everybody who comes in. You should see some of the dogs I have briefly daydreamed over. When you're starved of pretty men, you start to see other qualities in the mingers. Rob, however, isn't really a minger at all so he is a little bit worthy of his status. He's a nice guy and has a girlfriend and seems to take away on holiday a lot, from what I've heard. As is the law, his girlfriend will probably be a whiny, string-faced bitch with a bad attitude. I should break my rule and go to after-work drinks and see if she comes along- she sounds like the type that would.

In other news, the big boss's PA seems to have me pegged as being her PA, which is obviously a mistake. You can tell it's been a while since she had anyone to boss around and she loves the fact that she's PA to the grand chief by the way she swans about looking as if she's concentrating very hard on something- probably staying upright. Here's a wake-up call for you sweetheart, you may be a millionaire's girl Friday, but you're still just a glorified typist. At least I know my station in the office pecking order- I half expect this witch to come into work in a tiara.

Who's calling?

2006-04-03T08:12:00.000+01:00

On Friday, most people leave early- sometimes they don't even come back from lunch. Your bog-standard Receptionista, though, isn't supposed to do that. She has to be manning that front desk, rain or shine. Most of the people who work here waste this early finish to go and drink in the pub with each other. Surely you'd want to get away from the pricks that have been doing your head in all week, not socialise with them! I guess they take the time to do all that fucking networking and bonding I'm always hearing about.

The phones are usually quiet on a Friday afternoon- you'll usually only get a few callers who are new to the game and have no comprehension that most offices do fuck all on a Friday afternoon and insist on speaking to some manager who's probably on his or her tenth G&T by now- either that or halfway round a golf course. It goes a bit like this:

Bored Receptionista: Hello (company name). How can I help?
Inexperienced Caller: Erm, hi, can I speak to your IT manager please?
BR (wise that the IC is just chancing it and doesn't have IT manager's name): May I know who's calling?
IC (attempting to conceal salesperson identity): Oh, it's just John returning his call.
BR (now on full alert because caller has a) said 'his' when referring to female manager b) been a bit cagey about his company name: We have several IT managers. Which one called you?
IC: Er, the senior manager. I forget his name.
BR: I'm afraid without a name I am unable to help you. I could leave a message with the IT department and see if the person who called you recalls the conversation and will call you back?
IC: ....
BR (taking this bitch right down): Sir?
IC (in a very small voice): Oh it's OK, I'll call back later.
BR: Very good sir.

Quite what he expects when he calls back is unknown. Usually a sales co just gets a different caller to ring in in the hope that the receptionist will get bored of the constant calls and connect them to the IT manager or whichever honcho they're after. They underestimate me though- I never get bored of toying with these chancers. Nothing gets dropped in your lap, guys. You want that lovely commission and a chat with the manager? You gotta work for it!

Inside information

2006-03-30T14:25:00.000+01:00

Things are looking up at this job. I've managed to strike up what you might consider to be a friendship with an embittered blonde called Sara who has worked here for years. I get the feeling that she would have been sacked many moons ago if it hadn't have been for the fact that she's probably got something on each and everyone who works here. Relations with these sorts of 'permanents' (i.e. non-temps) can go either way- they can be super frosty or all too familiar, but at the moment Sara seems happy to come and sit on the edge of one of my desks and chew the fat with me for a while.

She has told me what she does, but I can't remember because it was most obviously made up job title ever. I think it translates as 'filing' and she seems to be in charge of some vague department round the corner. I never have to go there because Sara likes to come through and collect any messages for herself from me. Basically, she's a lazy cow. Lazy cows are always welcome because they make me look good.

I've not known her for long enough to get any serious dirt from her yet, but I can tell she's dying to spill as she sits there on the edge of the desk, dangling one ice pick-sharp stiletto off her foot. I'm just letting her get there herself- for me to come outright and ask for the scandal is against the temp code of conduct (which I'll write one day)- you don't want to look like a gossip and people who are willing to dish it aren't usually liked by other 'perms', so you've got to watch it. From the amount of eye rolling Sara's presence attracts from most other colleagues when they approach and see her, I'm guessing that Sara's been shoved down on this floor for a reason. As I said, she's no red-hot scandal for me yet, but she has hinted heavily the following:

- She's had affairs with half of the board (not hard to believe- she's attractive in a Cindy from Eastenders kind of way.

- Almost half of X department are cokeheads (hardly a huge surprise but she's telling it as if it's 1983).

- Quite a few women in Y department will take money for sex.

I see that I'm going to have to watch my step with this one, she could be dangerous.

Revenge of the Receptionista

2006-03-28T16:01:00.000+01:00

Luckily my call centre hell was short-lived and I am now propping up the lovely reception desk at a large company in Soho. I feel like a lioness who's been away from her kingdom for too long, only to return to find that it smells a bit more like lion shit than she remembers.

The girl whose job this is actually got sacked last week and the temp originally drafted in turned out to be useless- no idea how to field calls, flimsy filing and was also caught painting her nails. Where the fuck did this broad think she was? The 1980s? Things have changed since the days where receptionists and secretaries would spend all day brushing their hair and dreaming about getting taken out in their boss's bright red Lamborghini. These days, we're receptionistas and a recep girl has got to be on the ball, a girl for all seasons but especially summer because if you're a top flight receptionista, honey, the heat is ON.

I'm not saying that it's all work work work, but it's the fine art of looking busy that separates the men from the boys- if you see what I mean. People who breeze in and out of reception don't need to know that I've been ordering my groceries all afternoon, do they? As long as I look up when someone comes in, smile and get back to glaring intently at the screen- pine fresh or citrus burst Harpic?- then it looks as if I'm doing my job.

As with every new assignment, but especially reception work, a few of the girls that work here have been down to introduce themselves. They like to come and have an nosey at the new girl and see if she's cleverer, prettier and thinner than they are. They'll proffer their hands, bedecked with Tania Turner style nails and jewels and say who they are. When I first started out in this game, I used to wonder why they would do this but then it clicked- the receptionista is the first point of access for all those calls from lovers/ shops/ husbands/ screechy gal pals, flowers from men, lunch orders, mail order deliveries etc. You name it, and it will be at my disposal.

Get on the wrong side of a receptionista, and your flowers will be withering a curling up in reception for hours after they're delivered, your lunch order will have cooled somewhat by the time the receptionista has finished pretending to chat up the delivery boy, calls from lovers will mysteriously be re-routed to dry rot helplines. In other words, you gotta be nice.

Tempgirl calling

2006-03-23T19:50:00.000Z

My consultant called and asked if I wanted to do this assignment for another two weeks. I said only if there was absolutely nothing out there that would be any good for me. And I mean anything. Outbound calls are the pits because:

Nobody wants to be called during Corrie/ Loose Women/ Cash in the Attic/ Deal or No Deal/ Quincy
The sort of people that are in during the day don't usually have enough money to scratch their arse with so it feels like you're cheating them by offering them further 'drawdowns' on their mortgage.It's like they don't realise they have to pay it back.
I hate being called a bitch or worse thirty times a day.

Another problem with working solely on the phones is that nobody has a chance to speak to you. In some jobs you're praying that none of the freaks engage you in chat but when the privilege is denied, you become rabid for conversation. Such is the starvation, no sooner does a cleaner say hi as you pass in the corridor than you're asking them all about their holidays and telling them about what you're planning on doing at the weekend. Receptionist jobs are best because you get to speak to more people and also float around passing on messages and just generally shooting the breeze.

I find out tomorrow if I'm trapped here for another fortnight. I sincerely hope not!

Pimp your temp

2006-03-21T17:23:00.000Z

Agencies are, unfortunately, essential to the survival of any temp who wants to work regularly. Your agent or consultant is your pimp- if they like you and do good work for them you get to work for all the best clients, but if you don't measure up or don't give your consultant a good old ego massage, you end up at the scabbiest jobs that nobody wants with dreadful pay and conditions and, usually, no way out.

I went through my fair share of temp consultants in my time. If you're a guy, you're better off with a woman and if you're a girl, I think a man can serve you better. I don't know why this is- it just is.

On your first visit to a temp agency, you'll be interviewed in some way or another.. Your consultant- bored at having to see twenty hopeless wannatemps before you- will ask questions disinterestedly as you shuffle in your seat and wonder if this is a good idea after all. You'll be asked what kind of work you want to do, what your experience is and then depending on how modern your agency is, booked in to do some tests to make sure that you really do know Powerpoint inside out. These tests serve no purpose at all as far as I can see- they spit out results and statistics but they are only really forced on you to kill an hour while your consultant paints her nails or sexually harasses the office junior. I was once told I was a really fast touch typist by one agency. I am indeed, but only when I'm hitting the wrong keys- my consultant never even checked the accuracy, just that I'd managed to bang a few keys.

You'll then be told what's on offer at the moment. Occasionally, there are some dream jobs there. And then you wake up. Usually 75 per cent of them are the kind of shit people escaped from Kosovo to avoid, but it pays not to screw your face up too much as the options are explained. Try and be as honest as it's possible to be without taking your way out of a job. Go more for a "I'm not sure that I would have the necessary skills for that role" approach rather than a "stick it up your arse" gameplan. If you play ball and take the odd stinker, your consultant will eventually reward you for taking these shitty jobs off her hands and you'll end up in some of the high-flying temp roles like filing, booking train tickets and getting the boss's lunch.

Another day, another office

2006-03-20T18:51:00.000Z

Well, here we go again. My voice is hoarse from all of the total bullshit I've had to come out with all day on my outbound sales calls. My role is to ring up people who are already crippled with exorbitant mortgage payments and try and persuade them to take out more money and make their mortgage even bigger. I get to sit down all day in a harshly-lit former warehouse, drink bad (but free) coffee and read off statements printed for me on neon card to try and get these suckers to say yes to a lifetime of debt and misery. Poor sods.

The people seem OK- well I assume so because nobody has spoken to me. My smiles are returned, which is a start I guess.

One downside of this job is that the security guard has got 'tit' written all over him. Not literally, of course. He was at great pains to point out that temps could only be admitted by him personally and nobody else. Forgetting myself, I asked what would happen if he dropped dead suddenly. "I don't think that will ever happen" he said. So we obviously have some kind of undead chief lock-keeper on our hands here. As he showed me to my desk, he said to me that all temps were kept in a separate coloured area so an eye could be kept on them, that it was for my own safety and I shouldn't feel singled out. I don't know what they're expecting me to do- run off with one of their up to date computers that's so old they keyboard is made of parchment? Go on a thieving frenzy in the stationery cupboard? Shove a headset down my bra?

I think Des was sorry to see me go from my old assignment the other day. He gave me his number and said to get in touch if was ever in the area. You can count on it that I will not be making that call.

My work here is done

2006-03-16T18:15:00.000Z

Alas, it's my last day here tomorrow. I've sidestepped Des's drinks invite nicely by inventing a large Irish rugby-playing boyfriend who wants to take me out on the town for St. Patrick's Day. Poor Des.

My consultant has been in touch and says that there's no reception work going right now, but do I want a week in a call centre? A week in a call centre usually feels like 7 years in Tibet but beggars can't be choosers and as from Monday I'll be on outbound calls trying to get people to take equity release on their mortgage, which I've done before for a different firm. To say it's a nightmare is an understatement but I can always end the call if people get a bit frisky.

Let me check my diary

2006-03-10T17:48:00.000Z

The unthinkable has happened and Des has asked me out for a drink. I'm insulted by this. I'm probably the only girl that hasn't recoiled in horror from his eerie grin, but surely he thinks I can do better than him. I'm no Kate Moss, but I like to think I'm out of this guy's league.

Sadly, my assignment here is due to end next Friday. Des has suggested we go along on the St. Patrick's Day that the firm is organising, despite not one of them being Irish at all. I've said I'll have to see what I'm doing. I don't want to piss Des off because it's good to have an ally of any sort- even one with bad teeth and a speed addiction.

I've told Ella, my new consultant at the agency, that I wouldn't mind doing a bit more reception work. Receptionists usually get the better chairs and meet a variety of people as opposed to being stuck next to a slobbering oaf all day. They also get unlimited access to a phone, and it's been a while since I spoke to a lot of my old university friends. I haven't really pissed her off yet so she's being really nice to me- she said she'd see what she can do.

10 lies you will tell your temp agency

2006-03-09T04:19:00.000Z

1. Yes, that's right- I have a typing speed of 60 words per minute.

2. What did you say that phone system was called? Excalibur? Yes, I've worked with that. Oh, Scavenger? Er, well, yes, that too.

3. Weak points? My only weak points would be that I don't delegate enough and that I push myself too hard.

4. £6.50 per hour sounds great!

5. No, you're the only temp agency I've signed up with.

6. The assignment's going really well. Everybody's so friendly and helpful.

7. I left my last job because I wanted a fresh challenge.

8. Yes, that's right- all As for my A levels.

9. I faxed my timesheet through in the early afternoon- that should be enough time for you to process it!

10. I'd love the chance of going permanent at this job.

10 lies your temp agency will tell you

2006-03-07T02:38:00.000Z

1. I'm sorry we don't have anything else that will suit you. You'll just have to stay in that assignment for now.

2. Sorry but [insert name of your consultant here] isn't available to take your call. Of course she's not avoiding you!

3. This assignment has excellent prospects.

4. You were my first choice for this assignment.

5. We don't seem to have received your timesheet. No, there's no problem with our fax machine

6. Yes, we've sent off your P60 do the emergency taxing should stop soon.

7. We said £7 an hour, not £10 an hour.

8. It's not really my job to look for jobs for you. You should be telling me about assignments you've seen on our website.

9. You'll be working in a modern, friendly setting.

10. We've got thousands of brilliant positions. Just keep checking back every day and I'm sure the right one for you will come along.

The partnership

2006-03-02T17:30:00.000Z

Des has turned up. He's a balding twenty-something who doesn't like laundering his clothes and has an unhealthy obsession with speed and techno. We are 'working together', which means he's supposed to show me the ropes and help me get my hands around this weirdo system they have here for logging documents. He doesn't seem too keen to be showing me any kind of rope, though. He's too busy asking me what clubs I go to and have I ever heard this track or some other track. He's getting on my tits but at least he's not endlessly staring at them.

What I do like about Des is that supervisor Maura seems to have some kind of problem with him. I always champion the underdog- especially when it's being bullied by a shitfaced cow like Maura- so I've been extra nice to him and pretend to look really engrossed as she shows me for the seventh time what happens when I press Button A. According to Des, the girl I'm covering for is off indefinitely, so this might be a long one. I've brought in my own mug from home and have been stealing everybody else's hot beverages. I've built up quite a lovely collection of herbal infusions from the eternal slimmer six desks away.

Washed up

2006-03-01T18:20:00.000Z

Hello, it's me again. My second assignment after the burns unit also involved the scorching of skin. Disillusioned with my first agency, I tried a new one who looked shocked when I told them what I'd had to do in my first job. My rep- a very bubbly blonde called Sandra- said that I'd have a much better time at Agency X and that they treated all of their temps like family. Well, remind me never to go round to hers for Christmas dinner, because the assignment was a shambles.

Sandra asked me if I'd ever done silver service before. One of the oldest tricks in the Temps' Bible is to lie whenever asked if you have a particular skill. Unless it's neuroscience or ukelele-playing, the chances are you'll be able to pick it up as you go along. So I said yes, of course I'd done silver service. I then went to make the lie even more horrific by claiming my parents had owned a high-class restaurant and that I had often stood in for the Maitre D. My parents never even went near a chip shop, let alone a restaurant, but I needed the money and a temp's gotta do what a temp's gotta do, right?

I arrived for my first day as a waiter at a huge marquee at the side of a racecourse. I was met by a stressed guy called Marcel (French name, Essex accent) who told me that he hoped he wouldn't have to fire me because all he'd done all week was fire shit waiters. I smiled and reassured him that I was the hottest piece of waiting ass this fucker was ever likely to get his hands on, inwardly shitting myself at my stupidity for lying.

He directed me to an Eiffel Tower of washing up and told me to 'get busy'. I duly did as I was told and made my way through it. It soon became clear that the only waiting I was going to be doing would be waiting for the sink to fill up with hot water. As my lunch hour approached, Marcel came to me and instead of letting me go on a break he grabbed me by the shoulders, shoved a huge platter full of meat in my hand and pushed me out of some swivel doors into a marquee lined with tables, at which sat some of the richest, fattest people I've ever seen. I did my best but my best didn't seem to be good enough for these toffs who looked to be really enjoying telling a 17-year-old what to do. As the sweat poured off my head into their lunch, I was told a million times that I was useless, impolite, surly and, oddly, too young- all without opening my trap once.

As the diners cleared out, Marcel once more grabbed me by the shoulders and flung me back to my sink station. When I asked if I could have a break, he told me I could go after I'd washed up. Now, if this was happening now, Marcel would have got a plate in every hole with ten dishes right up his arse, but I was young and clueless so I did as I was told. When I'd almost finished, I asked again about a break, whereupon Marcel fired me on the spot. My apron was ripped from me and I was forcibly removed from the marquee.

I visited Sandra the next day to explain the injustice. She looked me squarely in the face and said "If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the fucking kitchen, love. And don't think you're getting paid."

Coffee for one

2006-02-27T17:31:00.000Z

Oh I half wish I was back with the trolls. This morning I arrived bright and early at my new assignment- a huge insurance company- and was feeling upbeat as I walked into its glistening halls. Companies like this can be temp paradise- loads of employees so even better for staying anonymous, huge stationery cupboards just waiting to be plundered, and lots of bright, sexy men to get my teeth into, just before I piss off forever to the next job. Other benefits include free coffee, comfy seats and big windows to gaze out of all day long as you pretend you're getting to grips with a complex filing system. Sadly, while the building was fresh and modern, the company was not. I was met by a librarian type called Maura/ Moira/ Myra/ whatever whose cardigan was buttoned right up to the very top of her wrinkly forehead. As she loked me up and down I knew I'd have trouble with this one. Girls that take a bit of pride in their appearance are heavy nonos with this type- I'd kept the make up simple but I reckon my too-low cut top was going to piss her right off. I'd made a schoolgirl error here- if you're given a female's name as a contact for your first day then you need to tone down the feminine charms. It doesn't follow that you need to get your tits out for the boys though- they can see through fake flirting as quick as you like, after all, Working Girl was a long time ago.

So Maura shows me to my desk which is miles away from a window but right next to the chocolate machine. Apparently somebody called Des should be showing me the ropes but he's off with some kid of infection. Grrrrrreat. Coffee is not free and everybody has their own mug AND supply of tea or coffee which they keep locked under their desk. This means I was gasping for a cuppa all day with nobody coming forth to offer me one. I did toy with the idea of borrowing Des's cup and coffee supply but the jar of brown powder had no label on and could have been pure heroin for all I know. His cup was chipped in several places and had a tidemark round the side like a skanky old bath. I'm not looking forward to meeting this hunk. NOT.

The boy speaks

2006-02-25T18:33:00.000Z

I feel a bit of a fraud for agreeing to contribute to this blog because as of this week, I'm no longer an agency temp. I've just been made a 'company temp', which means I get a company salary but none of the niggly bits that proper employees get like benefits, pensions or rights in any way whatsoever. I have however been a bonafide temp for many years and have plenty of material about my past jobs to keep us going for a while if you're interested in that sort of thing.

My first ever temp job was in a hospital when I was 17. I was a skint A level student desperate for cash and was told the job entailed light tidying duties and making cups of tea. Now I don't like hospitals at the best of times and my stomach is weak in the extreme but I thought hey I need the cash and how bad can making a few fogies a cup of tea be?

In actual fact, my job was in the serious burns unit and involved 'tidying' away bits of skin and bandage and making tea for the cleaning lady, who saw my introduction to the company as being the perfect opportunity to do precisely fuck all but smoke fags. So in between the burning fags of the cleaner and the burnt up epidermis factory building up around me, I was getting all the makings of a nervous breakdown. My temp career started as it would continue for the next five years or so- I wanted to kill myself after the first day. I eventually left after the first week and went to a new agency who promised me exciting and fresh opportunities. Not all was as it seemed, surprisingly enough...more later...

Troll fever

2006-02-24T18:08:00.000Z

Oh it's my last day here today. Quelle grande dommage. I will therefore be leaving the trolls behind. I have discovered (shock and surprise) that 'Keith' lives with his mother out in

Kent

and has taken the week off to look after her. This made me think he was a solid kind of guy, so I resisted the temptation to shave his trolls and draw big cocks on his JCVD pictures. I then had the misfortune to open the bottom draw of his 'turret' and find not one but THREE pornographic magazines. To my surprise, they featured ladies and not naked combat heroes. As a strong, independent woman (just like Beyoncé) I disapprove wholeheartedly of porn so am going to dip the heads of Keith's beloved trolls in the toilets.

One of my co-workers came over to speak to me for the first time today. 'How long have you been here, love?' she asked. 'A week.' was my reply. She just walked away shaking her head. I think the pornos might be heading for her 'turret'.

A fresh timesheet

2006-02-23T17:39:00.000Z

My current 'assignment' (as if using that word instead of 'job' makes the whole process more exciting) is so dull that I won't even bore you with the details. The most interesting thing about it is that whoever I'm covering for has the most comprehensive collection of trolls and pictures of Jean Claude Van Damme than I've ever seen in all my years of temping. More worryingly, the name on the monitor suggests the troll collector is called 'Keith'.