1 post tagged “temping”

When I finished my Masters, I joined a temping agency.  I won’t name names (let’s just say it was OFF!CE @NGELS on W£ST STR<ET in BR1GHT0N – there, that’s subtle enough) and while there are some lovely agencies out there, my experience was not a happy one.

Temping will crush you if you let it. It is soul-destroying to be paid minimum wage and be expected to be enthusiastic about it. Louise, my agency contact, would ring and giddily announce “I’ve got a really interesting new job for you!” and I would have to say “ooh, what is it, I bet it’s great!”, knowing it would be yet another paper pushing task that a blind three-legged dog could do. There was one genuine interesting job – working as a bouncer at a casino – that I had to turn down because (a) I am too easy to kick to death to be a bouncer and (b) I’d have to have walked home at 3am every night.

Then there were the jobs that miraculously stopped existing – Louise would leave voicemails about them but have no recollection of this when I phoned minutes later. And the ones where the workplaces cancelled the day before I was due to start, which was agency code for “we found someone cheaper.” I ended up doing cold-calling by stealth. Louise was vague about the details when she sent me to a health club – turned out I had to call ex-members to persuade them to rejoin. Turned out I was so good at it I was offered a permanent job there. This was probably because I didn’t stick to the script (which featured lines like “I bet you miss our pool – it’s fantastic!” and other euphemisms for “you fat bastard, you must be a real bloater now you’re not exercising” ) but instead chatted to callers about how shit the gym was and then casually mentioned they could now join for free. Apparently my success rate was outstanding. I felt like scum.

The last straw came when working for a water company. The office was in a warehouse that smelled of petrol, meaning I spent each day making endless peppermint tea so I could inhale it and avoid puking. I was meant to be doing the catch-all task of “admin”, but the job mutated into lugging heavy boxes around while the office alpha males watched and laughed but didn’t offer to help. I ached every night. I hated it so much that having my wisdom teeth removed was a relief as I got a week off.

I had my teeth out on the Monday. That evening, still high on general anaesthetic, I emailed my agency. I can’t remember what I said; something between “I cordially extend my immediate resignation” and “sayanora, motherfuckers!” It was a huge and scary relief. I turned my phone off, stopped checking my emails and went to Hastings. When I dared log into my Yahoo account, I found two missives from my agency: