Thursday, February 8, 2007

Hey, mister, say you hate the guy, not you hate his guts.

Where I'm temping (I guess you could call it working) I overheard a guy on the telephone say "I hate his guts." What a weird thing to say. It's juvenile. I image some guy laying there with his middle torn open, intestines spilling out. And another guy, who of course hates the injured fellow, looking at him angrily. Shaking his fists.

I toyed with the idea of leaving work early today. Tuesday I did leave early - without telling anyone. Kind of sneaking, I guess, but I had already put in 8 hours. (8:30 to 5 is an 8 and a half hour day. I eat lunch at my desk. There's no place to go to in 30 minutes-it's in the middle of nowhere.) I think that's enough time for one day when the person supervising you doesn't stop by once to check in with you. The next day was the day he was busy and said he'd be with me in 5 minutes. An hour later... Geez. Good thing I know how to look busy when I'm not.

The people at this place...I just don't know. You'd think a place that allows employees to drink beer would be all laid back and fun. But most of the people are a bunch o'stiffs. I don't hear a lot of laughing. And I still have not had one conversation with anyone that was not business related. Believe me, I've tried. Nothing. Weird. Very weird.

And now my temp agency contact seems to have flown the coop. The same guy who called me 4 times in a 30 minutes period one morning to get me to take a job has not responded to an email I sent 2 days ago stating I wasn't enjoying this job and wanted to know when it was scheduled to end. Doofus. This is what I don't like about temp agencies. I'm not told how much money they are making for whoring me out. I don't know what the contract/discussion was between the employer and the temp agency. Fuckahs. Gotta cut out that middle man. Unfortunately, I need them to start my next (and hopefully last) assignment on the 20th. Bastards. I'm shaking my fists.

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