Special Bulletin to College Grads
Get a real job because temping sucks

By Lauren Duffy

This column was originally written on a tiny scrap of paper while I was temping in an office that had absolutely no need for a temp. It sprung into existence only because I had to do something for the six-plus hours that I sat in said office/hell-hole. Thus, any bitterness I direct toward the industry of temping should be taken in context of the above disclaimer. Mmmkay?

This morning I received a phone call from the temp agency where I registered last week. The lady from the agency -- let's call her Temp Lady, shall we? -- told me that a local home-loan office needed a stand-in receptionist for two days because the usual receptionist was out sick.

Score! After six months of unemployment, two days of steady work sounded about as delicious as fried dill pickles smothered in horseradish. (Trust me, folks, they're to die for.)

Anyway, as I headed toward the office in my pollen-encrusted Jeep Cherokee (which, just to give you a sense of my current state of poverty, comes fully equipped with a squeaky steering wheel and the permanent odor of putrid coffee), I braced myself for what would likely be an extremely busy work experience.

Any office that can't survive two days without a receptionist must have phones ringing off the hook, a constant influx of clients and two years worth of paperwork waiting to be filed. Plus, Temp Lady had specifically asked me if I was good at multi-tasking, which I took as another sign of a ridunkulously crazy office environment. I was actually nervous that my six months of TV-watching/Ding-Dong consumption had stunted my note-taking and phone-answering abilities.

Naïve girl! I've been here for six hours and the phone has rung all of three times, I don't have computer access or filing responsibilities, and only one person has walked into the office and required receiving.

Since I've already read -- twice -- the four magazines they have sitting here (Elle issues from 2004 -- jigga wha?), I'm considering jamming a paperclip under my cuticles in hopes that the resulting pain and bloody nail beds will be as entertaining as they sound.

Why-oh-why did today have to be the one day I don't have my trusty flask of vodka on me? Seriously, this place doesn't need a receptionist temporarily let alone full-time.

I did have a moment of hope about two hours ago when I was able to text my boyfriend Brian on the sly. Unfortunately, my excitement was quickly crushed when his sympathetic response to my plight read: "Money is money."

Thanks, Bri, but I'm pretty sure my college degree is worth more than the minimum wage I'm earning for doing nothing. Sure, I did spend a good 10 minutes examining the self-portraits the real receptionist has littering her cubicle, but despite the fact that she's an attractive lady and that it was somewhat fun concocting reasons for why she's framed so many pictures of herself, I think my energies would have been better spent elsewhere. Just a hunch.

Of course, I know I have no one to blame for my current situation but myself. It was my decision to leave my real job all those months ago. It wasn't my dream job, but it was salaried, had benefits and provided those intangible perks like my bosses and co-workers not treating me like I was dumb as a stump and too inept and lazy to get a full-time job. Compared to temping and the lousy treatment you receive while doing it, that is a dream.

I know they say live and learn, but grads, in this case, let me do the living and learning for you. It's cool not to sacrifice your dreams, but sometimes it's wise to let them sit on the backburner for a while. Temping may seem like a quick fix, and I'm sure it sometimes is. But I'd bet that more often than not it's a free ride on the mind-numbing highway toward complacent quasi-employment.

Without dental coverage.

Take my advice, ya'll -- go ahead and find yourself a nice nine-to-fiver. You and your pearly whites will thank me some day.