Unwelcome Reception for the Receptionist

This is my second week of temping as a receptionist. The weird thing is though, their phone doesn't really ring that much that they need a full-time receptionist. An entire hour has sometimes passed without the phone ringing at all. So I keep encouraging the administrative assistant to give me projects. Time passes faster when you're busy.

It's a small law firm - only five lawyers, and about half a dozen or so paralegals. They're all very close, which is sweet. They go to the movies together, help each other move, go fetch coffee at the Starbucks around the corner together.

However, what is not sweet is the way they treat me. The paralegals have big offices, and sit two to an office. They have sliding glass doors - like balcony doors. There is a portable phone which I am supposed to take with me when leaving the front desk to do other tasks, like pulling files for the paralegals to work on, and re-filing files they've already worked on.

A lot of these files are REALLY heavy. Often one "file" is actually three fully packed redwelds that are in a bankers box. Now, I know that the fact that the temp agency didn't tell me there'd be tons of heavy lifting is my problem, and that I am always welcome to call the temp agency and tell them I can't do the job anymore because I am feeling things in my back actually pull themselves out of place and I now have at least two pinched nerves that make me scream in pain when I accidentally move in my sleep.

I get all that. But the reality is that I need work. I have no ego issues surrounding taking a job I am over-qualified to do. Technically, I'm under-qualified for this particular job since I can't deal with the fucking files without damaging my body, but I mean in general.

Anyway, I am so paranoid that I am having problems at this temp job because deep down a part of me doesn't want to "just" be a receptionist, that I refuse to bitch about how my back has never been the same since I got sick in 1995 and re-learned to walk.

So the paralegals. They never, ever help with the files. The files that I'm bringing to them. Bringing to them because they need them. To do their jobs. I can be standing next to their desk holding five files in one arm while trying to shove other files on their bookcase over to make room for the new ones, and they just fucking sit there, staring at their computers or talking with each other, completely ignoring me.

They also often have packets of paperwork that need to be copied prior to being mailed out. Today one paralegal came over at 1pm as I was putting my jacket on to go to lunch and said she needed a copy job back by 2pm. It was from a file I gave her yesterday afternoon. Really? When I explained that I was on my way out but could do it immediately upon returning, she was annoyed. Normally people give you about three hours to a half a day to complete copy jobs at this firm. How do they know I'm not in the middle of a project for someone else? How do they know there aren't four copy jobs in front of theirs?

They are annoyed when I open their balcony doors to deliver files. Or to ask if they have files because another paralegal told me to check with them. One attorney literally glares at me Every. Single. Time. I go to her about anything, even when I let her know her husband's on the phone. It got to the point this afternoon that I didn't have it in me to face her wrath and just left files outside her door in a pile with a note on them. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll get in before she does and I can toss them in her office.

This office does immigration law, and I get a lot of phone calls from people for whom English is not a first language. When I lived and worked in Florida this happened too. Except then their primary language was Spanish. Here it's Mandarin or Cantonese. All the Indian people speak English and have very thick accents.

Today one of the projects I was working on involved going through years of e-mails between clients and the lawyers at the firm. It was so interesting. All the clients, literally all of them, were so polite in their written communication. Polite, and very well-mannered, and appreciative of all the work being done to help them get whatever visas they needed or wanted. When I went to Mexico I was very determined to not be The Obnoxious American, and I thought I succeeded. Um yeah. After what I read today, I am guessing I came across more like a ... person who's nice for an American. These clients have shown me a new level, and I am in awe. I have a new goal for if I ever leave the country again. (My mother would say, 'Couldn't you be nice while you're IN the country?' To which I say fuck no!)

Oh! Here's something funny: there is an office manager. Once again, I can't tell if she's pregnant or just fat. I'm pretty sure she's wearing maternity shirts. But I'm just not positive. Today she told me she was running out to the doctor, and I immediately tried to think of something I could say to inspire her to share more information, but came up with nothing in the half-second I had. Turned out it was the dentist. Damn.

Help me focus on the positive about this job. It is work! It won't turn into a permanent job, but for these couple of weeks, it is solid work that pays me more than unemployment does. Excuse me please - I have to go repeat that six times in front of the mirror.

Maybe Next Year

This was written but not published a couple of months ago.

Dine About Town comes to a close at the end of this week, and I haven't gone to any of the restaurants to participate. When the Nutcracker was being performed last month, I didn't go to see it. Grease will be here in March, and I won't be seeing that either. I am upset and embarrassed that I haven't been able to buy people holiday and birthday presents.

I console myself with the phrase, "Maybe next year." I had to say that a lot throughout 2008, and I'm still saying it now. It's the kind of thing someone would say to a child. Can we go look in the Hello Kitty store? Can we get ice cream? Can we go to the playground? It's what you say to console yourself. Only thing is usually you're saying it for extras. Can I pay my PG&E bill? Maybe next month.

Back when I worked with Perky Paula and the Secretly Pregnant Secretary, it was through a temp agency that I hated. The recruiter lied consistently. I liked the firm though, so I continued temping in the hopes they would offer me a job. They didn't. Last week that temp agency sent out an e-mail saying W2s would be available for pickup starting this Monday. They called to confirm my address. I stopped by in jeans and sneakers on Tuesday to pick up that W2. Which they didn't have.

The receptionist couldn't bring herself to tell me, and directed me to the ditzy, lying recruiter I'd hated dealing with months ago. She asked if I was looking for work and I said I was. Pulling my file, she looked at a page and said, "What happened with Lake East? They offered you a job, right?"

Um, yeah. They offered me a terrible job that I would not have been able to do. It was at a desk that had been empty for several months (backlog of work), in a type of law I was not familiar with (complex tort), at a firm that does not do formal training, has no IT or WP departments on site (both crucial for me to succeed), that is headquartered in LA or on the East Coast (I forgot), where basically, they would toss me at the desk and expect me to be up and running. During the interview I remember thinking with certainty, "They would fire me within a month."

I explained this to the recruiter. She pushed me to take the job. At the time I was still temping at the place with Perky Paula, and felt comfortable saying no. Months later she asked again if I was interested. Just the fact alone that they hadn't been able to fill that desk reaffirmed my thought that it was not a good fit.

But two days ago what happened? That's right. The temp she has there now is out with a broken leg, and does she want me to see if she can get me in to temp for the temp? I have tort experience, right? Um, no.

At this point I'm not even thinking, "maybe next year." No, at this point I'm just trying to stay in San Francisco without being homeless for as long as possible. I am falling down a well and holding onto the edge by my fingertips. Next year isn't going to come for me.

Red-Headed Stepchild

This has been a hard week. Five days, five desks. Today I was scheduled to be at a specific desk, but the attorney is home sick with a cold so they decided to reassign me. Eventually. I sat at that desk pretending to read some secretarial procedures handbook while waiting. I feel like the red-headed stepchild of the secretaries. Often forgotten and not accounted for, plopped at whatever desk is available, often last minute.

Finally they asked me to go to a different floor - a secretary had called in sick. I was told it's a busy desk. I get up here, and bitch is all ergonomical up the ass - fancy mouse that looks like it belongs on Star Trek, partially split keyboard, gel wrist pads, etc.

There is no guide here. Every secretary is supposed to have a floater guide for when a floater (me) is covering their desk. This way I will know things like whether or not I'm supposed to answer the attorneys phones, who gets mail, how the attorneys work, etc. It can be very useful. Back in the olden days when I worked for Tuna and Nice Partner, I went so far as to put on mine that if a woman called for Nice Partner and simply said, "Hi, is he around?" that was Nice Wife.

So I'm guideless here. I looked up who this secretary works for and found out the senior paralegal (who the bulk of the work comes from) is out today. Then there are two associates - one of whom has been on the phone since 9:30, the other of whom is pregnant and did not seem very friendly. Obviously she is excused from being friendly what with being pregnant and all, but she was sitting when I introduced myself and I did not see that she was all knocked up, so at first, just thought she was a bit aloof. For anyone wondering, no, she does not have the pregnancy glow the secretly pregnant secretary at the other firm had.

I also want to mention that I ran out of yogurts accidentally (yes, this is not all an act - I eat yogurt about five days a week and wear green regularly and am in fact wearing a green shirt today) and have not had breakfast. I am hungry. But not hungry enough that I want to eat the congealed mess of whatever the hell is in the purple M&M-with-bunny-ears-on-it coffee mug left on the desk.

Okay then. Just wanted to share. For those of you who are able to do so, please eat a healthy breakfast, and think of me. Thank you.

(Some of) The People In My (Work) Neighborhood

The secretary who sits next to me is secretly pregnant. She's having a girl, and due in July. She has the most beautiful, shiny hair I've ever seen in real life. And you know how sometimes people talk about a pregnancy glow? I always thought that was bullshit. But it's not. This woman totally has it. Her skin is beautiful. I wish my skin was half as good as hers.

She never discusses being pregnant. Well, she does - that's how I know it's a girl and when she's due - but not to anyone in the office. Just on the phone. She eats fruit and cereal and drinks water all day long.

SPS (Secretly Pregnant Secretary) is very quiet. Not in a shy way, but just in "I'll be pleasant but let's not go overboard" kind of way. So I give her space, and don't try to drum up conversations, and she seems to appreciate it. This morning she said, "Good morning" to me. We often go four hours or more without talking to each other. Just so you have a clear picture in your head of the situation, we sit about six feet from each other.

Today SPS left work early - she is going on vacation to the East Coast. This means I will have to work for her two partners. One of whom is a Jersey Jew and had little girl panties on the floor of his office when I started working here and it made me wonder. A lot. He wasn't shy about the panties at all - he let everyone who knocked on the door come into his office, and the panties just stayed there on the floor, in full view among a heap of other junk.

I was beginning to think I should look him up on that child molester website when I found out he was going to Vietnam or someplace and was collecting a lot of stuff to donate, and the panties were among the donated clothes. They're gone now. Jersey Jew gave me a ride *almost home* from work on my first day, because it was pouring and I had forgotten my umbrella. He dropped me off about four blocks from home, and I was soaked by the time I got inside. We will not question why he could drive so close and yet leave me to walk and get soaked, but instead will just appreciate the ride.

The other partner is one of those guys who moves about 20 years older than whatever his physical age is (the mountain). My guess is that he's around 50. He either has a bum hip or a bum knee. He limps when he walks. Very nice guy, very gentle. He's the dude whose office affords me the awesome view of the Bay Bridge. He has two kids, around eight and 11 or something. It makes me think he's not on his first marriage.

Today he was leaving Jersey Jew's office, and the back pocket of his pants got caught on the doorframe and poor Gimpy almost fell over. You guys, I did SUCH a good job not laughing. Not even a smile was cracked. Until later, when I was in the privacy of my own home.