The Secretary Diaries: We don’t care, we’re the phone company

During the first few summers of graduate school, before I started teaching summer classes, I thought I would join the big wide world out there in business. So I decided I would go out and do temporary administrative and clerical work. Temping is a strange world. You’re there, but you’re not real. They’re not that invested in you, so you get to see what they’re really like. Not that secretaries don’t know—they probably know more about the company than the CEO. I’ve told my former students over and over, “Never piss off a secretary—they hold your life in their hands.” When I entered the adventure I figured I would get a great snapshot of what business was like. As usual, the road to hell is paved with great intentions.

There’s a ranking among temps with the agencies. There are the fly-by-nights that you call last minute just to have a body in the seat. There are the job searchers who are looking for a permanent position. There are people (like me at the time) just taking assignments to make some money for a few months.

The very first assignment I took was with a telephone equipment vendor in Boston in the mid 90’s. They had just decided to gut their secretarial pool in the sales department. Rather than one secretary/babysitter for each four salespeople and their group leader, there would now be just two secretaries for the entire department. All the previous secretaries were moved into customer service. Each salesperson was given a computer that they had absolutely no idea how to use, hoping they’d become more independent. My father was in sales, I knew the personality type. I knew that his companies had been downsizing the secretarial pool as well. This didn’t seem that unusual to me.

I was put into place and told that the other secretary would be there shortly. The other secretary was a complete mystery to me. He/she/it was either invisible or just not present for the majority of the time I was there. Occasionally a ghost would flit by for a few days, only to be replaced by golden silence. There exists what I call The Temporary Vortex. Temporary Vortex positions are positions that the agency keeps trying to fill but has no luck because of the atmosphere. Temps disappear into the vortex during their first break, or lunch, or after the first day, never to return again.

So there I am, happily typing away, creating spreadsheets, putting together elaborate presentations, putting Neosporin on paper cuts and kissing away boo-boos. Did I get coffee? Sure I did. Did I pick up dry cleaning? No problem. Would I do any of that off the clock? Nope. No pay, no play.

These salespeople were always in an emergency—some client had “snuck” up on them and required materials last minute. The fact that they had scheduled that client themselves two weeks before was irrelevant. Within the first week I put a sign up on my cubicle that read “Lack of Planning on Your Part Does Not Constitute an Emergency on Mine.” Most of the salespeople (and even the overall company office manager) got a kick out of it. But then there was Ted.

I felt bad for Ted, I really did. He had that disheveled salesman look with thinning hair and a look of perpetual confusion on his face. He really wasn’t ready for the computer age. Everything was an emergency for Ted. It got to the point where I told the office manager that I was limiting him to two emergencies a week. So here he comes down the aisle with a sheaf of what could be called notes.

“Eric! You’ve have to help me! I need these in three hours!”

Not turning around, I asked “Are you invoking one of your two weekly emergencies?”

“Please?”

I turn around and take a look at the preliterate linear A that passes as Ted’s handwriting. It doesn’t look too bad this time so I say “Sure! I’ll have it done in just a few.”

I start typing, except I don’t feel the schlemiel field fading behind me. In the monitor’s reflection I can see Ted behind me, shifting from foot to foot.

“Ted?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have to go to the bathroom? My little cousin bounces like that when he has to go to the bathroom. Do you have to go to the bathroom, Ted?”

“No.”

“Did you think that jumping up and down behind me accelerates my typing speed?”

“No.”

“Then go back to your desk and be a good boy. I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

He walks off with his head down. I hear a snicker. Ted’s group leader comes out of his office and over to my cubicle. He whispers, “That’s the best I’ve ever seen someone handle Ted’s panic, are you sure you don’t want the job permanently?”

“No, but thank you for the vote of confidence.”

I lasted there the entire summer, had to train three different replacements before two would stick in the positions. They were actually some of the most fun people I had ever worked with.