My last assignment in Boston, given to me as a sort of apology for the other crazy placements was at a real estate management company. By this point I was experienced, often jaded and really looking forward to moving to Detroit for graduate school. Yes, I said looking forward to Detroit. After this assignment, I figured Detroit would be a breeze. The beautiful old former wharf building was managed by one site manager, a leasing manager, one office manager, two building engineers, two porters (read: custodial) and one part-time, temporary secretary: me. I assure you that I wasn’t the only odd character in the bunch.
The building manager was described as “moody at best, bitchy at worst” by the office manager, the building engineers and the porters. The leasing manager really said nothing about anyone. When she presented herself she was sure to assert her authority and eminence. I quickly realized that she yelled a lot, tended to pass the blame and had an attention to detail that applied to everyone but herself. She changed her name to a more gender neutral one to avoid any possibility of femininity in the office. I nicknamed her “Genderless” in my head.
There were many fun introductions to communication at the management company that day. First walks in a dignified member of the Boston Brahmin class. Looking at me like clotted milk in her tea, she introduced herself – by first name, initial and last name. “And who are you?” she asked.
Running with it I smoothly responded, “Eric A. Hauser. It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. First Name Middle Initial Last Name.”
“Do you enjoy temping,” she asked with a bored hooded look down her nose.
“It’s something to do in between degree programs.”
“Oh! How nice for you, you’re getting your associate’s,” she said with amused tolerance.
“No.”
“Your Bachelor’s?”
“No.”
She sniffed. “Some sort of . . . trade degree?”
“No, my doctorate. Yes I’m overqualified for your job. Is there anything else I can do for you Ms. First Name Middle Initial Last Name?”
A major part of the communication process at the Unreal Estate Management Company was understanding which expletive when with the leasing manager and which one went with the building manager. The building engineer called that first day. Please excuse the utterly inappropriate terms--I didn't use them, I'm just quoting.
“Is the bitch there?”
I replied smoothly, “No, I’m sorry, Genderless is out of the office right now can I take a message or transfer you to her voicemail?”
“How about the cunt?”
“No, I’m sorry, Ms. First Name Middle Initial Last Name is also unavailable. Is there something I can help you with?”
It was only after I hung up that I realized how quickly I had gone with the flow. It soon became a game between me and the engineers on who would break first. I started giving facetious answers.
“I’m sorry, she’s out getting her broom fixed.”
“I’m afraid she got wet and melted for the day, could you try tomorrow or did you want her voicemail?”
“She’s in conference with her flying monkeys. I’ll have her get back to you as soon as she’s finished.”
Not that I really felt that negatively about Genderless, really, but I wanted to fit in.
The fact that I was the temp didn’t stop the managers from going on vacation for a week and leaving me in charge of a multi-million dollar building a week later. I asked if they really wanted to leave the building in the hands of someone who wasn’t really on their payroll. They shrugged then I shrugged and then I called my agency for a raise. It was probably the smoothest week the building had ever had.
Genderless had me print out manually 500 invitations to an “Ice Cream Social” to celebrate the first full year of their management of the building. I designed it, passed it through Genderless for approval and got to work—only to realize the date was wrong. Knowing she’d try to blame me, I came up with a solution and went to her office. “Isn’t it amazing that you, your boss and me didn’t catch this error? I’ve got a solution, though if you’re okay with it.” The office manager was amazed that I hadn’t gotten a lecture.
As the day approached for the Ice Cream Social, we were told we could dress casually during the event when we served the ice cream. Each of us got a t-shirt memorializing the event. The day of the event, however, Genderless told us to put the t-shirts over our business clothes. So much for loosening up. When the event finished the rest of the staff had a glass of champagne in the office to celebrate. I wasn’t offered any. Genderless asked for the t-shirt back. I took it off and dropped it in her hand. Everyone else was allowed to keep theirs—but again, I’m just the temp. She looked at me and asked why I wasn’t going to launder it before I gave it back to her.
“I’m not responsible for cleaning your uniforms. Have a great night and enjoy your champagne,” I said as I walked out the door.
Suffice it to say, I counted the minutes until the end of the assignment. It also made clear why the last three temps had left their first day at lunch and not come back. I probably still have the record – six weeks, two days, six hours and five minutes.
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