Life is Temporary

Here I sit at my first temp job in LA. Offices are the same where ever I go; grimy cubicles, shutter inducing florescent lighting, cell phones and LAN lines ringing in concert, copiers and printers coaxing exasperation from every human in need of them, managers and employees huffing, sighing, gossiping, and assuming a "this stuff really matters" stance during meetings while underneath they day dream and keep close watch on their secretes. The good thing about being a temp is that unless you light something on fire or show up naked, the regular office folk are usually happy to see you, at worst they are indifferent. This regard gives one the feeling of being needed and anonymous and free from the mill of office politics. There are the occasional permanent employees who project an exotic gaze onto a temp, viewing this outsider as someone from a land far more exciting, dangerous, and far less stable than their own. They smile at you with curiosity and sympathy as you pass them on the way to the bathroom. They remind you that there are leftovers in the conference room from the morning staff meeting. They seem both relieved not to be you and jealous of your freedom. The Kid's in the Hall did a great sketch about a temp. It's the temps last day and the regular employees could care less but they bring a big "Bye" cookie (which they later have her pay for) and half-heartedly throw her a party. As they clinked paper cups full of red punch the temp nervously thanks them, "It's seems sometimes that all my life has been one big "temp". I mean I was raised on a house boat, now I live in a sub-let, seeing a married man, and my dad's on a respirator…” Everyone makes their excuses and rushes out. As the temp gets ready to leave her purse is searched by security and is found to be full of offices supplies. She runs for it and is gunned down by the guard.
Being a temp is good reminder of how fleeting an office job this life really is. No matter what you put in your purse, you ain't here for long.