Shit jobs were easier to get 15 years ago. Even when you weren’t good at keeping them (and I surely wasn’t), there were still plenty of low paying, soul stealing, dignity defying sustenance jobs. If you knew where to look. The best system was suggested to me by a friend in college. Her name was Cheryl. We used to get drunk at her place to avoid having to go anywhere else. She also made a fantastic hangover breakfasts: one of those homemade masterpieces complete with cheesy eggs, sausage, biscuits, and gravy that always made the sunlight just a little bit easier to cope with. She also had these huge, gravity defying tits.
We were sitting on her couch and talking; I’d shown up to the party early because I wanted to tell her I was dropping out of college (again). I don’t know why I wanted to tell her, or what made me think I needed to show up early and tell just her; within five minutes of walking in the door, everybody else knew anyway because she, in addition to being a spot on cook and having gravity defying watermelon sized tits, she also had an incredibly big mouth. But she was beautiful, though not in that usual way that a woman can be beautiful.
At the time I think I had convinced myself I had a crush on her; it wasn’t difficult to talk myself in it. But I didn’t think she’d go for a guy like me. For one, I have always been on the large size, and not in a good way; I was large around the middle, but my legs and arms have always been shorter than they were supposed to be, so my clothes never fit me right. Back then I wore my hair long – I’m talking down to my ass, all the way around; unless I tied it back, I looked like Cousin It from the Addams Family. I’m lousy at games; I couldn’t hit a ball or throw a frisbee or play hacky sack to save my life. I’m also a longstanding social catastrophe. Even in high school, all I had to do was look at a girl I liked and she immediately assumed I was odd and wouldn’t talk to me; and then within 3 minutes neither would any of her friends. Eventually I learned it was easier to friend them than it was to fuck them – but even the friendship process was a lot of work and usually involved the help of third parties to lead the conversation.
“Temp agencies,” she told me after giving up on telling me I should finish college. She sighed when she said it, pushes the words out with what sounded like a slight tone of regret. She was wearing this cute hippie print sun dress that accentuated her boobs and showed just the right amount of leg. She had a B-girl’s body with the brain of a future rocket scientist. For a second, I allowed myself to think she sounded disappointed. Then again, I thought, don’t get your hopes up. That would mean she’d miss you, and there’s no way she would. She was getting cozy with a friend of mine, an ex-swimmer who was also good writer and, as far as women were concerned, a scoundrel. Not that I thought he’d mind if anything happened between Cheryl and me; but given the choice between my friend’s broad shoulders and mostly flat abs and rolly poly me, I figured I knew which way she’d go. I mean, why not?
“Get in with a good agency and they do all the leg work for you,” she said. “Especially if you’re not looking for anything permanent.”
I’d never been to a temp agency before. Sometimes I answered ads in the papers; sometimes I randomly showed up and asked for an application; sometimes a friend got me a job on their shift. A temp agency was a new thing. I asked her if it worked for her, and she said she’d been with the same agency since the summer she graduated high school. All she had to do was call them and say she was available and wanted work. She told me she was never out of work for more than a day when she wanted to work.
After leaving the following week and finding refuge in Cincinnati, I set about finding work. I called the closest branch office of Cheryl’s temp agency. The voice on the other end of the phone – a woman’s voice – asked me what kind of job I was looking for. I told her anything would be fine.
“Office or industrial?”
“Either really. Industrial I guess.”
The voice set up an appointment for me for ten the following morning. She told me to bring a copy of my resume, if I had one. I did, but it wasn’t much to look at. Besides, I didn’t see how it would make much of a difference. I printed one off and took it anyway.
When I got there the following morning I was greeted by the girl who belonged to the voice. She gave me a clipboard with an inch thick of paperwork on it. The first part of it was an application; the instructions read to fill it out even if I brought my resume with me. Then what’s the point of the resume? I wanted to ask the girl who belonged to the voice, but I didn’t want to make a bad impression by questioning office rules. I’d been fired for those kinds of things before – like asking the shift supervisor why the inspectors got rubber mats to stand on when the rest of the people assembling the stupid little plastic toys had to stand on the concrete floor for eight to ten hours a day. I filled out the application, the tax forms, and another ten or fifteen pages of a questionnaire that asked me to describe my skills and abilities in detail. When I was finished, I handed the girl my clipboard, and she told me to take a seat and wait.
After twenty minutes another woman walked out from the back and introduced herself to me. Her name was Kerri. She was shorter than me, but not too short, and dressed in a very smart gray business skirt suit and white blouse. She had these blue eyes and ultra white teeth. She was wearing make-up, but it was obvious that she was covered with freckles. I wondered briefly if she was freckled everywhere. She told me to follow her down the hall for a series of tests – standard procedure at temp agencies. “Just to see what your strengths are,” she said. So I followed her, half listening to her talk but mostly watching her ass, meticulously round and magnificently wrapped in her business skirt, sway as she walked.
Kerri led me to a small room with a computer and told me to take a seat in the chair in front of the computer. After I sat down she leaned over me and signed me into the testing program. she smelled good and when she leaned over, I got a decent side view into her blouse; nice seized tits encased in a red bra. I wondered if she was one of those who matched her bra and panties. I imagined she was.
“Just follow the instructions,” she smiled. “I’ll come back in and check on you in a couple of minutes.”
I found out much later that mostly they waited for you to finish before they came and printed out your scores; at the time, though, all I was focused on was getting through the tests so I could pick up a job. I was also focused on her red underwear and the shape of her ass in that skirt. But I figured a girl like her already had a boyfriend; there wasn’t a ring on her finger, but that didn’t mean anything. There was no way a girl that cute didn’t have somebody watching the clock and waiting for her to get off work and get out of that gray suit. No way at all.
So I set about my task. The first part was a math test, and there were some word problems. Math was never my strong subject, so I muddled through the best I could. The next part of the test was multiple choice; I was offered a series of work related scenarios and given choices of how to respond. For every situation I chose the answer that would best suit any employer, regardless of how asinine it was. After that was a typing test; the content of the test was this page long diatribe on what makes for a good employee, beginning with a quote from Mark Twain that was taken out of context.
A few minutes into the scenarios section, I heard Kerri saunter back in. “How’s it going?”
“It’s okay,” I said. I expected her to turn around and walk out; but instead I could feel her standing behind me. If I had reached up, I could’ve reached in and grabbed one of her boobs. The thought of that excited me a little and I had to shift in my chair. I stayed focused on my tests.
“So, “ she said, placing her hand on the back on the back of the chair, “are you in a band or something?”
The hair. Always when I had the long hair people assumed I was in a band, like nobody else would grow his hair out. “No,” I said. Then I said (and I don’t even know why I said it) “I’m a… writer. More of a writer. Really.”
“Ooh,” she cooed. Or I thought she cooed. Maybe I just wanted her to coo. I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or if she was making fun of me; it kind of sounds the same. “Have you written anything I’d have read?”
“Uh, probably not,” I stammered. “I mean… the places that publish my stuff don’t have a large distribution.” In fact, the only place I’d been published had been in a magazine I started in college. The magazine was short lived, much like my stays at college.
“Ooh,” she said. I felt her remove her hand from the back of the chair. I was increasingly uncomfortable. I felt myself start to sweat and I just wanted to finish the test. I still didn’t know what to make of her tone. She turned and left when I finished up the scenarios and was set to start the typing test. The scent of her lingered in the room, and it still excited me. I botched the typing test from the discomfort and raging erection she left me with. When I finished I did my best to be able to stand up; it’s not as easy as it sounds. All that shit people tell you to think about – baseball stats, your grandmother, your high school gym coach – none of those things actually work. It’s a work of the will to get a raging erection under control; deep breathing, mantras, and prayers are all a waste of time. After I’d managed to get it under control (sort of) I stood up and walked out and told Kerri I’d finished. She smiled, pointed to the chair in front of her desk, and told me to take a sheet. She smiled and her eyes flashed. Then she stood up, slowly. It almost seemed too slowly, like she was maybe letting me look her up and down. Then she sauntered into the little room I’d just been in, printed off my scores, and came back. The front of her skirt was unpleated and clung to her hips. She was wearing black pantyhose; I wondered if they were silk ; I hoped they were. Then I wondered they were the kind a woman stepped into or the kind held up by a garter.
She looked at my scores and told me she’d be back in a minute. I wondered if she really had to do something or if it was an excuse for me to see her walking away… again. When she came back, she brought a guy with her. He looked like an office manager. He was followed by three other people, all of whom had desks in the office and probably had the same job Kerri did.
“So,” the guy talked. “What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Something,” I said. “I just moved back into town and I need something. It doesn’t have to be anything major. Just a job.”
“I see on your resume that you’ve had some college,” he said.
“Yeah.” I loved it when they said it that way. “Had some college.” It kind of sounded like “had a case of pneumonia.”
“We’re looking for somebody to work here,” he said. I looked over at Kerri. She was smiling at me.
“Doing what?” I asked. “You need a janitor or something?”
Everybody giggled. Apparently they thought I was making a joke.
“No,” the guy said. “We’re looking for an Employment Associate. We need somebody to work with clients who want industrial work. And you’ve had plenty of industrial experience, I see. You’d be the kind of person they might respond to.”
I was interested. The office was clean and Kerri worked there. The other girls who worked there were also cute and seemed nice. “So I’d have a desk and talk to people looking for factory work?”
The guy pointed over to an empty desk. “You’d sit over there,” he said. “In addition to being the agent for our industrial clients, you’d also be responsible for calling places to get them to hire us for their employment needs. It’s kind of like sales; and you’d get a commission on every sale.”
“Base salary?”
“Ten dollars and hour. Plus benefits.”
I’d never had a job that offered benefits. I looked over at Kerri. She was smiling. I imagined what it would be like to come into work and see her everyday. Maybe I could ask her out for a drink one day after work. We could go out to lunch on Fridays or paydays. She looked like she had her own place.
“There’s just one thing,” Kerri said.
“What’s that?”
The office manager spoke. “You’d need to cut your hair.”
The words fell heavy in the air. Cut my hair? Why would I need to cut my hair? When it was tied back, it looked well kept. I kept it clean.
“Why? I mean, I’d be dealing with people who want factory work, right?”
“Right,” the guy said.
“A lot of people – guys anyway – who work in factories look a lot like me. Seems like it would just make them more comfortable.”
“It’s a corporate thing,” Kerri said.
“But why?” They were all looking at me: Kerri, the guy, the other office people. “Why does it matter? I’m a clean guy. I keep it clean. I’d keep it tied back. What’s the difference?”
The office manager shifted on his feet. “Look,” he said. “You’re a smart guy. You’re too smart to be working in a factory at minimum wage. This is a good opportunity for you. And all we’re asking you to do is one, small thing.”
I looked at Kerri. Was that hope in her eyes? Did she want me for a coworker? Did she want me for something more? If she liked me with my hair, would she like me without it? Would I like me without my hair? I’d been growing it for a long time; it was a part of who I was, a part of how I saw myself. It sounded like a good job. I could settle in okay for that kind of money. No worries. I needed some kind of job before rent came due.
Or was Kerri flirting with me just to get me to take the job? What if I cut my hair and took the job and then found out she was dating a body builder named Ted? What if I was misreading her entirely? Maybe she was just one of those girls who like to flirt for the hell of it. Maybe she wasn’t flirting at all; maybe she was just being friendly. There was no way a chick like that didn’t have some swinging dick waiting on her when she got home. No way.
“I can’t,” I looked up at the office manager. “I mean, I know it’s just hair… but it’s mine. I appreciate the offer, but I’m really just looking for something so I can get squared away. Really.” I looked over at Kerri. She stopped smiling and was looking at me like I was slightly insane; that was a look I’d seen before on numerous occasions. “Thanks, though.”
Kerri told me she’d call in a couple of days, but I knew she wouldn’t. the cardinal sin in any office setting was a lack of ambition, and I had turned down a job for what they saw as the silliest of reasons. As I left, there were other people in the waiting area, sitting the chairs and filling out the papers on clipboards. They all looked like corporate wannabes; the kind of guy Kerri probably wanted to begin with. I walked out the door and checked my wallet; I had enough money to stop in someplace for a drink. A few days later the office called. It wasn’t Kerri; it was some guy named Scott. He had a very confident tone and he told me he had a job in a Totes warehouse, where they made slipper socks. It was second shift, and paid a quarter over minimum wage. I told Scott I’d take the job. When I hung up the phone, I thought about Kerri and wondered what she’d wore to work that day. Then I turned on the TV and watched a rerun of Sanford and Son.
