Temping in the Ozarks

A couple dozen people in the Ozarks, most of them unemployed teachers, were hired for a three-day project. I was one of the few with a background in production and daily deadlines. We boarded a bus and were taken to a facility and set to work. The atmosphere was one of friendliness and enthusiasm.

I got an assignment of scanning froms and programming new forms. I immediately got my first batch scanned, devising a system that was very efficient. Because I had made such good time with my own work, and seeing that others were struggling with theirs, I took a break from my own assignment and pitched in helping others. Jason and Crow were there, former colleagues from one of my many corporate jobs in New York. I was pleased for them to see me operating so efficiently, helping others, being so well liked. It might change some of the misconceptions about me that had arisen when we worked together.

I was going from person to person, answering questions, raising morale, helping in many small ways.

Aside from my own assignment, the first project where I did a substantial amount of work was scanning magazine covers. I did an entire year’s worth to help the other worker—around 36 scans

Another time,  someone next to me was scanning covers of another kind. It was the only job she had, but she was struggling to figure it out. I decided to help her without calling attention to myself. As she scanned each cover, I secretly performed some other followup computer operation, easing her workload considerably.

By the time I was finished there, the day was nearing its end. I decided I had better get back to my own project and finish it up—after squeezing in a quick, late lunch.

It was after eating that I realized just how far along the day was. And realized that, being the final day, it would endright on time—no chance to catch up by staying an extra hour or two.

I had food in my teeth. I had to find my flossing pick—which meant finding my suitcase, then finding a place to lay it open and rummage.

While doing all this, I remembered I had not yet submitted that large batch of covers I had scanned for the first teacher. By now, someone else had done those covers, making my contribution redundant.

Unnerved by that, I asked the woman I had just helped with her post-scanning operation what year her covers were for. She said it wasn’t a single year, but a mix. This meant that my secret volunteer work, built on the assumption that her covers were part of a single year’s sequence, was useless.

And then I realized I had never submitted my initial large batch of scanning on my own project—the forms—either. And I quickly found that my project lead had given that work to someone else.

Almost three days of enthusiastic, highly efficient work, and nothing to show for it.

In passing an office, I saw that the employer was performing an exit interview of one of the workers. The weekend was almost over. My turn for an exit interview could be any time now. And I had no work to report.

My popularity and generosity and remarkable skills would count for nothing. In the end, what the company had wanted from me was just to have done my own job, not in record time, but just done, period. And I hadn’t.

I woke up suddenly, saying aloud, “Oh, god, I hate this.”