Temporay Prison

Welcome to L.A. L.A. Land. The realm where there is a temp agency on every corner. There are actually three in one block near my house.

I thought that temp work would be a great way to substitute my income while I wait for that call to come from some producer wanting to buy (at this point I'll settle for an option) my fabulous script, alas, that call hasn't come but I just got "The Secret" so the call WILL come soon. I remember working for a temp agency in college and it was great. I got sent out on one or two day jobs when I wasn't working and over term breaks took longer term assignments. I worked in a variety of offices and met a lot of cool people. Since my last round of unemployment ran out I figured temp would be the way to go. Sigh. I so picked the wrong agency. Maybe the waiting room full of 40+ year old men in 40 year old suits should have tipped me off that this probably wasn't the environment for a creative spirit like me. I never listen to that voice in my head. Maybe it's because the Lithium shuts up the more interesting ones? Who knows? I digress.

Do you think you can type? They ask. Um...let me see...I'm a writer. So yeah. I know how to freaking type! Do you feel comfortable answering the phone? Well I've had asked for a phone line on my 8th birthday, so, yeah, I feel comfy using the phone. Next they gave me a round of assessment tests to prove it and after that they said they would call. I've heard that speech before but this time--they called.

I was sent to a far reaching area of the SFV (for all you non-L.A. residents...that's shorthand for San Fernando Valley) that was so far out there it might as well have been Texas. Who knows? The commute was so long maybe it was. They put me in a bank. I'm not sure what about me screams banker. I don't even balance my own checkbook.

The office was like that scene in 9 TO 5 with rows of cubicles and people working. Nobody talked. They worked all day. What did I do? Well the data entry job they promised me turned out be a job in the file/mail room. I can honestly say I know what hell feels like. I am really pissed at the temp agency because I'm Jewish and we don't have hell. So why did the temp agency send me there?

That place was a black hole for my creative spirit You would think that a mindless job wouldn't require much effort. You'd be wrong. My brain was so fried at the end of the day I couldn't even open my laptop to write. I probably went brain dead from terminal boredom. My muse said "Screw this...I'm going to the bar." I'm not really sure where she went but I hope she comes back now. I really need her. I think I'll join her at the bar.