I Got a Job. My First 9-5.

      I got the job I got the job I got the job
      I got the job I got the job I got the job
      No longer a member of the lumpenproletariat…I have been restored to my rightful place in the economy as an underpaid temporary worker!

      The interview was easy.  I remembered the most important tactic in interviewing for jobs that do not explicitly require my feedback, intellectual opinion, or acumen: shut the fuck up.  

       That’s what you do.  You shut up and let them to almost all of the talking (it’s a bit like dining with a client).  They call it an interview, but it’s really not.  

         I sat perched in my chair like a bright little bird, paying close attention but trying not to overdo the eye contact.  I kept a smile of the appropriate dim wattage on my face and spoke only when spoken to.  I assured them that I did not feel overqualified to code their spreadsheets or edit their emails.  

        “You know there are no benefits,” she said.  To her credit, she seemed nice today.  A middle-aged blonde lady from Michigan. 

          I wanted to say, sarcastically, “That’s what Medicaid is for!” but instead I just gave a small shrug and said that I understood the job was temporary, and I was young and healthy and childless.  That’s what they really care about, you know, though it’s illegal to ask it now: they want a nice strong reliable worker bee with no family drama and no entitlement issues. 

           They hired me on the spot and gave me a tour of the office and the warehouse.  It was okay.  It was not the most depressing office I’ve ever worked in, at all.  There were plants.  Windows.  I could hear Italians speaking in their weird European language somewhere.  

           It could be worse.  It’s the sort of job, actually, that I would have gladly worked at as an undergraduate: a living wage, indoors, using a tiny bit of my skills and brain (just a tiny bit).  No risk of repetitive stress injuries.  I’ve had it worse.  

          But it’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a 9 to 5.   Years.  Years and years.  Since before New York.  Since before grad school.  

           Actually, now that I think of it….I’ve never had a 40-hour office job.  I’ve had two or three part-time jobs at once, and a lot of freelance work…and, of course, all the work in the Biz. 

          Can I hack it, however temporarily, as a common American wage slave, squandering more of my rapidly diminishing youth editing emails for office-supply-peddling Dagos?  

           I start tomorrow at 8 AM. 


7 thoughts on “I Got a Job. My First 9-5.”

  1. Congratulations. You are now officially a member of the precariat.

    The new world order of social classes.

    1. the 0.1 %
    2. the 1%
    3. the precariat (middle class, petite bourgeoisie, working class)
    4. the lumpenproletariat
    5. slaves (estimated as at least 20 million, but almost certainly more)

    A big thank you to Milton Friedman and the Chicago Boys for destroying the New Deal and social democracy.

  2. Dear Miss Margo,

    Yay! Congratulations.

    Dolly Parton knows what you’re going through.

    (I don’t know why she is surrounded by Snow White, the Seven Dwarfs, and a giant rabbit. If your job is like this, stop taking LSD in the morning.)


  3. Congratulations, that’s great news! The world of office supplies won’t even know what’s hit it. One ream is equal to 20 quires. Remember that and you won’t go very far wrong.

  4. So happy for you. Your posts the last few weeks made me realize how lucky I am. I’ve moved back to the home town part time for family reasons, and am working out of the house no problem. But it’s boring, and as an ex New Yorker I’m sure you can appreciate, There’s No Good Takeout!

    However, we’re still waiting to see how it went with the Elder.

    Best wishes.

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