Our instructions from Jennifer have been to let her handle training the temps, and to stay away from them all week. We’re allowed to say good morning and good night, but we're to make no chit-chat, keep away from the temps entirely, until their training is done. “No distractions,” Jennifer told us on Monday.
It seems ridiculous to me, but we've all kept quiet, as instructed. Easy for me; I don't want to talk to anyone, anyway. It's gotten extremely unpleasant, though. Jenn treats the temps like lesser beings, and she's a terrible teacher, so they're not learning squat.
Therefore, by unanimous vote of the four of us in the hallway, fuck that shit entirely. While Jennifer was on break, we approached the three temps, pulled up chairs, and after we’d all introduced ourselves, Peter did most of the talking:
“Jennifer can be harsh," he said, "and short-tempered. If anything doesn’t make sense, or you’re not happy with the answers she gives, you can come to any of us. We all know what’s what and how to do what we do here, and none of us will insult you or sidestep the questions.”
The lumberjack smiled so big, I thought he was gonna get out of his chair and give Peter a big hug. He looked extra lumberjacky today, because he was wearing a red plaid shirt.
Four days into their time here, the temps were finally given company e-mail addresses today, so we gave them ours. "Send an e-mail to any of us, or all of us, any time," Kallie said, and then we evaporated back to our desks, before Jennifer returned.
There will be consequences when Jennifer finds out, but if the four of us stick together — or the seven of us, counting the temps — we'll be OK. Solidarność, baby.
From Pathetic Life #7
Wednesday, December 7, 1994
This
is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago,
called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but
might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting
things, so parental guidance is advised.
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