Today I lost my job. I wasn’t fired rather I wasn’t hired. This after a long stint of being strung along with the promise of maybe one day becoming a fully fledged employee.
I was, and remain, a humble temp. A hired hand and office chameleon. Brought into an established dynamic from anywhere between an hour and a year – this particular occasion was on the later side of the scale.
I have been temping for a few years now and still I relish in the experience. Able to drop into a company as an outsider and view the inner-workings, the characters and rituals unique, or identical, to other offices a stones throw away. Perhaps I was primed with romanticism having read some Bukowski, especially when the parallels were glaring. Factotum synonymous with temp, one of my first jobs was in a postroom – Post Office! My mind flashed before me.
This is where I would eventually return and where I would subsequently try to hold on and transition into one of those regular bods – one of those everydayers with paid holiday and a pension scheme. Alas, it was not meant to be.
To be fair this was never part of the plan. I was happy dipping in and out and coasting by on whatever hourly rate was high enough to cover my travel from yonder and leave me enough for the odd loaf of bread and bottle of wine. I shouldn’t force the parallels with Charles.. although it’s the grand national tomorrow and I need me a pound note. Especially now that I’m out on a job hunt.
Wish me luck yeah.
samcooney 