I found out why I got the gig over the Hooters girl. The guy who�s training me told me that it is because they liked how energetic I was in the interviews and also that I seemed to have a very even temperament. Bite me, I say. Still, it�s good information to have. If these factors are considered to be among my strengths, I might as well play to them. I may have to go sit in a meeting this afternoon from three to five and take notes. I got e-mail today from the guy who�d Monstered me about a month ago saying that the job req in question was finally approved � isn�t that sweet, he totally jumped the gun in his enthusiasm for the unique skill set possessed by Yours Truly � however, it was approved to be based in Philadelphia, but he reports there�s at least an outside chance they�d be willing to look at a freelancer so I am still invited to apply. Dude wants (wait for it!) writing samples; I�m going to try to get him to be specific about exactly what they would wish to see and then, well, I am going to churn it out, spec-tastically and posthaste.

People in this office do so little work and make so much money � I�m going to turn into a union-busting Republican and sweatshop proponent within a week, I swear. This racket is the nonpareil gravy train. Also, in addition to getting the big boss�s coffee and lunch, I am expected to help her on with her coat, per my trainer�s example, as she�s going off to meetings, and when she hasn�t left enough cash money in the kitty to cover the food-and-caffeine expenses, I�m supposed to make up the difference myself because she�s so nice and the only reason she forgot to put money in, poor lamb, is that she�s frantic and overworked, as an administrator and as a person she knocks herself out doing and doing and doing for others so that she forgets to do for herself, the least I can do is kick in a buck from time to time. Well, no. No and no. Maybe I�d feel differently if I were in fact on board the gravy train, in a position to take two-hour lunches and rack up rollover vacation hours in the hundreds and, hell, go to the dentist from time to time. Alas, I am but a temp, and temps write out IOUs. I�m about 60% over my funk/rage at my automatic exclusion from getting this job or any other one under the same bureaucratic umbrella. Yes it would involve money for nothing and paradisical benefits, but it would rob me of my self-respect and would be a slooow burn into profound and deadly self-abnegation. Yesterday I overheard some people talking about how many years they�ve been here, they are stunned still to be in the same place they thought would be a stopover before grad school. Once you�re in and you realize how sweet you have it, though, they said, it�s hard to think about leaving even though you know with your tenure you�ll be able to get another job in the system easy: why would you want to spend money and be without benefits for the few years it would take to get a MBA, that is crazy talk. And here is an interesting fact: an unusually high percentage of the women in this office, mid- to upper-level bureaucrats in their mid-thirties to early fifties, are not married, or at least do not wear rings (overall they don�t seem to be the non-ring-wearing types). Have they never been married? Are they divorced, and, if so, was it they or the husbands who initiated it, and why? They�re all so complacent and, yes, even-tempered in every way, except of course when they go off on their broom-riding administrative power trips and ask me to do things like remove some staples for them because they are just too busy (and then they go out for two-hour lunches). I picture them driving home to Renton in their SUVs, putting Hamburger Helper on the table and then helping the kids with their homework, watching Jay Leno�s monologue and trundling off in Lanz nightgowns to well-pillowed beds, all the while with the same kindly and encouraging yet empty bland smiles on their faces; I cannot accept it any other way. Was there a custody battle? They�d better not be getting alimony, that�s all I have to say. Also, esp. considering how much they�re making, it is criminal how disinterested they are in personal upkeep and presentation. Corduroy jumpers abound, and the last time I saw so many bad haircuts in one place at one time was at the agriculture pavilion at the Grange Fair. See, this office is not the place for me. OK then.

And the degree of slavishness, it is really outside the limits of my repertoire. The coat-helping-on-with, the indulgent nursey tone of my trainer�s voice when he goes in to ask the big boss what she might like for lunch, it�s like he�s the mommy or something. A meeting was cancelled and notification went out to my trainer, the person who previously held this job and has moved a few cars ahead to another office, and some other underlings whose names I didn�t recognize who for whatever reason get notification in Outlook about the big boss�s calendar. The woman who used to have the job, the secretary, replied to all of us, with a generous sprinkling of exclamation points, to the effect that this was awesome, the big boss was getting some unanticipated free time, she knew we were all as happy about this as she was. And that one, the secretary: she�s serious, too. She was in here yesterday afternoon for another round of training � what should take half an hour they stretch into six two-hour modules over four days; the name of the game is makework � and she saw a printout of a page from the big boss�s calendar on which, next to a double-booked hour, the BB had written, "How can I do this?" The secretary chuckled, pointing to this note in case I�d missed it, and said, This is so funny, she is an amazingly funny person, she�s just great. I nodded. Which I guess was insufficiently fawning to qualify me for BB cult membership, so she tried again: The funny part is right here, what happened is that somehow someone scheduled her for two things at once and she saw that and she wrote the note, she wrote a note about how you can�t be in two places at once! Yes, I said, I saw that. The secretary regarded me with skepticism though I saw that she wanted to be polite. But I still don�t think you get it, she said firmly. Oh, believe me, lady, I get it. I knew a girl once, Hilary, who was dumb as a post but a valuable acquaintance (as a friend one would have had to spend too much time with her, or time with her one-on-one, which would have been stultifying) because whatever you said, she�d think it was the funniest, cleverest, most irreverent thing in the world � because since she didn�t have it in her to be funny etc., she thought the manifestation of it in someone else was rare and wondrous. In fact my main visual memory of Hilary is what her face looks like contorted by gasps of barely controlled laughter, broadcasting disbelief at the luck that allows her to be audience to such peerless wit. If I worked here, I�d have to either be a Hilary or pretend I was one. Again: no and no.

Drama! There are some missing job applications! It�s a big deal because they�re for a position way up on the food chain and therefore the people applying are those who have been around for decades or who are related to high-profile bureaucratic hotshots. The data-entry specialist is in the clear, so fingers are pointing at the BB. Stay tuned. Thank goodness I�ve only been here for a few days � otherwise, this putative Hilary would have patsy written all over her.

(Later:) Wait a minute. Philadelphia. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?