A few months after I started my job, I was sent an Outlook calendar invite (along with the entire North American contingent of employees) to a big important all-day meeting. I checked with my manager and he said I can go, that it would be good for me to go, so I could get involved in corporate schmoozing and all that. It looked like loads of fun. Breakfast, brunch, lunch, and a lovely cocktail reception after office hours. Basically – no work all day, tons of speeches, tons of party games and team-building exercises.
The day before this extravaganza-thon, my manager disinvited me, saying that temps aren’t really allowed to attend these kinds of meetings, because otherwise they’d essentially demand to be treated as regular employees, which causes all kinds of legal problems. Except he put it a bit nicer than that.
Today, we were packing up our own boxes in preparation for the office move, as the movers were coming over today. The company apparently didn’t want to pay to rent the floor out when the whole floor wasn’t being used, despite the fact that they themselves own the building (and every other building in the vicinity).
My managers, though, felt that they had more important things to do (like get beef soup and make personal calls to their babysitters), so they had me pack stuff. In front of them. On the floor.
Fucking…thanks! Because this is totally in my fucking job description to be the Office Lackey. Oh, wait, no it’s not, because they get paid more. A LOT more.
Rather humiliating that I was just sat on the floor packing stuff. One of my managers had a drawer full of work (i.e. expensive crocodile leather) shoes that she kept to change into. After hinting a couple of times and hesitating, she “spared” me the task of having to pick up her sweaty, creased-up loafers and actually reached over and put the damn things in her box herself. Everything else was left to me, the newbie waif with a permanently-damaged elbow (whereas everyone else was able-bodied).
Also totally did not seem to matter that I had a bunch of projects due for my actual, new manager, and they had been constantly rail-roaded and side-tracked by their on-site, ad-hoc demands. When did this job become The Nanny Diaries? WTF.
We are apparently moving to a rat-infested (rumour has it) cave-like portion of another building, which adds 20 minutes onto our morning commute (18 minutes of which is from the building entrance to the mould-infested basement we’ll be working in).
A co-worker whose name I will never remember (like either of us gives a fuck, because we will never see each other again after this move), tried to console me by saying that 7-Eleven and Dunkin’ Donuts would be right nearby, but this just made it worse.
The new office is right on the water. In the basement. So at least I’ll be able to see the sharks coming.