Have you ever seen the fantastic show, “Dead Like Me” ? It follows Georgia “George” Lass, a 20-something college drop-out who dies suddenly (killed by an airborne toilet. Yup.) After she dies, she is recruited to become a Grim Reaper, one of many. In this particular version of the legend, Grim Reapers still have all of the responsibilities of the living, they just have a second, unpaid and unchosen job. The show’s been off the air for a few years, but is free on Hulu if I’ve peaked your interest. (Meaning- Go. Now. Watch the first two episodes. Get addicted. Stop sleeping until you’ve finished the entire series. I mean, it was only on for a couple seasons, and you can function on much less than 8 hours of sleep. You have no excuse.)
Anyway, Georgie’s day job is at a temp agency, where she is a file clerk. And after about a week of my own temping, I have to say this show gets it. Right on the nose. My trainer, much like Mrs. Herbig, is overly nice, and loves to make my duties seem much more dire than they actually are (although I am funding people’s retail and lease contracts for their cars, so I guess it’s a little important. But still, the world will not end.) The job is just as dull and full of sifting through mountains of paper as Georgie’s own, and it definitely makes me wish I had a side job as a kick-ass Grim Reaper. At least it would spice things up (and my blog would be so much more exciting).
Although I will say I’ve begun to fall into a comfortable sort of schedule for my workday, complete with break buddies (mainly Temp Guy. Fifteen minutes of making each other crack up in the break room? I’ll take it.), a lunch group (hah. I’m back in high school. But these girls are hilarious.), and a 3 pm realization that there’s still two hours to go, quickly followed by a silent but emphatic plea to the universe to free me from this paper prison. Finally, I’ve gotten the nickname “Team Awesome, Member #1” to stick (I don’t understand it either, but check that off the bucket list), and I have the best cubicle neighbors a girl could ask for.
Along with this happy little bubble of conformity and complacency, there is this need to not lose sight of why I’m working in the first place. Luckily, I haven’t gone so far down the rabbit hole that I am forgetting. Yet. I still smile like a drunkard when I think about NYC, and I can still feel the purpose behind the drive that makes me get up and go to work every morning-the promise that it’ll all be worth it in a few months. Because, after all, George Lass and I do have one pretty important thing separating us-I’ve managed to avoid free-falling plumbing…