I Might Be Too Old For This

Well, Stockholders, it's been a while, but I thought I'd sqeeze in one last entry in this dismal month of January. Since last we met, changes have taken place. The Wall Street Office found a Perm(anent, eable, you make the choice) gal for the front desk position, an "inside hire" as they like to say in the corporate world, and I was given the proverbial boot. This all happened mid-month and I was left high and dry. A quick hug from the gap-toothed blonde who trained me and I was out the door without a look back. Walking the streets again. Walking the Wall Streets. I spent the following week gleefully unemployed, managing the ongoing laundry situation at home, scouring the apartment, walking the dog at a reasonable hour of the morning. It was heaven. But even I get restless folks. After about 6 hours of this free time, I was starting to feel somewhat antsy. Good thing we had a trip to Disneyworld the following week. Nothing like a vacation to the Magic Kingdom to throw you back in the working-man's saddle. Seriously, it was an excellent time, but it is HARD LABOR down there. You're up at the ass-crack of dawn in an attempt to beat the crowds, you ride public transportation and often have to hang on to poles/straps because you give up your seat to little tykes, you pound the pavement, walking six or seven miles every day, you keep on a schedule with your fast-pass time slots and entertainment lineups, you wait in obscenely long lines with people who have never waited in lines in their life, you eat on the run, (except for dinner, which was always a fabulous time of the day) and you drink far too much considering: 1.) your own weight and 2.) the time that you have to get up the next day. It's a lot like living in New York. In fact, after this trip, I came home with a renewed sense of pride in New Yorkers. I believe we might be some of the best Disney guests, when you really think about it. We're used to all of that. However I cannot overlook some minor discrepancies between the two . Disney wins in the spanking-clean department. New York will never even be in the running. Disney never smells bad or has garbage issues. Also, the birds in Disney don't smoke crack or ask you if you want to buy crack. That's a big difference too.
Anycrap, vacation is over. Time to rest again.
And wait...what looms on the horizon? ANOTHER receptionist position, but in Midtown this time. Oh, sweet Jesus don't make me go to Midtown. I can now admit that Wall Street was a glorious commute. Short, uncrowded and I never had to change trains. This is Clutch when you can barely put your socks on without some sort of trauma that early in the morning. Midtown. Sucks. Ass. At least on Wall Street, there was the Seaport and some cobblestone-type street. It had character. The same cannot be said for Midtown. It is (and I am completely convinced of this) Hell on Earth. There I said it.
The other Hell on Earth aspect of this job is what my Temp Agency failed to inform me. I would be a....get ready for it...floater. I mean, really, the word already sounds like an old turd. Do we have to label the roaming receptionist a FLOATER? She undoubtedly already feels shitty enough about having to train on 31 different floors in each of 7 different buildings (all in Midtown, mind you,) and not knowing where she'll be from one day to the next. She already feels like her soul is being sucked out of her navel when she is forced to listen to all of the various methods her fellow receptionists use to manage their floors and she knows her soul has completely left her when she realizes that the only skill used by any and all of these women is the simple act of pressing a button to let people inside, even though they have ID cards and can just as easily let themselves in. The phone doesnt ring. No meetings are scheduled through them. No packages arrive. As long as we all don't hit the panic button by mistake (located precariously close to the entrance button) we have done a good job for the day.
I'm sorry, Stockholders, but I'm going to need a little more action than button pressing.
I think I mastered that one in Nursery School. Possibly earlier.
But here I am. 26th floor today. Who knows tomorrow?
My biggest challenge of each day will be to find the women's room, the pantry with its studpendous Flavia coffee machine, and the easiest way to exit the building. That's what I'm working on, folks.
Wish me luck.