Beginning.

Hi, I'm Mike. Nice to meet you.

I recently moved to Brooklyn, NY from...somewhere that wasn't New York. I am what you would call a professional Temp. I spend my 9-5 hours doing mundande office work for whoever will pay me the most. Since moving to the Big Apple is a huge move for anyone, I decided to stick to what I knew and throw my resume at a few Temp Agencies for work. I was interviewed at one temp. agency and within a few days I had a semi-long term assignment.

Now if you are reading this, and you are someone I've known for a long time, you may have read about my exploits at the NY State DMV (See: Ipecac For the Soul #2. All time classic), or if we are physical and emotional friends, you probably know by now that I get involved with these ridiculous jobs somewhat regularly (See: My Life 2002-2009). Let me tell you dear friend, all that shit I went through for the last 7 years was just training and prep work for my new proposed 3 month assignment.

For obvious reasons, I can't give you specific details as to where I work. I can tell you I work at a company in Manhattan. It is a company that specializes in getting people who are a little down on their luck (i.e. ex-cons, people on public assistance, addicts, general fucktards) back into the workforce. I'm sure they have programs like this all over the country, but I think being in New York has made this particular office a little more...off the hook than your average back to work program.

What do I do there? Oh, I'm glad you asked. Well, I do nothing important. I make spreadsheets all day. I've come to the conclusion I was hired to make spreadsheets all day because none of the current employees are qualified to do such a thing. I'll get back to this later though.

So this office is a little on the grimy side of things. I mean, they work with what they have, but it's not like a fancy New York City office you would see in popular television sitcoms such as Living Single and My Two Dads. It's a one level office with several room. The walls are mustard yellow, but it's hard to tell if that's intentional or if they have been stained from old age. Either way, it's one of those shades of yellow left over from the drab painters palettes of the 1970's. When you walk in there's a waiting room for the clients which is always a madhouse. From the waiting room, the office trails of into two hallways that form a fucked up horseshoe shape at some point, but truthfully, I don't go wandering around too much. The majority of the rooms are used for the clients to learn job skills. Then there's a few more rooms on the opposite side for the higher ups. There is a mens and womens public bathroom. There are no separate employee bathroom which is, not to get melodramatic, but it's terrifying. We also have a break room which I've only been in twice because, fuck that. The final room is where I work. The File Room. A windowless, humid 10x20 room that is shared with 7 other people. My "desk" is a fold-up utility table that is permanantly sticky from who knows what. I work on a mid 2000's donated laptop that doesn't have real internet on it. The other guy I do the spreadsheet job with sits beside me on another fold-up utility table about 8 inches away from me, and that's being generous. I was lucky enough to get a real (albeit cheap) office chair, but he's stuck with your common waiting room chair. No swivel, no height adjustment. Nothing. My office is the City of God and I happen to be stuck in the tiniest most broken down Favela for 8 hours a day.

So this is the beginning. Next I will tell you about my first day and the poeple I work most closely with. I'll put all of the needed disclaimers right here: Names will be changed to protect the innocent. Events will be fabricated only if I'm in fear of being stabbed. If I say mean shit about some people, I don't really mean it. I love them, and I love you. That is the most important disclaimer.

xoxoxoxo