Supposedly, tomorrow is the end of my assignment with King Lear. I was invited to a special going-away dinner for him at a fancy restaurant tomorrow night, but there's no way in hell I'm going to sit there and watch 20 people spend my husband's salary in one night on steaks and alcohol (the animosity about my husband's salary, dear reader, is because he was laid off from this very studio for budgetary reasons).
The King has become rather grumpy as of late, as grumpy as a Englishman will show on the outside at least, which means inside he is a fuming chaotic ball of hate. Hate is the right word, for he's truly come to hate America and all its inefficiencies. Yes, it's not because of our politics, nor our greed, nor our shoddy accents that KL hates America, it's because he has to be slightly inconvenienced on occasion.
For instance: The other day, he wanted to mail a letter, but the postage rate went up and he only had 39 cent stamps! *flabberghastation!*
Also: The studio travel agents apparently are total nincompoops because they can't guarantee him a window seat in first class for a last-minute flight booking!
And: He left a check for the pool man in the refrigerator and the pool man didn't find it! What kind of idiots do we have around here in the USA?
And on and on. And on. And on.
It seems that once people have money, they seem to forget that they are living on Planet Earth and start thinking they live on Planet Themselves. King Lear is endlessly complaining to me about his misfortunes, expecting me to grieve with him. I am NEVER going to feel sorry for you, sir, no matter how much you complain that you sold your car and ONLY got $45,000 in cash for it. That is almost double my yearly salary, sir. I will not pity you for the endless hours you spend on the phone nattering at your builder in London, where you are doing the practically unheard of task of building a gigantic new home in Soho for millions and millions of pounds. I don't care that your gargantuan art collection hasn't yet arrived to England's shores from their shipment out of the ports of Los Angeles.
Have fun rolling around in your riches, wherever you go from here, sir. You go alone, with no one to love, and no one to love you. I hope you find whatever it is that fills the hole, and I hope it's something to do with charity and giving and realizing that the world owes you nothing, not even a more efficient postal forwarding system.
08 May 2007
"You Must Be So Bored!"
I can't tell you how many times I've heard that line around here. "You must be so bored!"
You must never, ever, ever, never agree with this statement. If you ever say, "Yes, I am bored," you are asking for a world of hurt. If, as a temp, you agree that you are bored, you will immediately be sent to the salt mines of filing or some other horrendous task. Your freedom and your autonomy will be sacrificed, possibly for the rest of your assignment. That's when the others come at you with things they've been putting off for years, like cleaning out stock rooms, inventorying supplies, even dusting and cleaning. Do not ever fall for this trap.
Even if you are bored out of your mind and feel as if you could go stark raving mad at any moment, never show your hand. As long as there is the Internet in front of your face or a book in your hand or even a frickin pen and paper for doodling, you are not "bored."
Trust me on this.
You must never, ever, ever, never agree with this statement. If you ever say, "Yes, I am bored," you are asking for a world of hurt. If, as a temp, you agree that you are bored, you will immediately be sent to the salt mines of filing or some other horrendous task. Your freedom and your autonomy will be sacrificed, possibly for the rest of your assignment. That's when the others come at you with things they've been putting off for years, like cleaning out stock rooms, inventorying supplies, even dusting and cleaning. Do not ever fall for this trap.
Even if you are bored out of your mind and feel as if you could go stark raving mad at any moment, never show your hand. As long as there is the Internet in front of your face or a book in your hand or even a frickin pen and paper for doodling, you are not "bored."
Trust me on this.
02 May 2007
How Green Was My Dummy
There's this thing that King Lear does that might very well cause me to lose my mind.
It's simple, really. So simple in fact that only an idiot would have any confusion about it.
It's his inability to recycle.
Lear has a black, regular trash can in which to discard things. Sitting DIRECTLY next to it, SO CLOSE THAT IT'S EVEN TOUCHING, is a recycling bin. The recycling bin takes such varied items as plastics and mixed papers. Really, you can throw just about anything in there, and it'll get recycled.
Every day, I go in and see huge amounts of paper and plastic water bottles in his regular trash bin. I grit my teeth, pull the stuff out, and move it to the recycle bin. I drop hints. I give dirty looks. It doesn't matter. You'd think he'd notice that all his papers are sitting in the recycle bin and that the trash bin seems to be emptying itself magically, but I guess he doesn't. It MUST be that he doesn't notice, because I don't want to hear that he doesn't care.
This, again, is a completely commonplace phenomenon company-wide, even though this studio is considered to be a company on the forefront of green technology and practices. People don't CARE. They don't get it, they don't see it, and they don't care. There is opportunity all around them to recycle, to power down, to conserve in general and they just don't do it.
I think social ostracism is the only way to make it happen. As a temp, this involves making sure that your disdain and disgust is voiced loudly and with purpose. You can get away with this more as a temp than a real employee because you are, on some level, seen as the objective observer. "Can you BELIEVE these people, putting water bottles in the trash?" I say, "Why are they even USING water bottles when there's a water cooler right there and they have their own glasses?" "Why the hell did you leave your monitor on overnight?" "You ordered a plastic takeout box and then ate it there? Why not use a plate?" "Wait, you want me to print out a 168 page PDF when it's totally readable online?" "Who was the numbskull who ordered virgin paper?" etc.
The bin is one inch to your left, sir. One inch.
It's simple, really. So simple in fact that only an idiot would have any confusion about it.
It's his inability to recycle.
Lear has a black, regular trash can in which to discard things. Sitting DIRECTLY next to it, SO CLOSE THAT IT'S EVEN TOUCHING, is a recycling bin. The recycling bin takes such varied items as plastics and mixed papers. Really, you can throw just about anything in there, and it'll get recycled.
Every day, I go in and see huge amounts of paper and plastic water bottles in his regular trash bin. I grit my teeth, pull the stuff out, and move it to the recycle bin. I drop hints. I give dirty looks. It doesn't matter. You'd think he'd notice that all his papers are sitting in the recycle bin and that the trash bin seems to be emptying itself magically, but I guess he doesn't. It MUST be that he doesn't notice, because I don't want to hear that he doesn't care.
This, again, is a completely commonplace phenomenon company-wide, even though this studio is considered to be a company on the forefront of green technology and practices. People don't CARE. They don't get it, they don't see it, and they don't care. There is opportunity all around them to recycle, to power down, to conserve in general and they just don't do it.
I think social ostracism is the only way to make it happen. As a temp, this involves making sure that your disdain and disgust is voiced loudly and with purpose. You can get away with this more as a temp than a real employee because you are, on some level, seen as the objective observer. "Can you BELIEVE these people, putting water bottles in the trash?" I say, "Why are they even USING water bottles when there's a water cooler right there and they have their own glasses?" "Why the hell did you leave your monitor on overnight?" "You ordered a plastic takeout box and then ate it there? Why not use a plate?" "Wait, you want me to print out a 168 page PDF when it's totally readable online?" "Who was the numbskull who ordered virgin paper?" etc.
The bin is one inch to your left, sir. One inch.
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