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| Tuesday, March 28, 2006 |
| Atajob |
I worked yesterday.
The temp agency rang at 9:15 (I was still in bed... Mr Ata has been working ridiculous hours over the weekend - one hours sleep on Saturday night! - the result of which being that I think I was awake more than asleep last night. At least there was some rain and thunder to listen to.), and asked if I wanted to work that day. Trying to sound like I was awake, I agreed. I wouldn't be there until 10:30, though, I warned.
So with the agreement of the client, 10:30 it was. In the shower, wash hair, sort out which clothes are still good enough to wear to an office (time for some shopping soon), eat something, put coffee in travel mug, remember to top up the kitty litter before you go or there may be unpleasant surprises on your return, oops left the bit of paper with the address on it inside, okay, now we're off. 10:05. I'm making good time.
A quick scan of the street directory suggests it'll be a pretty clean and easy run. I did run into an extended stretch of roadworks... what was usually an 80k zone was cut down to 40, then 25, but I was still travelling okay for time. Corner of Bolivar and Burton.... okay. Here's a problem. The intersection of Bolivar and Burton is a roundabout. I cruise about a bit, hoping a giant chicken processing factory will suddenly manifest itself in the middle of this very residential area. No luck. Better call the temp agency before they think you're late.
Temp agency handler says it's definately the corner of Bolivar and Burton, but hang tight and she'll check with the client for another landmark. She calls back. It's on the right, she says. As you're approaching from Port Wakefield. That's where I was coming from, I protest, and I definately don't see a chicken factory here. But I'll drive a bit further along Burton, just in case.
So I do. But it's absolutely not there. Quite sure now that I haven't just overlooked an enormous poultry processing plant, I check the street directory to be sure I am, in fact, on the right street. While I do so, the agency handler calls again. It's where Burton intersects with Port Wakefield, she reports. But Burton runs parallel to Port Wakefield, I wail! The agency handler is out of ideas. Perhaps I should call the client directly. After getting off the phone, I look more closely at the street directory. I follow Burton along with my finger. No, it definitely doesn’t intersect with Port Wakefield. In fact, it comes to a dead end.
But wait! What’s that?!
Burton comes to a dead end. Then there’s a little gap, and then… more of Burton! AND it takes a sharp left to connect with Port Wakefield!
Excited, I take off back to Port Wakefield. Ten minutes along – there it is. The giant chicken factory. I pull into the carpark, and call the temp agency to tell them I’m there and they gave me the wrong address. In fact, they didn’t even have the right suburb.
I’m only half an hour late. Oh well. The job is pretty easy. I spend the day handing out application forms, explaining application forms, entering application details to the database, and administering a dexterity test. I like administering tests. Occasionally I have to take calls from people who are cross that their job applications have been turned down, and these I offer to have someone else call them back. After all, I’m only the temp.
At the end of the day, the supervisor seems pleased. He explains that they might need me again tomorrow. I tell him that’s fine, but I have an appointment at 9:30.
And I wouldn’t be able to make it until 11. |
posted by Ata @ 1:40 pm  |
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