Note on the title: a little bit of alliteration never killed anyone, right? Also, Portland's motto is "The City that Works," but unofficially, "The City that Works...part-time" as a reference to the fact that there's such a large music/arts community here that just have "day jobs" to pay rent while they can pursue their passion in whatever field they chose. I just hope I can create something good while I'm here. Otherwise I'll be doing the city a grave injustice.
Gargh, why am I staying up late to make a post when I should be sleeping so I can be fresh and pert and perky for tomorrow's 7 a.m. clock-in?
Perhaps it is the same answer which explains my other self-destructive behaviors: masochism.
So, today was my first day employed as a temp for the Fred Meyer corporation. The crew in accounts payable seem friendly and well-humored, perhaps even as snarky-in-the-good-way as my former co-workers at TIS. One of them even joked that one of my responsibilities (along with refilling the coffee machine) was to pick up Krispy Kremes every morning for everyone.
There was a slight mixup which I only realized once someone started calling me "Evelyn." It turned out that not only, I was in the completely wrong department, I was in the wrong building. The corporate office for several chains of grocery store, naturally, was enormous. It was like floor after floor of identical labyrinths made of cubicles. The only problem was I didn't even have an ID passcard to get through all of the security doors, let alone Ariadne's golden thread (although I did eventually get an Ident card attached to a retractable string).
It turns out that I'm replacing another temp whose contract is being bought out by the company from the agency. For some reason, I'm thinking of "Memoirs of a Geisha," but without the vague sexual things, the sometimes-purple prose and the ridiculously pretty outfits and ornate ceremonies. Maybe because the woman training me was very personable, but also deliberate about it. I don't mean "deliberately nice" in the fake way, but in the way that nice people want you to know that they really do want to be nice. Either that, or I secretly have the hope of getting my contract "bought out" at some point despite my itchy-feet syndrome (my proclivity towards wandering).
An email from an acquaintance/former co-worker mentioning his own personal journey in finding himself (although over a greater distance and longer period of time with more drastic and dramatic turning points) only confirmed my knowing that I'm probably not going to stay in Portland too long no matter how much I adore it here. As Honk once said to me, "You've still got a lot of wandering to do."
At any rate, the work was like a twilight-zone version of what I used to do with Session A, but was now called Session F. Instead of ISBNs, I had to work with Employee IDs and SSNs. Instead of sorting and cateloguing books, I filed away people under convenient numbers. I'm basically being paid $10.50 an hour to reduce human beings into numbers for the sake of convenience.
Still, at least the people I work with are amicable. My trainer (I was almost tempted to refer to her as Mameha and myself as Chiyo/Sayuri to continue the "Memoirs of a Geisha" comparison, but thought better of it) seemed genuinely interested in even the most boring details of my former life in the Midwest, sometimes wide-eyed and saying "wow, really?" at my details of flat land, corn and soybean fields, the time they shut down the university for two days due to the crazy amount of snow last February.
I guess I'm the same way about the fact that it is possible for me to walk uphill and then downhill on the same street, the fact I can see Mt. Tabor as I walk to Safeway and that it rains here much more than it snows. Then again, perhaps I should have known I wasn't quite in Kansas (or rather, Illinois) anymore when my trainer said "Really? You're from Illinoise?" Then again, my former roommate did get ragged on for saying "Oregone" at her internship.
I was even more amazed that people here actually take their 15 minute breaks unlike at the bookstore. I just felt unproductive and kept staring at the clock in between half-heartedly reading the newspaper/recipe magazines and chewing on my peanut butter sandwich in the break room. Downstairs is a cafeteria where I should avoid taking lunch (even though the guys who work there are generous, one of them ended up giving me enough meatloaf servings for two meals...although I would have rather had a surplus of steamed broccoli, which was slightly soggy, but still good and way above the canned green beans they had offered as an alternative vegetable) despite my rather bad habit of not cooking and eating out resurfacing...I guess some things don't change.
I probably should have mentioned earlier that I ended up getting off the bus at the wrong stop and walking around in the rain, getting lost before I was even able to get lost in the corporate headquarters and assigned to the wrong department. I don't know why it didn't occur to me considering how upset I was by it while it was actually happening. Oh well, maybe I am growing up a bit after all if I don't let little things like that bother me for long.
Speaking of the rain and the gray and cold, the weather I came here for is finally here. I thought it was funny that one of my new co-workers once said to my trainer that she was disappointed that her vacation was always sunny but with no rain. Maybe I will fit in here after all.
Still, I feel the occasional melancholy once I realize how alone I really am. Then again, staying inside out of the rain while listening to Elliott Smith probably doesn't help. Or, when I actually do go outside, having "Alameda" (which also happens to be a street in Portland) stuck in my head probably doesn't help either. The funny thing is, I live on Hawthorne and walk up and down it quite often, so having a song about another stretch of Portland road playing in my mind is sort of like cheating.
Gaah...it's almost 1 a.m. and I'm still not that sleepy. I'll probably crash hard tomorrow. Maybe instead of staying in and watching sappy romantic movies while eating fresh baked bread from the Safeway (because I can't always afford the artisan breads at the "good" bakeries on my street, that and I have a penchant for irony) and pre-made soup (I told you, I don't cook...it's better that way otherwise if I get food poisoning, no one will really notice until it's too late), I should take up knitting, or better yet, running.
Ok, now I'm just delirious...time for sleep.
