So as you've probably already read in the post below, I was lured into the exotic world of temping last week, originally called in for Wednesday and Thursday, but then, Thursday evening, called in for Friday as well. "Great," I thought, "another day of packing files, alone in the fluorescent goodness of the fileroom (pictured here)." Meh. It was easy and mindless, I didn't need to have contact with any of the lemmings tittering around the place, so , whatever.

So I show up, and the girl at the front takes me back to the cube where the girl I was "working for" sat. I knew she was heading to Vegas and was more than likely already drunk and hammering a male prostitute, so I found it odd that I would wind up here....unless....

Oh shit.

"Today, you'll be assistant to two executives, you know: Answering their phones, typing up emails..." After that initial sentence, i don't remember much.

I can barely answer my own home phone, let alone 7 lines between 2 incredibly busy and important executive-types. Following the 95 pounds of shit that was released into my pants, I excused myself to the bathroom and seriously considered telling them in an hour that I felt nauseous and thought I should leave . Because I knew that I would and that I should.

I stuck it out, barely grasping what the hell was going on, balancing ten pie plates spinning on poles, rapidly filled out my time card, and RAN to my car, just in case some bizarre, last minute phone call kept me tethered to the desk.

Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm a grown man, fer Chrissakes.