[ t e m p i n g ]

 

The temp is talking on the office telephone, playing with telephone cord or stapler. 

Yeah, yeah, it truly makes you feel dead inside.  Temping is like Russian roulette with a fully loaded barrel:  you could get a poorly paid job where you don't actually do much but sit around till rigor mortis sets in, or get paid more and work like a penniless widow saving up for her coffin.  (PAUSE) No, if you're not working, you get bored, and then time goes by so slowly it feels like you're being buried alive.  On the other hand when you're working your fingers to the bone for a bit more cash, time flies, but at the end of every day you're f*cking knackered- you just wanna die.  Oh shit here comes the boss, er (SITTING UP STRAIGHT) No sir you've come through to the funeral director's office, I'll put you back to the switchboard. 

The temp presses a key, hangs up and pretends to type furiously while looking through the corners of his eye at his boss walking past.

 

 

 

 

Unless stated otherwise, text is copyright Alan François.  All rights reserved.

 

 

 

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