Employment of the Month: The Unfortunately True Adventures of FAXBoy and FileGrrl

By FAXBoy and FileGrrl

This fast-and-furious memoir is told through a series of modified exit-interview questionnaires that chronicles the friendship of two artists, one straight (FileGrrl) and one gay (FAXBoy), by way of our “extensive” work histories. Clocking in at over 50 jobs, this book is the perfect read for those times when you find yourself stuck in line at the bank or standing in the unemployment line itself!

"Laugh-out-loud funny!" – WendyVastaArt

"Fun with terrible jobs! The perfect train selection, actually, this is a must-read." – Just Jenn

"As a comedian, I find it highly annoying when this book is funnier than I am. It will, however, inspire you to quit a crap job yourself, and that's always a good thing." – Neil Thornton

• Language: English
• Publisher: FAXBoy
• Release date: Nov 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452350943

FAXBoy

Author, Disemployment Specialist, and eBook Champion, FAXBoy holds an MFA from The Iowa City Skool for Incredibly Famous Writers of the Future.

Book preview

Employment of the Month

by

FAXBoy + FileGrrl

Smashwords Edition

Copyright FAXBoy + FileGrrl 2010

All Photos by FAXBoy

Cover by Juraj Podolak

Additional Graphic Design by Patrick Stephenson

Proofread by Ori Fienberg

employmentofthemonth.blogspot.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes and Legalese:

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for that person. If you’re reading this book and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own (damn) copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

Names have been changed.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever had a job and lost it and to everyone who currently has a job that they no longer want.

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Contents

Fast Eddie’s

Old Hotel

Hotel de Vile

Cajün Bürger Fürher

The Department of Parks and Wreckreation

Barker’s Discount

The Kamikaze Clothing Company

Daybreakery

The Mailroom in The Crapitol

Sage Dining Hall

Fabric Store #1

That Plumbing Supply Place

The Department of Fiscal Difficulties

Lemme’s Market

Regional Puppet Fuckers

Freshman Dining Hall, Super Wicked Old College

Sasha of Luxembourg

Continuing Studies, Super Wicked Old College

Famous Vaudeville Theater

Development Office, Super Wicked Old College

Last Gasp Furniture & Interiors

1-(800)-GET-MEDZ (FileGrrl)

1-(800)-GET-MEDZ (FAXBoy)

The Next Generation (FAXBoy)

The Next Generation (FileGrrl)

The Electric City Café

Insurance Agency

Regional HMO

Disney’s Flopper

Famous Vaudeville Theatre

The Tucked Away Café

Colossal Publishing Company #1

Linda’s Blue Bayou

Theatre DayGlo

The San Francisco Skool for Incredibly Famous Artists of The Future

IDon’tCareData.com

LookStupid.com

Knights in Shining Hardware

Transcribers ‘R Us!

Information Superhighway

The San Francisco Skool for Incredibly Famous Musicians of The Future

Colossal Publishing Company #2

Color Me Annoyed

Wretched Wireless

That Truck Routing Place

Strive House

Weird Bank & Distrust

Bongs ‘N Schlongs

GirlieGlitter.com

CAT, Inc.

Nurses, Etc.

The Smalltown Dark-Times

Acknowledgements

Author Bios

Call for Submissions

Fast Eddie’s

Employee:

FileGrrl

Location:

Loch Sheldrake, New York

Approximate Tenure:

1 1/2 weeks in the fall of 1981

Position Held:

Sandwich Maker/Cashier

AKA:

New Girl

Elapsed Time Before Job Search Resumed:

One week

Compensation:

$0.00

Commute:

A mile walk along a county highway, the pleasantness eclipsed by the ocular and bronchial onslaught of exhaust fumes from passing cars and trucks.

Commute Time:

15 - 20 minutes

Physical Environment:

A ’70s deli on a beautiful lake said to contain Jimmy Hoffa’s body. Very small, perhaps four tables total. Everything seemed second-hand and well used. The meats, cheeses, and rolls were, strangely enough, very fresh and very good the first week. By the second, though, the deli case was noticeably sparse (as if someone had forgotten to place an order or was stealing slabs of roast beef. Or perhaps both).

The rumors about the deli were flying from the get-go: the store was a front and Eddie was a bookie. Eddie had mob connections. Eddie was laundering money. Eddie was this. Eddie was that. But word on the street was also that Eddie needed some help and I arrived at exactly the right time. I figured I could at least make a few sandwiches for fellow students and make some cash. Nothing else was really my business and all of it was hearsay, anyway.

I worked approximately five shifts over two weekends at minimum wage.

Emotional Environment:

It was free (as Eddie was rarely around). He made sure I could make a decent sandwich, accurately count change, and mop a floor. After that, I was completely on my own.

Nemeses:

None

Allies:

None

Living Situation(s):

Alone, in a glorious if somewhat shabby, one-room bungalow. The entire area was decaying in its own pitiful way; the bars I drank in were where KISS allegedly got its start, the school the same as it was when Gene Simmons had attended at least ten years prior. (Would that I had had one quarter of Mr. Simmons’ business acumen at the time.)

When I Knew:

The next bit of intrigue was that my shift partner, an older guy named Johnny, had shown up to work, trashed the deli, demanded his back pay, and beaten Eddie. Then, depending on who you talked to, Eddie: A) was in the hospital, B) locked the door, took the cash, and left town, or C) performed B after A. Regardless of these scenarios, or how they went down, I never saw Eddie again.

Departure:

Abrupt. I walked by the deli and it was closed. It never opened again. Eddie still owes me $75, but I’ve forgiven him. Really.

What I Think About When I Think About This Damn Job:

That this was my first job.

Old Hotel

Employee:

FileGrrl

Location:

Liberty, New York

Approximate Tenure:

One hour on December 24th, 1981

Position Held:

A Something

AKA:

HR Mirage

Elapsed Time Before Job Search Resumed:

Didn’t stay/didn’t look

Compensation:

I got to spend the holidays with my family

Commute:

Up the long driveway from employee housing to The Old Hotel, herself, through piles of snow. (And back down again.) Once. Each way.

Commute Time:

0 hours, 0 minutes, and 0 seconds (give or take a few minutes for the snow).

Physical Environment:

A freezing cold, drafty, older-than-fuck, Jewish resort in The Catskills. I parked in the semi-frozen mud in the back of something called The Playhouse (all slaves and goyim were required to slink in through the rear entrance), reported to my room, unlocked the door, flipped on the light, and found an elderly woman lying naked on her bed. She was apparently my new roommate. Neither of us had been expecting the other and she was unclothed because the ancient radiators had been cranked to full blast (as the hotel boilers were working overtime due to the weather) and they were leaking puddles of skanky, steamy sludge both onto, and into, the linoleum tiles. She’d thrown open her/our sash to let the snow in and I stepped over a small drift to get to the bathroom. I tried to make nice with her, but she wouldn’t speak to me. She stood up violently to snap off the light (momentarily flashing her angry geriatric beaver at me), whipped a sheet over her shriveled body, and flopped back down on the bed with her face to the wall.

Emotional Environment:

An antique jail cell (my infraction unknown) complete with an equally-antiquated cellmate totally removed from my friends and family, from any hope of a decent meal, jokes, laughter, or privacy.

Nemeses:

My cellmate

Allies:

My ’73 sun-bleached avocado Nova out in the parking lot (still warm from my commute)

Living Situation(s):

I was transitioning from one crummy apartment that I couldn’t afford to another crummy apartment that I also could not afford. I loved living away from home and was looking forward to all of the new people I’d meet. I thought I’d just make new friends all the time out in the world, like we did in college and that everyone else was as eager to let the good times roll as I was. This was my introduction to the fact that everybody went home for Christmas break. No one stayed. The talk on campus was that if you landed a seasonal hotel gig, you’d work your hours and then have plenty of time to frolic or what-have-you after your shift. It was clear from the moment that I arrived, however, that this proverbial frolicking was not going to be part of my particular seasonal hotel-gig experience. The kids that I saw in the hallway of The Playhouse already seemed to know each other, so I was the odd woman out from the start (and I knew that this was not going to work out for me on any level, whatsoever).

When I Knew:

Strangely enough, it was a (relatively) slow burn. I took a shower to think about it. I really had my sights set on responsibility and stoicism. By the end of the shower, though, I was clean, my head was clear, and my bag was still packed.

Departure:

Abrupt. I spent about twenty minutes locked in the bathroom figuring out my next move before loading everything back into the car for the two-hour drive to my parents’ house through the blizzard and the blinding snow (to surprise my mom for Christmas-Eve dinner). Did not stop, did not pass Go.

What I Think About When I Think About This Damn Job:

That naked still happens at 75. (God bless her.)

Hotel de Vile

Employee:

FileGrrl

Location:

Liberty, New York

Approximate Tenure:

Passover 1983

Position Held:

Spa Attendant

AKA:

Bathroom Maid-in-Waiting

Elapsed Time Before Job Search Resumed:

Search resumed immediately

Compensation:

Unknown ($3.50/hour, perhaps?)

Commute:

Involved listening to a lot of Led Zeppelin in the same four-wheeled faded beauty that got me to the last hotel job (until the stereo quit)

Commute Time:

One half-hour, each way (parking for sub-humans in the back, as usual)

Physical Environment:

Another nice Jewish resort. Old, venerated, established, and decrepit. The answer to every decorating conundrum and storage snafu was to drape some white-painted lattice fencing around the visual offense. (Lattice fence used indoors was Jewish resort code for You Don’t See This.) Example: A piano, covered in dust and schmutz with keys sorely in need of replacement, that has been wheeled out of a nightclub and into a hallway to protect its finish (Still good!) Solution: Surround it with three large sheets of white latticework fencing, et viola! You don’t see it! I caught on quick, but really, the whole place was a curiosity.

Emotional Environment:

Some combination of repressive, boring, and very depressing (which, I guess, made it brery drepressing). My time was spent mopping the ladies’ locker room and showers. I’d grown up in a family that could easily afford to stay in better hotels, so I wasn’t used to being on the other side of the housekeeping equation. It seemed an easy tit-for-tat: Do what you were asked and get a paycheck at the end of the week. But this world didn’t work like that. I did what I was told, which didn’t seem like very much, and I finished my assigned tasks inside of about ninety minutes. (As far as I was concerned, my work was done.) My shift was 7.5 hours long. Then what? There was nowhere to actually stand and nothing actually to do. Nasty Nancy, my boss and ring leader for the ladies’ spa, introduced me to the idea of work for the sake of appearances. She referred to me as The Spa Girl and in this hotel, apparently, there should always be some woman (me) scurrying to tidy up after guests. I should be fastidious about tidiness. (I wasn’t all that concerned.) Once a wastebasket was emptied, it was empty, and I could not improve upon its emptiness. I’d no idea how to play concierge to people who wouldn’t talk to me. What I mistook for rudeness was really symptomatic of the social pecking order. As soon as I understood that part, I just checked out emotionally. From their standpoint, I’m certain that I was viewed as the laziest Spa Girl in the world.

Nemeses:

Nasty Nancy, Spa Hostess. She was a fixture with her own podium and appointment book and she *loved* to order me around. I don’t think it was personal; it’s just what she did with all of her underlings. She didn’t want me to waste a single second. The problem being, there really wasn’t that much to do, other than to pick up towels, wheel them to the laundry facility at the other end of the hotel, pour orange juice into little pleated paper cups, and arrange them on the dark brown plastic trays perched on the edge of the hot tub. By day three, I wised up considerably and tucked The Lord of the Rings into my pants. When my work was caught up and Nasty Nancy wasn’t looking, I’d slip into a