A Friday In The Life of Two Parasitical Drains On Humanity

Written by Peter File

We like to think that this publication gives the impression of being a well oiled machine, produced by a team of professionals with an insatiable hunger for entertaining the masses. While this may be true, it may shock you to learn that almost our entire staff have day jobs.

Eddie is a junior production assistant for an advertising agency. Stefan is a phlebotomist and medical research officer. Logan is a highly successful corporate efficiency and attrition consultant, and has published a book of analogies for business executives.

The rest of us, however, are entombed in various temporary positions for a variety of multinational organisations trading in anything from banking to child labour - sometimes both.

The life of a temp is fraught with uncertainty and instability. Whilst we have the same fiscal responsibilities as permanent employees, the unfortunate truth is that our roles exist only as long as our masters deem them necessary. Much like a slow witted wildebeest grazing nervously in the Serengeti, we are painfully aware that each day could be our last.

Keeping in mind this absence of job security, one can only imagine the reaction of the hundreds of temps employed by my particular job agency upon receiving the following document last week - A Friday in the Life of Britney and Christina*.

Britney and Christina had joined forces to create a document designed to educate the masses on the importance of not forgetting their timesheets on Friday. Utilizing the criminally underused artistic medium of Microsoft Clipart and blending it with their own unique brand of humour, the gals had created something both eye-catching and informative.

It was a touching cartoon timeline of our pair of protagonists becoming increasingly frustrated with the need to repeatedly undertake the unquestionably arduous task of faxing timesheets to those pesky forgetful temps.

Now, being an occasional merchant of sarcasm, I got the joke. Rolling around the floor laughing my arse off I was, or as the acronym-filled internet would have it, ROFLMAO.

However, the thought struck me that temps not blessed with my keen eye for champagne comedy would perhaps have missed the joke entirely. Thus, I have created a translation of this wonderful document for the benefit of all temps.

9.00am – Oh, you’ve forgotten your timesheet, don’t worry, I will fax one through to you.

Actual: Oh, you’ve forgotten your timesheet. I’ll fax one through to you, right after I finish this delicious slappacino. Mmm…coffee and vodka.

9.30am – Oh, you left your timesheet on the bus, don’t worry, I will fax you one.

Actual: The bus. Although not familiar with it myself, I have heard of it. It is for poor people if I’m not mistaken. Ooh! Those shoes look nice, where’s my credit card?

10.10am – Oh! Your dog ate your timesheet, yes I’ll fax you one.

Actual: Hmm…it’s after 10, sounds like coke o’clock. Britney! Rack ‘em up!

12.30pm – No, I hadn’t forgotten your timesheet, I’m just faxing it through!

Actual: No, I hadn’t forgotten your timesheet, I was just a little distracted by all the posh I did in the toilets earlier. Duh, idiot.

13.40pm – Oh! Your sister took your timesheet to school, don’t worry, I will fax one to you!

Actual: Oh! I like that word. It is easy to say. Oh! Ha ha. Oh.

14.55pm – Timesheet! Timesheet! Timesheet! Timesheet! Timesheet!

Actual: Cocktails! Cocktails! Cocktails! Cocktails! Cocktails!

15.35pm – Yes, timesheet, I know!

Actual: Yes, I’m awesome, I know!

16.15pm – Your Mum took your timesheet to work!

Actual: You don’t have those shoes in a six?

16.45pm – Blah blah blah…

Actual: Coke coke coke…

17.30pm – Cat ate your timesheet?

Actual: Have I eaten today? I hope not.

17.31pm – Timesheet, yes I’m faxing it.

Actual: If there is a more delicious cocktail than a Cosmo, I don’t want to know about it.

20.00pm – Zzzzz timesheet zzzz timesheet zzzzzzz…

Actual: Buzzzzz cocktail buzzzzz cocktail buzzzzzz…

My word. What a cheap, unimaginative attack on a pair of ladies that are probably quite nice. What on earth could lead you to presume that they are raging alcoholics and massive cocaine fiends? Why should they spend half their day faxing timesheets just because lowly temps are forgetful? What gives you the right to launch such a venomous assault on them?

Whoa, whoa. One question at a time, voices in my head that I am unable to silence.

Firstly, it has been established that alcohol impairs judgement somewhat. Similarly, it has been proven that cocaine consumption leads to a massive boost in self-confidence. Upon viewing the document in question, the only conclusion one could possibly draw is that this is indeed the work of someone that has been doing the backstroke in a pool of cocktails, the lanes in the aforementioned pool marked out with a substance undoubtedly of Colombian origin.

As to why they should spend the better part of a day slaving away at the fax machine, the answer is far more straightforward. Quite simply, it’s their job. If you took away their other responsibilities (said responsibilities being lying to people and receiving exorbitant commissions), recruitment consultants would have absolutely nothing to do.

Wages are paid in return for executing the tasks specific to one’s job description. Cops don’t send out witty comics saying “Umm, okay guys, we’re having to deal with a few too many crimes on the weekends…could we maybe try and remember that, like, you know, shooting people is illegal and stuff?”

In terms of justification for such a poisonous tirade, I could point out that I’ve never forgotten my timesheet, but that would be missing the point entirely. These clowns are complaining not just about having to do their job, but about having to carry out what is arguably the most menial task available in an office environment.

Put document in machine. Dial number. Press send. Repeat as necessary.

The simple fact that this pair of morons were so overburdened with complex tasks that they could find the time to construct such a ridiculously pointless document, proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that they have more than enough time to fax a couple of timesheets in between their next Cosmo or line of posh.




*Names changed because you can’t afford a lawsuit on a temp wage