DEPARTMENT OF EVIL

Three weeks ago I started my first temp to perm job.

I was all bright eyed and bushy tailed, and couldn't wait to prove to them what I could do so I could advance my way to having vacations and weekends off, and real health insurance. No more battling the bird flu with over the counter Tylenol cold medicine for me. I was in the big leagues now.

Two weeks later, I quit my first temp to perm job, strolled outside into the beautiful 75 degree weather and sprawled out in Central Park. I had never felt better.

I had learned my first corporate office lesson. Temp jobs are evil. Turnover rate is higher than any restaurant job I'd ever worked, including fast food chains. My job included updating data bases in an office where no one spoke to each other or even introduced themselves. Nine hours of awkward silence was too much for me.

Remnants of previous temps were shattered around my computer and desk area. It was like finding remains in a archeological site, proving that an entire civilization of other struggling college grads existed before my arrival. Most of the evidence was cover letters and resumes that had been saved on my computer, and I realized that they spent their time at the workplace applying on the internet for other jobs. Not a good sign.

On, my second day, I received a shocking greeting when I came in the door. "Oh, you came back for another day." Also not a good sign. I soon found out that coffee pots were outlawed because they used up too much energy. I too, thought this was a joke.

After a week, I was finally introduced to someone, when I had somehow gotten on the company's online subscription list. My cell phone rang, and I allowed them to try and sign me up for a few moments before saying.

"There's no need to sign me up for a subscription. I work here. I'm Amber, by the way, and if you look directly over your cubicle, you will see me, live and in person."

TOTALLY REDEEM YOURSELF

My faith in humanity is totally restored. After recently thinking that I had the walk-out of the century, I found out that I was dead wrong. At first, I was angry at myself for jumping to conclusions, but, looking back, who wouldn't have? It turns out, my table of professionals were actually just amateur parkers.

I came into work the "morning after" my 200$ unpaid tab, and asked my general manager if the owner was angry about losing money from that table.
"Oh, by the way. They didn't walk out," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"I forgot to call and tell you, those kids that skipped on the bill, called this morning. Apperantly, their car was getting towed, and they all ran out the door after it. They gave me their credit card number, paid the entire bill, and left you a 40$ tip."

For the first time in a while, I was totally speechless.

RESPECT

It was carefully planned, beautifully executed. The only comforting thought for me after I fell for their scam was that they were professionals.

There were four of them, mid-twenties. My first guess was that they had classes together and had just gotten out. There was only a couple other tables in the restaurant, so I didn't mind so much that they were asking specifics about every item on the menu. I gave recommendations. It took them almost 20 minutes to reach a decision. And after, they commented, "Wow, that took us way too long to decide. Let's go have a cigarette." And all four left to smoke.

When they asked about our wines and cocktails, I let them try samples first. I went all out with this table. Perfect service, they were loving everything. After they finished their entrees, I cleared the table and dropped the dessert menus off. They ordered three espressos, and a couple of desserts. And, since this was quite a while since their first smoke, they decided to go for a second. I heard one of them mention it in passing, and I went to the bar to make their espressos and ring in their dessert order. I set the espressos on the table, and noticed their bags were gone as well. Strange, I thought. It seemed odd that there wasn't a single item left behind. No umbrella, or jacket, sunglasses, nothing. Of course, as time passed, there was no sign of them.

Their check was almost 200$. I was livid. Not only had they dine and ditched, they were sweet as pie about doing it. "How is everything?" I asked when their food arrived. "Oh, it's wonderful, great recommendations, thanks so much." Luckily for me, my manager understood. Such is not always they case, and many times a waitress has to pay the bill. As mad as I was, I had to admire their little act. It was really genius. The timing was perfect. They waited for me to go make the espressos, and by ordering dessert they sealed the deal. They knew I would think nothing of them going out for a second cigarette. They must hit up every restaurant in Manhattan. I've got to hand it to them, respect.