The Daily Derenger

8/21/2002

**ATTENTION** Make sure you've read the Daily Derenger below this one before continuing!

Day 2 of temp work is in the books. Today was much more quiet than yesterday and there was considerably less mail to sort. No Playboy's to write about. But we did have a few of Playboy's little cousin, Maxim, which I like to call Playboy-lite. To be honest, Maxim has better looking girls than Playboy and since they don't show nudity, more girls are in Maxim. More bang for your buck. Or maybe more beat for your buck. Or maybe not. You see Maxim tells you how to take care of the ladies so you may not need to beat 'nothin'; you may need to keep the ladies from beatin' your door down though, wantin' some more lovin'.

I'll put the highlights of my second day as a mailroom bitch in bullet point form for your reading enjoyment. Since I am so lame and currently have the life of an Anna Nicole fan, I'll even put the events in chronological order.

*Arrived at 8:30am, an hour earlier than on day one. There were about 12 bins of shit to sort so the fun began immediately.
*Consumed my first and, I'm proud to say, only Mountain Dew of the day around 9:15.
*Made my first of nearly 10 trips down the to the shipping/receiving dock to pick up and drop off deliveries.
*Briefly attempted to console a fellow sorter about the man in her life. See how brief it was, I'm not even sure of her name nor the situation. She seemed a bit distraught and, realizing this, and that she was rather cute, I offered my comedic 2-cents telling her "all would be okay" and "you can do better". She sensed my genuine insincerity and the focus went back to junk mail.
*Heard an Eminem song for the third time in 96.3 seconds. I know that's a radio station, too, but it's also how often than damn guy is on the radio. Ja' Rule and Nellie were also representing . Since I don't know too much about hip-hop and think they all sound alike for the most part, I gave it the benefit of the doubt and listened along for a while.
*Eminem for the fourth time was enough. Luckily, I was the only one in the office for a quick sec so I changed it to some rock.
*I got called down for another pick-up.
*Eight minutes later I'm back with package in hand - not mine but the delivered one. The station was back to WMNM and I almost jumped in Lake Michigan. Had I worn my trunks, it would have gone down that way. See, now I'm even writing like that bleach-headed freak. Gone down that way? Bitch pleeze!
*Flipped through Maxim's NFL previews 'cause we actually do read their articles,as long as they're about sports, hot chicks, what to do until you get a hot chick, and how to avoid paying bills. Everything else is unnecessary. Okay, the joke page is great, too.
*Strolled down to the dock a few more times and heard more shitty music.
*Had lunch in a sandwich shop. A cup of cajun jambalaya and a turkey-roast beef-ham n' cheddar and spinach dip sandwich was the choice. Of course, more Maxim reading complemented the dining experience.
*Sat in for a receptionist towards the day's end. I freaked out since the phone answering system looked like the control panel of a Star Trek ship. Nobody called in the 11 minutes I was there. I just looked bored and definitely out of place. Who wants to see some ugly bald guy upon entering a huge ad agency? Right - nobody. I left and created stuff to do back in the mailroom.
*Done for the day. Fought to get a spot on the train that wouldn't have me on someone's lap.
*Now it's 7:47pm and I'm exhausted from doing next to nothing. I have to go do laundry, get to bed by 10 and do it all over again on Thursday.

Third time's a charm. If nothing happens exciting tomorrow, I'll be sure to embellish a bit. Until then, peace out homey. Madd love to my peeps. And keep it real, dawg. Damnit that Eminem!

8/20/2002

Remember that Daily Derenger from a month ago about my computer skills and getting work as a temp employee in corporate America? No? Well then go back and read up on your Daily Derengers. For those of you loyal readers of ShaveYourHead.com, thanks. Today I began working in corporate America. Sort of.

My job today, and possibly the rest of the week, was in a mailroom in one of the tallest buildings in Chicago. From what I've gathered, there are over 15 companies in the building covering around 80 floors. Or I may be totally wrong. Let's go with what I know, though.

The work began at 9:30am after a brisk walk to and from the train. I wasn't sure what was in store for me, but I knew one thing was certain - material awaited. Where there is opportunity, there is opportunity to get my comedy groove on. The movie will be called "How Scottie Got His Comedy Groove Back". It will rank higher than both Pluto Nash and Biodome. I won't settle for anything less. Now let's keep our fingers crossed kids.

From 9:30am - 5pm, my job was to sort over 20 bins of mail from magazines to manila folders to memos. There were both full time staff as well as other temps employed. My partners in crime varied from minute to minute as we all had other jobs assigned at a moment's notice. Dan met me in the lobby, shook my hand, escorted me to the occupational haven, showed me the bins and said, "Have at it."

To break the monotony of tossing junk mail in the slots of people I may never meet, I went to the shipping and receiving dock to pick up deliveries. That told me how much elevators and I don't get along. Or maybe it was being up so high and then going so low in a short time. Or maybe it was that my diet for the day consisted of PB & J on toast, a granola bar, 3 handfuls of two-day old popcorn, 2 Mountain Dews, and 2 scoops of Ben and Jerry's ice cream; Cherry Garcia and Chocolate Fudge Brownie, no less. I deserved to puke. But I didn't. Thought about it, but didn't do it.

The mail only went to one company in the building. Later in the day, I dropped off some packages in various offices and recognized some names on the doors. I may not have seen Jenny Tailya but I knew she was on the 53rd floor and read In Style, TV Guide, and Lesbian Lovers Do Liverpool. Okay, so that last one was just my fantasy. It was really Leavenworth.

Hours went by as anywhere from 2 to 6 of us snagged piles of mail and shoved them in the according boxes. Then it happened. The shiny, plastic wrapper seemingly called my name. It could have gone to anyone but it longed for my touch. "Yes!" I exclaimed. "I finally got one." Now a normal person could guess that a magazine covered in black plastic on all sides had to be a dirty one. And you'd be absoultely correct. It was the only one of its kind in thousands of pieces of mail and it was in my possession. I could see, peaking out of the lone area of clear plastic, a cute little bunny so innocent yet so addictive. Playboy was going in someone's mailbox. But who could it be? (Let it be known that if the name on the mail didn't match a name on our list, the mail was free for the hauling.) I was eager to call first dibs on the Playboy. Afterall, I found it and had unwritten rights to it.

There was only a single initial for the first name. Hmmm, a slightly introverted pervert? Is that possible? However, the last name was the only one of its kind on our list. Damnit anyhow! The Playboy had an owner and I wasn't about to steal it. Why not? Because I wouldn't want to have missed one copy of my 3-year submission just because some mailroom perv was harder-up than I. But wait. It gets better. The initial 'E' on the magazine was that of an Elissa. Hoooooray for honies likin' hoochie! Since it was mostly guys working in the mailroom, we wanted to find out where her office was and see if she was the gorgeous yet dirty girl we hoped she was. But that's as good as it got. The same girl later received Rolling Stone, so we concurred that we'd all like one night with her. Updates to follow.

That was about the highlight of the day. I'm going back tomorrow. There is so much more to write about today's experience though. But because I can't type worth shit (which is why I got the job sorting mail in the first place) I'm off for a night of open-mic comedy. I'll be sure to write about if I puke on day 2 or if I find some more dirty girls on the 53rd floor. That is the title of a Cinemax flick if ever I heard one: Dirty Girls on the 53rd Floor. Original story from the vaults of the Daily Derenger.