Ya Get What Ya Pay For, Part the Second

Yeah, everyone knows that the market value of certain job skills are entirely dependent on the local economy. In A Town Near You, $11.50 an hour could get me significantly farther than it does in the Greater Chicagoland Area--although it still wouldn't help me make my student loan payments. So, given my current location, I thought I'd make a list of things you could reasonably expect me to do for $11.50 an hour:

1. Remove staple. Remove staple. Remove staple.

2. Insert staple. Insert staple. Insert staple.

3. I will competently file all manner of papers in alphabetical, numerical, chronological, or, if we're getting a little fancy, reverse chronological order.

4. I will answer phones--even multiple-line- switchboards--promptly and politely. I will answer basic questions. I will happily transfer you to the relevant party.

5. I will responsibly operate the paging system: "Chuckles, you have a call on Line 1. Chuckles--Line 1."

6. I will greet visitors with a smile, and I'll let you know they're here. I will even lie and say you're not here, when really you just. Cannot. Deal. With them. Right now.

7. I will stuff, post, and mail envelopes. (I secretly love operating the postage machine.) I will not, however, lick the envelopes to seal them. Side note: Once when I was temping, an office manager actually expected me to lick 574 envelopes for a mailing project. Never again, people. Never again.

8. I will participate in Office Craft Time. You know, I'll fill out the little Pendaflex folder tabs. I'll create your temporary signs--or "signage", as they maddeningly say in business. I'll make your Safety Star of the Week awards. Again, back in my temping days, I worked at a "solid-surface counter top" factory, and I was once asked to cut 100 4-inch diameter circles out of steel wool. I have no idea what they were used for, but I received endless compliments on how great they looked.

9. I will Solve Unexpected Problems As They Arise. I promise, I'll come up with something. I will not just sit there with dead eyes and a little bovine gum-smacking thrown in for good measure. The solution may be unusual or unnecessarily complicated or Not What You Want To Hear Right Now, but I'll figure something out. A solution you're delighted with? That costs extra.

10. I will respond promptly and calmly in the case of an emergency, including--but not limited to--the performance of the following actions: calling 911; applying direct pressure to excessively-bleeding wounds; keeping someone immobile in case of a potential bone fracture or spinal cord injury; treating shock; keeping someone calm and alert until the ambulance arrives; performing the Heimlich Maneuver. I will not perform CPR, as I've forgotten how, but if an employer wants to send me to a paid, two-day CPR course, I'll gladly go.

11. I will generally maintain a light, pleasant office atmosphere, which, let's face it, is the receptionist's highest (if unspoken) purpose. I'll laugh at your jokes, no matter how bad. I'll small talk the salespeople. I'll do the Non-Threatening Flirt with the delivery drivers. I'll basically try to make your day a little bit happier. Because really, why else am I there? Okay, besides the paycheck.

And for the extra $0.50 . . .

11.50 If pressed, I'll make coffee. But it's going to taste pretty bad because I never get the water-to-coffee ratio right .

Now of course, this list is not exactly representative of what I'm currently expected to do at The Company. As previously discussed, my dollars-to-duties is way, way off. So if you're only forking out a measly $11.50 an hour (in the G.C.L.A.), here's a list of what you can also expect from me:

1. I will not manage, snitch, hassle, or hustle. You want a little hustle? Then pony up, cheapskate. And no, you cannot pay me enough to snitch.

2. I will spend a lot of time daydreaming. My most recent go-to daydreams are about:

2A. Throwing an old-school tea party, with Afternoon Dresses and lacquered trays and petit fours and sugar in little cubes and those crazy tri-level serving dishes where each level is a smaller circle than the one below it.

AND

2B. Standing down in the pit of a raucous concert and making out with some random, anonymous boy in front of the stage.

3. I will make liberal use of whatever distracting media is in the immediate area. If I have unrestricted, unmonitored access, I will surf the Inta-Nets and the Inter-Webs during any downtime, no matter how small. I will find a radio, and I will listen to it all day. I will not set the station to "the Lite" or "the Mix" or "the Lite Mix" or "the Mix Lite" or whatever the hell. I will sing along with all the songs I like, and if I really like a song, I will chair dance.

4. I will write paper letters to my friends. I will write notes for blog entries.

5. I will play helpless or plead newness (as in, "Sorry--I'm new here!") if customers try to get me to do something that is either vastly complicated or not my job, even if I figured out how to do it a couple of weeks ago. And no, I won't tell you where Jackie is: "Sorry--I'm new here!" There is no Jackie. Get off my jock.

6. I will play ignorant about office politics, conflicts, and pet peeves, even though I learned all about them my first week via SuperHuman Eavesdropping.

7. If you yell at me, or a customer yells at me, or anyone else in or around the office vicinity yells at me or otherwise expresses anger/vents frustrations/conveys displeasure in anything even approaching a yelling fashion, I will do one of two things:

7A. I will go blank. I will get that look of frozen shock on my face. I won't be able to respond for at least a full 60 seconds after you stop yelling, long enough for your shouty-shouty to hang on the dead air. And then, I'll only be able to respond in a simple sentence like "I don't know" or "I was at lunch" or "But I don't use the men's room". I will be completely incapable of any higher brain function, let alone address any of the content of your tirade.

OR

7B. I will cry. Right then. Right in front of you. I will not be a soldier. I will not run to the bathroom. I will not take it like a champ. I will cry giant, raindrop tears, complete with big, snotty sniffles. And if it makes you feel terrible or guilty or awkward or uncomfortable, then it serves you right for being such an ogre. For 40+K, I'll take it like a champ.

8. I will not come in early, and I will not stay late--unless, of course, I'm getting paid overtime. If, by some strange glitch in the rush hour universe, I happen to arrive at work 10 minutes early, I will sit in my car in the parking lot and put on makeup while listening to the stereo until it's time to punch the clock, or in the case of The Company, until it's time to stick my eyeball in the retina scanner. There will be no freebies.

9. When I run out of stuff to do--i.e. the envelopes are all posted and the phone isn't ringing--the I will read fashion magazines. And if it's really slow, I'll bust out a novel. Just like the Office Babysitter.

10. I will make lots of lists. Stuff to Do Tonight. Stuff to Do This Weekend. Stuff to Do Someday. Countdown to Quit Day!. CDs to Buy. Mix Tape Play Lists. Books to Read This Summer. Books to Read Before I'm Too Old To Remember Anything I've Read. Important Concert Dates. And so on, and so on.

11. I will conduct my personal business. I will write out my bills and make doctor appointments and make hair appointments. I will check my phone. I will text my friends. However, I will not check my personal e-mail because I KNOW YOU'RE WATCHING, YOU INTER-WEB-MONITORING BASTARD!!!!!

And for the extra $0.50 . . .

11.50 If I'm deprived of basic human rights, like unmonitored access to the Inta-Nets, and I've run out of everything else, I will sit and do absolutely nothing, seeing just how long I can remain perfectly still. Because really, you get what you pay for.