LIFE OF A TEMP WORKER Find Out How America Really Works

Being a temporary employee is like being an understudy for an actor in a play who has no lines. You move around the stage and perform the actions required, but you never get to take center stage, and you hardly ever get to speak more than a few lines.

One day in early August, I had the opportunity to take on just such a role, working as temporary office worker at Freudenberg Building Systems in Lawrence, Massachusetts. Not only was I well paid for my efforts, but my efforts were so appreciated that I was encouraged to come back. Unfortunately, I had to tell them that my assignment was for one day and one day only. In the theater of work, I was only a traveling understudy.

I had registered myself with six different temporary employment agencies back in June, but after an entire month of waiting for a job, I still hadn't managed to snag a position, even for one day. A couple agencies had called and offered me jobs that paid $15 an hour, but I hadn't been able to take them because of my internship -- if you can't work five days a week, you can't work. One time I had the perfect job set up for me at Hewlett Packard -- three days a week, $12 an hour, work I could do -- but it fell through. So did everything else.

All through July I waited and waited to be called upon. No go. I knew my skills were good and I knew any company would be happy to have me, but that wasn't enough to make the agencies call me. Until that afternoon.

$7.50 an hour typing and doing office work at some company in Lawrence? Oh, of course I can! What time should I be there? 7:45? Yes, that fine. And the woman I should speak to is Sharon? I see. What do I do about pay slips? OK, thanks a lot, talk to you soon.

I started getting ready right away. Reaching up into the far corners of my closet, I leafed through the hangers of my hated skirts. Corporate America demanded, and I acceded. I picked out a straight, white cotton skirt, the kind I thought my mother would wear. For a top, I chose a pretty pink polyester blouse I'd bought a few weeks earlier with slightly more enjoyable occasions in mind.

High up on a shelf I found a pair of hardly worn white dress shoes with not-too-high high heals and not-too-pointy toes. Hopefully I would be allowed to sit down long enough to shed the dreadful things at some point and hide my naked feet somewhere under the desk.

I went to my dresser drawer and fished out a pair of panty house I'd bought the last time I thought I was going to be working. They were still sealed up in plastic, just waiting for me to slip them over my hairy legs to become the perfect woman.

As a final touch, I selected some earrings, not too large or too flashy, but something as sweet and pretty as the girl I was supposed to be, fresh and young and ready to rent.

Stepping in the building at 7:45 the next morning, I looked stunning and was ready to knock 'em out. I was certainly the most colorful thing for miles around, nestled as I was in a land of office parks and parking lots, miles of chain link fences and woodchip gardens.

The Freudenberg building was large and low, a dozen businesses living inconspicuous little lives behind closed, glass doors. "Freudenberg Building Systems," the sign said as I walked through the small entrance way and into the office itself.

It was the right time and the right place, and just look what was under my feet. Yes, that's right, rubber, rubber, everywhere! Reading the framed signs all along the wall and checking out the floor, it was soon obvious that the company I was working for was the leading manufacturer of industrial rubber flooring, a fact that would be ingrained in my mind ad infinitum by the end of the day. There were bumpy floors and fake marble floors and checkered floors and striped floors, all of them rubber and very, very tough.

Within a few moments, I spotted a man and a woman talking down the hall. Was I looking for someone? Yes, I was, and soon the woman had me on a little tour of the office. Ladies room, kitchen, the main office where I would work, and the desk in the far, far corner of the office, where I was to wait for Sharon, my supervisor for the day. I arranged myself at the desk as neatly as I could manage, crossed my legs, took a look at the clock, and waited to begin my day.

Susan arrived a few minutes later wearing higher high heels than mine but an attitude no less cheerful and perky. After she had put down here jacket and briefcase, it was time for another little tour. This is so-and-so, this is such-and-such, thank you so much for coming, and here's Jo with your assignment.

Jo was working over some file cabinets along the far wall when I came up and asked her what she needed. The job was simple, she told me. Here are the file folders, and there is your desk. Let me show you what you have to do. OK, each salesman has one folder full of orders and contracts, but some of them are out of date. Look at the list of current transactions for each salesman and compare them to what you find in the folders. Keep anything on the list and throw the rest away. Very simple. Once you're finished with that, come over and I'll give you some more.

I was happy to oblige, familiar as I was with tedious busywork. Three years working in a public library had taught me to enjoy such work -- and to do it quickly and well. I arranged the folders in a pile to the right, pulled out the one on top, and placed it in front of me. Slipping off my shoes under the desk, I began my task.

Check the project number on the document, look over at the list. Save or toss. Check, look over. Save or toss. Check, look over, save or toss. Occasionally read the sheet over to find out more. What kind of project is this? Wow, what a big company they're working for. God, I love listening to that salesman over in the next cubicle. Then save or toss. Save or toss. I was done by 10:30, a stack of old office paper in my wake.

Returning to the corner desk to talk to Susan, I found myself bounced over to the copier room for my next project. Make 150 copies of each sheet in this ten-page packet, she instructed me as she punched the buttons on the machine and went on the explain the intricacies of the collator tray. I smiled and told her it was no problem. After all, I'd done it for years at the library.

Put the paper on the glass, close the top, check the display, press the button. Collect the copies, keep them in order. Avoid getting paper cuts. Wriggle out of the way when someone needs to use the fax machine. And above all, find things to do in the mean time. Read over the list of auto-fax numbers posted on the wall. Read the instructions on the toner boxes. Watch the copies shoot out of the machine one after the other. Learn the wonders of Nora Rubber Flooring, the premier product of the Freudenberg corporation. Anything but standing still, anything to look busy. I was making $7.50 an hour, after all.

People came in and out of the little room over the course of that hour, all smiling, very cordial, some of them even stopping to chat. Charming that I worked at Memorial Hall, Susan told me. She went there when she was a student at my high school. Very nice place, but she hadn't been in ages. And, my, wasn't I doing a fine job with those copies?

Soon it was time for lunch in the company kitchen. I sat down at a lonely table and watched a man around my age refill all the vending machines. Looking down at my brown bag lunch -- peanut butter and jelly sandwich, carrot, juice box, and homemade cookies -- I thought about how easy it must be to tell the full-time employees from the temporary ones, too young and poor for anything more upscale.

Since I was sitting by myself, my food disappeared quickly. I had another 45 minutes left for my lunch, so I decided to take a walk outside. Compared to the air-conditioned office, the parking lot was like a blast furnace. Balanced on my high heels, I walked over to little strip of grass that ran between the parking lot and the street. I looked at the cars parked around me, the 18-wheelers passing by, the people walking by and staring at me. What on earth was that girl doing outside on a day like this? She must be a temp.

Back in the office at 1, I found myself face to face with the project that would take up most of the rest of my workday. Here's a sample folder, said Susan, handing me a nifty little promotional folder about the wonders of Nora Rubber Flooring Systems. She took me to the back of the office and showed me a table set up with 150 folders, stacks of brochures, flyers, and diagrams, and set me to work in the propaganda ministry.

I was a very efficient worker, figuring out the best way to fill the folders without killing my back or my wrists. I began by arranging all the material on a small, round table and simply walking around it, but I began to get dizzy and confused, so I switched to another method. That failed, so I tried another. Finally I had an efficient system and was at in again, becoming the perfect little machine, snatching papers and pamphlets, putting them in order, and stuffing them in. One, two, three, four, and on and on and on.

Susan was pleased. She came up to me several times and told me how pleased she was. She brought me more papers when I began to run out. She made sure I was OK. I smiled and told her yes, glad to have at least one human face show up in my little corner of the office. Everyone else was far away, sealed off in their cubicles.

After three hours of grabbing and stuffing, my wrists and back were stiff and sore and I was more than ready to move on to new things. Susan was happy to oblige me, sitting me down with several three-ring binders of customer complaint letters. She gave me the name of one particular customer and told me to look for the name in the letters and take those letters out. I told her it'd be easy, and set to work on my last job.

Complaint letters came from all parts of the country and from all different types of customers -- school officials, building contractors, lawyers, et al. I scanned them for the name and flipped the page. Scanned and flipped and occasionally pulled out a page. Scanned and flipped. Flipped and scanned. Read part of a complaint, flipped on. Scan and flip, scan and flip. I scanned and flipped until after 5 and picked up some overtime pay.

Finally my day was done. No more scanning and flipping or grabbing and stuffing or pushing buttons or checking and tossing. Just hand in that form with the hours on it, get somebody to sign it. A week from now I'll get my money. Oh, you'd like me to work here again? Sorry, I'm just a temp, and it's not my decision whether or not to come back. But hopefully I will. It's been so nice working here.

Hold the applause, I'm only a bit player.