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I’m not really a temporary kind of girl but when needs must you just have to get whatever job you can to keep you going. My dad taught me that. So when I left university with my degree and aspirations in hand I did the sensible thing.
And here I am three years later still working temp jobs. I took a communications degree with grand ideas of becoming a journalist. The closest I’ve come to an actual job in the profession is writing my own personal blog and no one pays me to do that. So here I am, at the local Forbes and Richardson office making coffee and photocopies. Oh, and occasionally I get to type something up and answer the phones. Such a thrilling job.
Actually, it’s not all bad. I’ve been in some offices that have been pretty fun. I’ve made friends and the time with the company has flown. Last job I had I found myself a boyfriend, Thomas he was called, and he led to some tasty daytime distractions, I can tell you. If you’ve never had sex in a stock room, don’t knock it. I know it’s clich but damn, it’s sexy. All rushed and urgent with hints of ‘someone might catch us at it’. Very addictive indeed.
Unfortunately when I moved on to my next job Thomas gave up on me. Apparently I wasn’t relationship material, just workplace distraction. So maybe this office job isn’t as bad as I think it is, but I’m too heartbroken to see it.
No, I think they’re all bitches, even the blokes.
"I want this done by lunch." Andrew Johnson forced a pile of papers into my hands. "Twenty copies of each."
No ‘please’, no ‘thank you’ and certainly no acknowledgement of me as a human. I felt like just a piece of the machinery. I had felt like that for all of the five days I’d worked at Forbes and Richardson. I was ready for this assignment to end but I had been appointed to cover a maternity leave of absence and knew I‘d not be moving on any time soon.
I contemplated begging someone for a transfer. There’s only so much loneliness and mind-numbingly dull labour I can take, but any job is better than no job and who’s to say the temp agency would have anything else suitable for me anyway? No. I decided that I’d just have to dig my heels in and stick it out.
The photocopier lived in a small room at the end of a long and little used corridor. I rarely saw anyone else when I am in there since I seemed to be the copier slave of choice.
So I was surprised when I heard voices as I walked down the corridor. Some women you can hear coming a mile off because of their high heels but not me. I wear sensible shoes with little to no heel. I'd be crippled if I tried to wear tall footwear all day when I was so often on my feet.
So maybe they hadn’t heard me approach, which explains why they hadn't stopped.
But I should have made my presence known instead of gawking like some inquisitive pup.
Two men, hot young men I might add, guys I had never seen before were eagerly making out just in front of the copier. I could hear it whirring so they must have been passing the time until it finished their copying.
I expected one of them to look up at any moment and rumble me, and my stomach churned. I stood to one side of the doorjamb and so was not immediately obvious to a casual glance, but I was pretty certain that if I could see them, they could see me.
I should have walked away or coughed or something but I just watched. I'd never seen two guys kiss before. The one time my mates and I attempted to get into a gay bar we weren't let in because we looked too straight.