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Sometimes temping is all I have...

Since I am feeling disinclined to write at present, I shall point you to another lovely bit of writing from Leonie...
My temp job is kitten-flayingly dull. There is a button to my right. When the button emits a buzz I must press it. I am not, as you might well immediately assume, taking part in some elaborate Pavlovian experiment. I know this because even though I do press the buzzer-button when it button-buzzes, nobody ever gives me food as a reward. Instead a door opens, and through that door some faceless worker strides, shuffles, meanders, creeps. Sometimes they say hello, sometimes not. Mostly they stare importantly over my head as I look at them with powers of judgement reserved only for those who have little else to do but make assumptions about people purely based on the pattern of their tie. In the kitchen the coffee tastes like it has already been drunk. The lights over my head hum relentlessly, every so often winking laciviously like parodical whores. I turn my head to the right and stare at a broken tile of sky that glints between the identi-kit grey monoliths littering the surrounding streets.

Do go and read the whole thing*...

* For the smartarses out there who keep on implying that I am ordering you to go and read it, please don't bother. "Do go and read..." is effective shorthand for "do feel free to go and read..." or "I invite you to go and read..." in the manner of a hostess saying, "do go and have some smoked salmon sandwiches."

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