Temporary Work

Temporary work

1989, ten or so long months after leaving university, after ten very
long months living at home again with my parents, I came to London, I
was going to change the world. While I waited to do this, I took
whatever Job I could get. I spent 6 months in that graduate graveyard,
Telesales, I was awful, I just couldn't be arsed with all that ringing
people who didn't want to speak to, trying to sell a product that they
didn't need and I didn't believe in. I was relieved when I was
sacked/asked to leave, and found myself signing up at temping
agencies.

What skills did I have they would ask me, and I realised that even
though I had a degree in politics, I did not possess any kind of skill
which might remotely be in demand. I had worked for a bank for a year
in 1983/4, but that didn't cut very much ice with the agencies, my
typing skills were non-existent, essays were hand-written in those
days, computers were not really part of my lifestyle. They nodded,
asked questions, and said they would call me.

I got the call, could I go along to Charing Cross Hospital, and work as
a Theatre porter. For ?4.00 per hour, I would be transporting patients
to and from operations. I was sure I could do that, how hard could it
be?

I turned up on time, even though the Charing Cross hospital is miles
from Charing Cross, in central London, it was in west
London,Hammersmith. They were very friendly, I was given my blue,
theatre porter jacket, taken to the lodge, where they hung out between
jobs. The head porter was about 60, and had been there for 20 years. I
was given a map of the very large hospital, and when the first call
came in, was told to report to the reception of the ward. I went down
there nervously, intently following my little map. I introduced myself
to the nurse, I was taken to the right bed, I can no longer remember
who my first job was, but we would have lifted the person on to the
wheeled trolley, and myself and the nurse and wheeled them to the
operating theatre. We then handed them over to the theatre nurses, I
then returned to the lodge for a nice cup of tea. And so the weeks
past, and I did quite enjoy being there, the pay was awful, and I was
sure that my temporary salary was probably similar to the full-time
guys, of which there were surprisingly many.

I did have a bit of a domestic emergency when I was working there, my
long-distance girlfriend turned up out of the blue one evening,
stressed from her college course in Newcastle. I was naturally pleased
to see her, and we got shitfaced, as you do. I managed to get to work
on time the next day, but had to ask for some time off, as the g/f had
threatened to go back, after we had drunkenly argued that night. I left
at 3pm to get back to the flat in Wimbledon to have one of those heart
to hearts which do dominate relationships when your in your early 20s,
now as I approach 40, I can't remember having one of them for
years.

I didn't last much longer at the hospital, in all, I worked there for
about 6 weeks, then they told me I wasn't needed any more, 24 hours
notice, as a temp you grew to expect that. I went back to the agency
and they got me on to another job very quickly, and I could work to
walk something that I have not enjoyed since. A computer firm in
Wimbledon, it was arse numbingly boring, but I did spend 3 months
there, even had a fling with an older woman on my last night.

Temporary work, it's not something I have done since 1990. I have toyed
with the idea of going back to it, in those black days when you hate
everything about your place of work, but I have always managed to move
from job to job without the uncertainty that temping can bring. It may
be flexible working, freelancing, but when you start to hate bank
holidays because you're not getting paid, it's time to get yourself a
proper job.