THE STAFFING AGENCY

The employment agency was located on the 17th floor of a modern downtown office building. It occupied a small suite consisting of a reception area and what appeared to be two or three offices and a small conference room. There were lots of windows in the reception area but it looked like a display in Ikea. The plants were all made of silk, there were several magazines spread across the glass and brushed metal coffee table and the receptionist was artificially peppy. She was a slim, attractive woman with an eager smile and wide eyes. She had long legs and wore a tight gray suit that accentuated her curves. “Hi, how can I help you?” she said, her head cocked to one side as she anticipated my response. She acted as if she were expecting to see me and only me that morning. I guessed she had chugged two or three energy drinks for breakfast to get herself to face that kind of job. I wondered how it must feel to be on the bottom rung of the work force and know that you are stuck there with no hope for escalation. The thought gave me the shivers. I told her that I had an appointment, let her know I was late but that I had called earlier. “Oh, right. I remember you. Have a seat right over there and someone will be right with you.” I was glad to be the only person in the waiting room. I didn’t want a repeat of the scene in the doctor’s waiting room. Why can’t people get that not everyone is looking for conversation? I like to be left alone.

The seat that I chose was uncomfortable. It was so uncomfortable that I felt it must have been built to deter people from staying in the waiting room long. I reached for an old People Magazine on the glass coffee table and thumbed through it. Hollywood was full of beautiful people but D.C. is known as Hollywood for ugly people. Everybody thinks that they are somebody and anybody who’s somebody gets attention no matter how old, wrinkled or ugly they are. I’m not sure why that thought crossed my mind.

Since I had never been interviewed by an employment agency before, I didn’t wear my best suit or dress too casual. I wore a plain blue suit, blue tie with gold lines, blue shirt, black belt and black shoes. Standard issue men’s wear. The receptionist offered me water and pointed in the direction of the water cooler. I declined her offer and continued looking at the tanned, perfect bodies of Hollywood’s hotties. After about ten minutes, a short, pudgy, dark-haired woman appeared from a hallway behind the reception area. She wore little make up, just light lipstick and eyeliner around her oval shaped eyes. She was dressed in a plain black skirt and jacket. Her gait indicated nonchalance, neither expressing anticipation nor disinterest. As she got closer I noticed that her hair was long. Not just long, but very, very long. The straight black hair went past her shoulders and her back and her butt. That was a big thing for me. Extra long hair had always represented unkemptness. I decided right then and there that I did not and could not like this woman and I hoped that I would never have to see her again after this meeting.

I rose to meet her outstretched hand with mine and we exchanged introductions. She seemed glum, making an effort to appear professional for the sake of our meeting. She handed me her card. Under her name it said “Staffing Professional”. What was that supposed to mean? We left the waiting room trailed by the receptionist’s eager gaze. We went into a small office and she requested my resume, which I removed from my portfolio and handed to her. The interviewer briefly glanced over my resume, nodding her head in approval. I was encouraged. Maybe she could find me something. Then she looked me in the eye and began a statement that she clearly repeated frequently. It began with, “Let me tell you a little about us…” The speech seemed rehearsed and included everything from the kind of work that I could expect to do, to the health insurance benefits that the agency made available to its contract workers. Throughout her speech, the Staffing Professional stroked her hair and swung it from one side to the other. She twisted it between her fingers in a tight knot then let it float back down to its unkempt length. I felt like I would hurl at any moment. It was clear that she had this exact exchange often and she had memorized all the necessary information to keep the encounter brief. Finally she took a breath, took her hand out of her hair and asked, “Do you have any questions?” I paused, searching for something to ask because I always had questions but this time there were really none. She had covered absolutely everything imaginable. “No,” I said. “Ok. We have a project starting tomorrow. Can you start tomorrow?” I was stunned by the question. I never expected to be offered work at the interview. I gathered my senses and said, “Yes, I can be there.” The interviewer gave me all of the details. Where to meet her, the nature of the assignment, the expected length, the hourly pay (I contemplated the sad reality that I was working for hourly pay) and the benefits.

When I got home I called Ben and gave him the good news. He said we should celebrate. I was feeling so much better about my life and the prospect of getting it back on track. At least I could make some money while I decided what to do next. Go back to law firm life or…Or I don’t know what.