Diary of a Mad Secretary
I entered the secretarial profession in true 90s style–I signed up with a temp agency. Every morning I’d huddle under the covers, hoping they wouldn’t call me with an assignment. When the inevitable call came, I’d drag my carcass off the futon and into my pathetic thrift-store imitation of office wear. The holes under the arms and the masking-taped hems didn’t really matter, because once I’d get to whichever glass tower I’d been consigned to, I was pretty much invisible. No supervisor trusts a temp to do a permanent worker’s job, but it’s no good for a secretary’s chair to just sit empty. My agency–reputed to be the city’s classiest–forbade us to pass the hours by reading, so when there was no work to do I sat and stared at a sick secretary’s wedding picture.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
I actually started looking forward to going to work in the morning, especially since “work” usually meant listening to how Barbara’s night had gone or driving her to the store to help her pick out some sequined sweaters. I was an enthusiastic worker for the first time in my life, cleaning the office and streamlining Barbara’s convoluted organizational systems, which gave me an unexpected sense of accomplishment. My friends tended to work as waiters or sales clerks, but for me, secretary was the way to go.
