Thursday, March 24, 2011

Entry Level vs. The Copier

As an entry level worker, you know the copier. It’s that clunky, tan, 80’s relic in the hallway by the bathroom. It’s that unavoidable part of your morning routine, making organizational documents for the higher-ups. And it’s that permanent fixture in your nightmares, as well.

Why? Well, depending on its mood, the copier can either be your friend or foe. Let me explain.

Friend: You’re young. You’re hip. You’re down with all the new technology. So, just a few quick clicks and you’re collating, stapling, printing on both sides… book style, calendar style… It’s Nbd for you, generation Y-er.  That copier’s your bitch.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Wait. What?

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Did you hear someth-?

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Oh shit. I guess that brings me to my next point.

Foe: Your bosses are on a deadline. They need 100 copies of this packet pronto and you’re just the man for the job, you copier stud you. Well, that is… you’re just the man for the job, until the copier jams. Then, I suppose, the man for the job would be a copier repairman.

But, unfortunately, your workplace doesn’t have a copier repairman on staff and, as the resident lowest man on the totem pole, you’re expected to behave as such. What’s that? Your ivy league education didn’t prepare you to get elbow-deep in copier grease? That’s too bad.

And so, we all sit and pray for the holy grail of the entry level: an intern, to whom we might outsource all of our most menial duties.

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Today’s legend has these very parameters: an outsourcing entry level worker, an intern and a copier from hell. It comes to us from a coworker of mine, who escaped the entry level long ago, but has clearly not forgotten where he came from. His timeless story is copied below:

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“I was working the Assignment Desk one morning and we had some peripheral relative of a Congressman interning there.  So, when we had to turn out the Assignment Grids, I passed the job to him.  And sure enough, like clockwork - the thing craps out like, 70  copied & stapled grids into the job.  I'm unaware of any of this and just happen to be walking in that general direction, when I hear an "Ohhhhh FUUUUUUUUUUUCK" from around the corner.

I walk out and it's the intern on his knees with his head in his hands, staring into the opened-up bowels of this piece-of-shit copier.  Turns out he'd found the jam in the main central doohicky of the machine, but wasn't sure what to do.  So he'd grabbed the only tool he could find - a plastic fork - to try and fix the jam.  But the doohicky was already so damn hot from 2x-side copying, stapling, and collating 70  12-page grids that the fork instantly MELTED INTO THE DOOHICKY.  Now not only was the bureau waiting on his grids, but he'd just transformed a giant piece of company equipment from a frustrating, habitually-jamming nuisance into a completely unusable waste of space.

We had to call in the boys from the copier service to come clean that shit out. And, afterward, all of the entry levels and interns got a note from the boss, making clear that no one was to stick plastic utensils into heavy machinery that was warm to the touch.

Fuckin' entry level.

That kid's probably a state senator now."

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

The Art of Balancing Personalities

When entering the entry level, one of the first things you must master is the art of acting as liason between the personalities around you.

Chances are: there are going to be some big ones. And it is your job to determine which of these are the biggest, the most egocentric, the most menacing... which are mostly bark and which bite... which will have you crying wolf and which will have you just plain old crying.

The art of balancing personalities may not be part of your actual job description. It's more an issue of self-preservation. So, let me put it this way: If you value your life, you will start figuring this shit out now. Seriously. What are you waiting for? Go.

 Most of your bosses will consider themselves God's gift. But notice that the word "gift" there is singular. It's mutually exclusive. They can't all be God's gift. Because I'm pretty sure God didn't give that many people as gifts, who weren't named Jesus. And I'm pretty sure that, even if he did, he didn't put them all in your office.

So, it looks like you have a problem on your hands. You must separate their versions of reality from the actual one... and quickly.

So, when it comes down to crunch time and you have 5 assignments... from 5 different bosses... who each think they are the most important... and their assignment is the most pressing...

When it's ten minutes until showtime and you get a call from a director... wanting to talk to a writer... and the writer says she has no time to talk because the show cannot write itself... and the director says, "Get her on the fucking phone"... and the writer says, "Ask him what he wants"...

You don't actually pick up the phone and say to most-probably-the-biggest-personality-you-will-ever-meet-in-the-world, "She wants to know what you want."

Because THAT is what happened to the intern sitting next to me yesterday. She is relatively new. She did not know.

Now, there are few times that you can pat yourself on the back for being an entry-level worker ant, but that was one time that I did. Because at least I've been around long enough to know that you do. not. repeat. everything. you. are. told.  Because at least I didn't have to endure the earful that she got after that comment. Because I may be entry level, but at least I'm not an intern.

And that, my friends, is a beautiful thing.

Monday, March 21, 2011

An entry-level couple overheard planning a dinner party

Girl: I think we should throw together a dinner party this weekend. I'm really good at making pizzas. I just wish we had access to a brick oven.

Boy: Well, I don't know about a brick oven, but I could hook you up with a dutch oven.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Entry Level Male Takes on the Entry Level Microwave

This weekend, my friend Dan and I travelled to Boston to visit our friend, Elizabeth, in her entry-level Boston pad. We all met in college, where we passed the courses and tests they gave us with flying colors. We were a bunch of smart motherfuckers, in those days. We could conquer anything.

Flash forward to the present day. The entry level.

The thing about the entry level they don't tell you is that you cease doing anything smart. You may have been summa cum laude last year, but now you're getting the coffees. You're passing things out. You're taking orders. And you're taking the blame.

YOU, my friend, are a slave to the man and your brain cells are probably disappearing as we speak. Not to worry though; you are not alone.

Take, for example, the instance of entry-level Dan vs. the entry-level microwave:

Dan needed food; not much, just a plate of leftovers. The kind of leftovers that require a quick one-minute nuking. No big deal, right? Wrong.

Elizabeth's microwave, you see, is just the sort of ghetto model that comes with most entry-level apartments. It's from an older generation than Dan and his friends. And it's mocking them with its manual-ness.

Dan and the machine are locked in a respectable staring contest, when Dan throws in the towel. He lifts his finger to the machine and presses the number 1. 

The microwave roars to life... for one second.

Fail, Dan. Welcome to the entry level.