I lucked into a temp job where the morons who run the joint are soâ€”I mean soâ€”disorganized. They can’t quite figure out how to get me the tools to do my job; and they refuse to let me do anything but waitâ€¦waitâ€¦for the tools.
For example, I came to work for a week before they managed to requisition a computer for me (â€œNo, Michelle, it’s not appropriate for you to call Information Technology yourself.â€); yet they wanted me in the officeâ€¦waiting for the computer.
After the computer arrived, my email account had already expired and I had to wait another ten business days for it to be re-set (â€œNo, it needs three managers’ signatures; you just wait here and we’ll fill out the paperwork for you; we don’t want you involved in requisitions.â€)
As a result, I spend all day writing my screenplay and getting paid for it. I sit at my desk and write character arcs. This temp job is better than a grant! Too bad the job expires after eight months.
But, anyway, this letter is really about my writing partner.
My department here at the temp job was so behind (wonder why?) that they posted a couple more openings. So, I recommended my screenwriting partner, thinking she would have tons of extra time, just like me, and we could use that time to work together on â€œBackward Sight.â€ My boss was so happy with the job I am doing (well, I WILL be doing it once I get my email account back!) and he likes me so much that he took my recommendation and hired Leilani.
So, Leilani and I go into the women’s bathroom and sit in adjacent stalls and I bring my laptop and we write scenes there and hope not to get caught. It was working very well.