Terminal Exhaustion

There I was minding my own business, when suddenly the phone rang. At 6:30 this morning. And of course, it was the temp agency calling me in to the Intrepid.

Why me, God? It was another one of the jobs which I hate...I was not allowed to sit down, there were no breaks, and I got a half an hour for lunch...which had to be eaten at their food concession, because on a thing the size of the Intrepid, by the time you get off it to go anywhere else, your half an hour is gone. Lunch (a sandwich and a soda) cost me 9 bucks...WITH the employee discount. I hesitate to think what the poor tourists were paying. (If, by the way, you need to spend time at the Javits Center, the same rules apply - it's either pay their prices or go to the hot dog wagon in front. I once tried to buy a banana at the Javits and they wanted two dollars for it. FOR A BANANA.)

And I managed to lose my cellphone on the way there. This was because the agency was absolutely adamant that there were no lockers at the Intrepid and you couldn't carry any sort of fanny pack or anything, so anything you needed had to be in your pockets. (This was entirely incorrect.) Naturally, my cell phone fell out in the taxi on the way there. However, one of the other gals lent me her phone to call mine, and the dear nice taxi driver came by and gave me mine back. Thank God for the good people. I'm sending him a tip (for the phone rescue - naturally I tipped him originally) as soon as my social security comes in on Tuesday...I insisted on getting his address.

And naturally, the idiotic agency called while I was working. I can only assume that they know absolutely nothing about the conditions under which their employees work (see no lockers, above), because I was in the big hall with all the interactive exhibits (it's called something like the Exploratorium or some damn thing), and there's no way you can hear anyone talking on a cell phone. I called back (having snuck out and around corners to get to a relatively quiet space), only to discover that she only wanted to know how it was going...or something like that. Sheesh. I made it damned clear that I was NOT available tomorrow (because my legs have fallen off), but that I was on Monday. In a dire emergency. A REALLY dire emergency. Such as all their other employees have suddenly dropped dead and they've decided to pay me 30 bucks an hour. Make that 50. Hell, make it a hundred.

It wasn't quite as bad as the Niketown gig, since I didn't have to clean clothing off the floors of dressing rooms. And there were lots of things to look at which I was actually supposed to look at so I could explain them to the tourists. But oh, dear, God save me from tourists.

Aren't there rules of some sort for tourists? Surely I see them in the newspapers' travel sections and on the Web. Doesn't anyone follow them? Except me, of course? (Because I'm such a goddamn lady.) I will list what they should be.

1. If you are at an attraction and a staff member clearly lays out the rules for you, please do not automatically assume that those rules apply only to the OTHER people in line. (I'm sorry, only two people in the cockpit at a time. But they're brothers! Lady, I don't care. Have one less child next time.)

2. If there is going to be a fair amount of climbing in and out of things, pants are a perfectly lovely idea. Miniskirts are not. I have lots of my own underwear to look at when I get home, and do not need to be provided with WAY too much of a view of your own.

3. Lady, I TOLD you one turn per child...if your child has 86 grandparents who want to see a picture of him at the Intrepid, you can take ONE and get it copied. Now get the fuck out of the way before these eight thousand other people start screaming at me.

4. If you are enormously large, why do you feel the desperate need to share it all with us? Spandex is not for you. Particularly when not only am I being treated to every lump and ripple of your body, I can also see every single line of your orthopedic bra. Caftans are back. They're very flattering.

5. Sir! I TOLD you! One turn per child!

6. Who told you guys your 18 month old can play a video game? And why on earth would you want him to do so? Read aloud to him! Our gift shop has a nice children's history of the Intrepid, only 38.95.

7. GET ME OUT OF HERE.

Love, Wendy