Just little short stories I write about the people I work with. Names have been changed and the stories are expanded upon to allow for some creativity.
I work at a temporary staffing agency. All walks of life come into our office, and a lot of them have really intriguing stories. A lot of interesting things also happen at our office. Writing about it is a way to share a little bit about them, and also relieve some of the stress I have... Also helps when a sad story comes and I can share it to make myself feel a little better.
Anyways, for my own amusement
The Full Timer
He sat there, the hard seat of the chair causing numbness to run down his thigh, as each individual was called to the counter. The flannel jacket on his back covered in holes, the only shoes he had ripped and shredded after days and days of wear. Even twenty dollars would be good enough, all he needed was food.
Name after name, yet not his. No “Mark Granger”.
“Mark—” her voice cut into the air, her red hair falling in curls around her face, “Cardinal”.
A moment of hope up and gone as a clean-cut gentleman stood, wearing newer clothes all in tact. Mark looked away as his stomach sank into the floor and his throat hollowed. He just stared ahead at the movie screen, a screen he had stared at for three days now. Watching as Julianne Hough ran from her abusive ex husband, fire burning in the background.
It wasn’t until he heard the scrape of a chair against the tile floor that his eyes fluttered open.
There she was, the dispatcher Rachel, her elbow resting on the counter cradling her chin as she X’d off names in the sign in sheet. He sheepishly turned away—embarrassed, ashamed.
“Mark?” Her voice was soft as she readjusted her attention to him, probably taking in the jagged scars and homeless attire. “We need to have a discussion.”
He knew it was coming, this was no secret. After three months of working consistently at a warehouse, with the thought of a full-time job in reach, he had no showed to four shifts. And worse, he hadn’t told the agency.
The agency, a place that had set him up for work time and time again. Where the girls behind the counter; Rachel, Amanda, and Jennifer would joke with him, provide feedback, and tell him how close he was to his hours. Those four hundred hours were the only thing that stood between and a temporary employee and hire on. The agency, where even criminals, addicts, and the homeless can find a new start.
If the past doesn’t swallow them first.
“Sure,” he muttered, standing while slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Not that there was much in it other than his passport, SIN card, and a sweater.
He maneuvers around the chairs, realizing the room had emptied. A handful would have been sent for work and the rest gone home for sleep after an unsuccessful attempt at working, but only he was low enough to nap against the concrete wall in the office.
“What happened?” Her voice cut into him like a knife, her obvious disappointment lingering off every word. He could hardly bare to look at her. He knew that his no shows would have caused friction with the agency and the warehouse. After all, the warehouse was her client. She needed to appease their clients in order to continue being able to offer work.
“Nothing,” he kicked his foot lightly against the wall. A twenty-five-year-old man had never looked more like a child. “Fucked up I guess?”
She narrowed her eyes in a second of irritation, eyebrows raised with the simple response of, “pardon me?”
He knew the response was lacking, but the truth would be worse than whatever he was about to receive. She wouldn’t understand; a girl like her… Her hair done, her makeup fixed, her clothes clean washed and ironed. The jewelry wrapped around her neck and wrists only beginning to show the money she surely had in her bank account. Money he had never dreamed about.
She took silence as an answer, slamming a pen down to the counter before taking a long dragged out sigh. “You are DNR’d from Manchess,” the words hung in the air like the beginning of a snow fall.
“I figured” his voice is evidently sunken, disappointed. He knew she would hear it.
“What is going on Mark,” her voice softened more, her blue-green eyes settled on his own brown pair. His eyes dark from lack of sleep, his lips dry, his cheeks sunken.
“I got kicked out of my house on Friday. My girlfriend… She, uh… She kicked me out,” He looked away, adjusting the zipper on his flannel coat to hug his chest more tightly. He didn’t look at her, not once. “I’ve been on the streets since.”
He could see her counting the nights he would have slept on a bench, four nights total. The first night hadn’t been so bad, he had found refuge inside the LRT station where heat had been blasted. The second and third night however, he hadn’t had the best of luck. The park benches were all that he could find unoccupied, no heat or shelter. Snow had fallen both those nights, leaving him to wake up in a blanket of flakes.
The fourth night though—that fourth night had been the worst. With temperatures at a year’s lowest, he got no sleep. Not even the shelter of a pine tree could protect him from the dry cold that attacked his exposed cheek bones. From the distance he kept hearing screaming and yelling, the shelter surely bumping with starving tenants. He had considered trying to find a bed for the night there, but after seeing the lineup he knew he would never make it.
This much he did not tell her, and she did not ask. She just sat there, quietly, contemplating how to muster up a response great enough to make him feel better. Women like her always thought they could change the world…
“Do you want to have a nap on our couch?” She asked, a serious expression on her face. He felt taken aback at first; so many things she could have said, so many inspirational quotes she surely pinned off pinterest, yet nothing but an offer of a piece of furniture and a warm blanket.
It took him a moment to think, but eventually a, “sure”, was released from his mouth. She nodded her head, opening the back gate for behind the counter and leading him into a small room in the back.
For the first time in five days, he felt he could finally close his eyes. His large body hardly fit on the cushions, but at the same time it felt like the best bed he had ever laid on. Rachel retreated to the front of the office, leaving him to rest. She hadn’t said anything beyond that, no judgment or questioning.
And so, he shut his eyes.
I work at a temporary staffing agency. All walks of life come into our office, and a lot of them have really intriguing stories. A lot of interesting things also happen at our office. Writing about it is a way to share a little bit about them, and also relieve some of the stress I have... Also helps when a sad story comes and I can share it to make myself feel a little better.
Anyways, for my own amusement
The Full Timer
He sat there, the hard seat of the chair causing numbness to run down his thigh, as each individual was called to the counter. The flannel jacket on his back covered in holes, the only shoes he had ripped and shredded after days and days of wear. Even twenty dollars would be good enough, all he needed was food.
Name after name, yet not his. No “Mark Granger”.
“Mark—” her voice cut into the air, her red hair falling in curls around her face, “Cardinal”.
A moment of hope up and gone as a clean-cut gentleman stood, wearing newer clothes all in tact. Mark looked away as his stomach sank into the floor and his throat hollowed. He just stared ahead at the movie screen, a screen he had stared at for three days now. Watching as Julianne Hough ran from her abusive ex husband, fire burning in the background.
It wasn’t until he heard the scrape of a chair against the tile floor that his eyes fluttered open.
There she was, the dispatcher Rachel, her elbow resting on the counter cradling her chin as she X’d off names in the sign in sheet. He sheepishly turned away—embarrassed, ashamed.
“Mark?” Her voice was soft as she readjusted her attention to him, probably taking in the jagged scars and homeless attire. “We need to have a discussion.”
He knew it was coming, this was no secret. After three months of working consistently at a warehouse, with the thought of a full-time job in reach, he had no showed to four shifts. And worse, he hadn’t told the agency.
The agency, a place that had set him up for work time and time again. Where the girls behind the counter; Rachel, Amanda, and Jennifer would joke with him, provide feedback, and tell him how close he was to his hours. Those four hundred hours were the only thing that stood between and a temporary employee and hire on. The agency, where even criminals, addicts, and the homeless can find a new start.
If the past doesn’t swallow them first.
“Sure,” he muttered, standing while slinging his backpack over his shoulder. Not that there was much in it other than his passport, SIN card, and a sweater.
He maneuvers around the chairs, realizing the room had emptied. A handful would have been sent for work and the rest gone home for sleep after an unsuccessful attempt at working, but only he was low enough to nap against the concrete wall in the office.
“What happened?” Her voice cut into him like a knife, her obvious disappointment lingering off every word. He could hardly bare to look at her. He knew that his no shows would have caused friction with the agency and the warehouse. After all, the warehouse was her client. She needed to appease their clients in order to continue being able to offer work.
“Nothing,” he kicked his foot lightly against the wall. A twenty-five-year-old man had never looked more like a child. “Fucked up I guess?”
She narrowed her eyes in a second of irritation, eyebrows raised with the simple response of, “pardon me?”
He knew the response was lacking, but the truth would be worse than whatever he was about to receive. She wouldn’t understand; a girl like her… Her hair done, her makeup fixed, her clothes clean washed and ironed. The jewelry wrapped around her neck and wrists only beginning to show the money she surely had in her bank account. Money he had never dreamed about.
She took silence as an answer, slamming a pen down to the counter before taking a long dragged out sigh. “You are DNR’d from Manchess,” the words hung in the air like the beginning of a snow fall.
“I figured” his voice is evidently sunken, disappointed. He knew she would hear it.
“What is going on Mark,” her voice softened more, her blue-green eyes settled on his own brown pair. His eyes dark from lack of sleep, his lips dry, his cheeks sunken.
“I got kicked out of my house on Friday. My girlfriend… She, uh… She kicked me out,” He looked away, adjusting the zipper on his flannel coat to hug his chest more tightly. He didn’t look at her, not once. “I’ve been on the streets since.”
He could see her counting the nights he would have slept on a bench, four nights total. The first night hadn’t been so bad, he had found refuge inside the LRT station where heat had been blasted. The second and third night however, he hadn’t had the best of luck. The park benches were all that he could find unoccupied, no heat or shelter. Snow had fallen both those nights, leaving him to wake up in a blanket of flakes.
The fourth night though—that fourth night had been the worst. With temperatures at a year’s lowest, he got no sleep. Not even the shelter of a pine tree could protect him from the dry cold that attacked his exposed cheek bones. From the distance he kept hearing screaming and yelling, the shelter surely bumping with starving tenants. He had considered trying to find a bed for the night there, but after seeing the lineup he knew he would never make it.
This much he did not tell her, and she did not ask. She just sat there, quietly, contemplating how to muster up a response great enough to make him feel better. Women like her always thought they could change the world…
“Do you want to have a nap on our couch?” She asked, a serious expression on her face. He felt taken aback at first; so many things she could have said, so many inspirational quotes she surely pinned off pinterest, yet nothing but an offer of a piece of furniture and a warm blanket.
It took him a moment to think, but eventually a, “sure”, was released from his mouth. She nodded her head, opening the back gate for behind the counter and leading him into a small room in the back.
For the first time in five days, he felt he could finally close his eyes. His large body hardly fit on the cushions, but at the same time it felt like the best bed he had ever laid on. Rachel retreated to the front of the office, leaving him to rest. She hadn’t said anything beyond that, no judgment or questioning.
And so, he shut his eyes.