Temping (at the end of the day I'm another glass drunker)

There are benefits to the world of paid anonymity. Lack of responsibility, ease of getting to auditions etc etc. However, one night recently elbowed it's way to the top, just nudging aside 'time to look for jobs.'

I had been working for a large, multinational company and it was not fun. It was one of those companies where the same people remained for too many years and felt an ownership of it and everything that passed through it. Coupled with a severe lack of organisational skills and the result was a temp who was given no instruction on the handling of a major event and yet landed with the blame for everything that went wrong.

I had been booked for a two week assignment, the second of which included helping at a large, five-star function. Having spent the day being shouted at when various international bosses swiped the meeting rooms of those who had booked them, I was ready to go home, crack open a bottle of red and argue with the television. Instead, I peeled my smile off the floor, draped myself in a cocktail dress and left the office with one of the secretaries, to attend the function at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Knightsbridge.

Usually at one of these functions I am behind a desk handing out name badges or finding peoples coats. In this instance I was given an area to man, with several hundred name badges to find and distribute. Not a problem and easy enough I thought to myself. That was until I realised that there were simply too many (very bossy) cooks spoiling the corporate broth. The woman to my left used her sizable rear to gain access to all my badges and when I stepped back to allow her and her rear through, my boss asked me why I wasn't manning my post. After an hour most of the guests had arrived and were in the ballroom helping themselves to oysters. An ice sculpture of Neptune with two large, ice clam-shells adorned tables serving shellfish, while the lovely staff circle with incredible bites. I know all this because after barely an hour I was sent into the ballroom to join in.

Wonder of great wonders. I chatted to my new South African friend and her lovely husband whilst drinking vintage champagne from a never-empty flute and eating from the steady flow of trays that passed me. I made a couple of trips back to badge-land but was dismissed on each occassion. After four hours, repleat and happy I was put in a taxi home complete with an unopened magnum of Ruinart. The cost of the cab ride and champagne alone were more than my days wages, and made me realise that maybe after all, I had been appreciated.