This form does not yet contain any fields.
    « I'm Working In Oz | Main | Charity Work is a Lot of Work »


    If it’s not grossly obvious by now, it seems a mission in my life to add any and every ridiculous job to my resume. Here’s another one for you homies.

    I just spent two days working for a focus group. I wasn’t in the focus group, I worked for the research company that was putting on the focus group. Sounds vanilla enough right? That’s what I thought, but I should’ve figured that with my karma, there had to be some form of subversion involved. While I had no official job description, my title could’ve been described as Elevator Operator/Courtesan. Big slash eh?

    Me at work

    So I get to the location—an absurdly posh hotel in none other than my nemesis, Beverly Hills. I categorize Beverly Hills with Costco and the beer shits. I want no part of them. Everything about BH bugs the hell outta me. To me, Beverly Hills is a gilded cunt.

    Anybitchslap, so I rolled up to this ridiculous hotel and 10 valets jumped to my car. They wanted to get my dirty Prius removed from the view of the Bentleys and Rolls Royces. I walked into the lobby, with three doormen opening each and every door for me (yeah, it was like that—a place that my kind doesn’t frequent).

    Flash forward to me getting the lowdown from my point person in a suite of the hotel. And by lowdown I mean a few muffled whispers and a key to the elevator. I quickly garnered that I was involved in some top-secret shit. I was to wait in the lobby and every 1.5 hours I was to escort a doctor up to the suite. I had to make the doctors feel comfortable—give them anything they wanted…boy, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that in my job description.

    So here’s the thing: there was one suite in which a doctor would be escorted to (by yours truly, Elevator Operator/Courtesan). In that suite was a large monitor, a camera that recorded everything, and my point person. Once I shut the door, what occurred in the suite is anyone’s guess. Running from that suite to a suite down the hall were several wires. In the suite down the hall sat 10 “clients.” These clients had something to do with pharmaceutical companies, but I have no idea what. The clients would sit in the suite and watch whatever was going on in the other suite. Two way mirror kind of shit, without the mirror.

    Okay, so that’s all fine enough. I didn’t really care to know the details. Pharmaceutical companies are Satan’s chodes so I was quite content not knowing what was going on in there. Cuz if I knew I might’ve had to grapple with my conscious and consider turning down a short gig that would pay my rent this month. Hey, sometimes Mama just gotta pay the bills.

    The secrecy of the situation didn’t bother me so much, but the clients’ absolute bitchwitchness did.

    Just to give you an idea: upon my entering the clients’ suite to see if they needed anything (I thought that was pretty above and beyond for my typical job integrity) the main client, we’ll just call her Asshog, looks at me, then answers her phone and proceeded to have this convo:

    “Oh this girl will be right down to get you. Her name’s Buffy. And that’s her real name, can you even believe that?!” Followed by mocking laughter. As she’s looking at me.

    Asshog thinking she's awesome

    Now, I’ve gotten a LOT of shit about my name over the course of my life. I’m used to it. I can immediately judge someone’s character and sense of humor when we meet. If they say any sort of stupid name joke, we will not be friends. Not because I’m offended, but because it’s just dumb. But this, THIS was above and beyond. I felt as though I was in 5th grade and I was getting rocks thrown at me after school.

    Asshog somehow fit in other jabbing bites to me sporadically throughout my two days there, but it was the last time I asked to see if she needed anything. From that point on I spent my time in the lobby making sure the doctors were adequately cared for. One time this even required me sitting with one doctor for over an hour sipping lattes and making small talk about his divorce. Small talk isn’t my forte. Nor is waiting around in a lobby.

    Lobbies are funny places. You’re not supposed to stay in a lobby. You’re supposed to wait in them for a short period and then you’re supposed to move on. They’re temporary holding cells. It’s quite disconcerting to stay in a lobby, as I became aware.

    When I wasn’t entertaining a doctor with my oral bouquets (read: verbal diarrhea) I was sitting in the lobby, just waiting. For hours and hours. And hours. Waiting. I’m not good at waiting. I put the mofo in impatient. For the first 5 hours of this job my brain threw temper tantrums that escalated into full-blown fits. If I have your cell phone number, I apologize, I probably text stalked you. Anything to distract myself from being in the discomfort of waiting.

    And then it donned on me: this job was yet another of life’s little pranks. I was in hell because I wasn’t able to “do” anything. I couldn’t be productive. I just had to wait. I’m sure some of you must think this sounds like the best job ever. And really, it might’ve been. But if you’re a neurotic, compulsive, list-maker, do-er like me, then you might see through this window that was my hell—being forced to do nothing and wait.

    Once I saw the irony I felt much better about the situation. My brain calmed down and I even laughed out loud. Life was forcing me to sloooow down and chill out. Once I realized that, it was like I was laughing with the Universe at me, instead of just the Universe laughing at me. It doesn’t feel good to be on the outside of a joke.

    For the rest of my time in that pretentious lobby, I sat there and relaxed. Whenever I got antsy, I dug in. I peeled the skin off my discomfort and saw the flesh of a woman tired of waiting for her dreams to come true. Tired of sitting around and waiting for everything to happen in her life. Once I saw that flesh, that truth, the waiting became less painful. The waiting became almost enjoyable. The waiting started to feel like arriving. 


    References (16)

    References allow you to track sources for this article, as well as articles that were written in response to this article.
    • Response
      Response: The Son Of Heaven
      ...a good post over at . . .
    • Response
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Response: porn reviews
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Response: Dexter Yager
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Response: iOffer
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Response: iOffer
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Response: iOffer
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Response: Mediacom
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Response: Steve Jobs
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Response: Steve Jobs
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting
    • Response
      Response: Baidu
      Hip Hop Hippie - WERK - Waiting

    Reader Comments (22)

    I love to people watch. So that would be a GREAT job! Then, of course, I make up stories in my head about them based on what they look like and how they're acting....

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterJules

    How do you find these jobs??? You are definitely being set up for a future sitcom or movie, or best-seller, no doubt! If a few days of this will pay your rent, then that's totally cool! But you are right, you do NOT want to know what the Pharm-wipes are up to, trying to find the perfect stooge doctor to push whatever evil agenda is going to make them their next billion. Finding the perfect stooge MD, who will, for a truckload of cashola, give an Oscar-winning performance, convincing that idiot, still gullible portion of the population, that some new drug, or vaccine is good for them. (They are now developing vaccines for OBESITY, SMOKING, AND OTHER INSANE SHIT). As someone who has avoided doctors and legal drugs their whole life, who knows all sorts of people healing themselves from cancer, and other 'diseases' for which there is officially no cure, (and have to keep their mouth shut about it or get arrested for practicing medicine without a license) and never will be, I have to work hard at not going postal over all this, and Monsanto, too. Anysideeffects, as for Asshog, I know the type, and don't get me around her, either. I would have to activate my lethal laser trodes and sear holes in her zombie brain. really got me going there. Getting back to the point of your story, you're right, when you get to a place where it doesn't matter where you are and what's happening around you, because you can be like the person floating above their body, observing the scene with a certain calm, and you can be the one who gets the inside joke as to what's happening from that 3rd perspective, it can be so bitchin, that, when it changes suddenly, you're like, what, leave all this? It's happened to me a few times, and I swear, I never want to leave that state of mind again..........

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterAllAboutTheBenjies

    OMG, I've had a job like that before. I told my Dad I'd help out a company in his building for a day by sitting in the lobby and handing out applications to people as they came in and make sure they filled them out correctly. GROAN. And the worst thing was at about noon I got the worst cramps of my life (to the point where I had to throw an app at this woman and yell fill it out while running to the bathroom where I would then lay for 30 min on the floor trying not to barf out of both ends). Once I could walk without giney pain, I interrupted an interview and told this lady I had to go home. I spent the next 30 min. laying on a a bench in the lobby trying to direct applicants and wait for my Dad to walk in. Awesome.......yet I look at that day as the day my womanhood saved me from insanity.

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterdr. boober

    "I categorize Beverly Hills with Costco and the beer shits." (LOL) Nothing worse then the beer shits.

    Good job Daniel son, glad to hear such great insight in your life adventures. Just remember, "Wax on. Wax off"

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterkneebucks

    Holy guacamole, there is a lot here... but let's just start with the elevater/concubine pic. It really is not fair to lay that down when we are drinking our morning beverage, and have it honked out of our noses from gawfawing.

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered Commentersucsatlife

    Buffy! I so relate, yet again. I've had a couple of temp jobs where I had to do nothing and it was hell! Your blog just keeps getting better and better!

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterEddie Marill

    Asshog was jealous because she has chipmunk teeth and you don't.

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterkm

    Jules: Ha! Oh yes, the stories are a must.

    Benjies: Well said! Couldn't have said it better myself. As usual, love ya Benjies.

    Dr. Boober: Oh christ! That's the worst!!! But also the best. The one time ever that our cramps are worth it!

    Kneebucks: Right?! They truly are horrible. Thank you Mr. Miyagi. :)

    Sucsatlife: It truly wasn't fair. That pic should only be viewed after 3pm.

    Eddie: Aww, thankee!! Temp jobs can be the worst!

    KM: That's totally true, good point. ;)

    November 16, 2009 | Registered CommenterBuffy Charlet

    Wow, I love your writing. And your sucker punches at the end.

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterJeff B

    Haha! Those pictures, dear lord. And your BH description, haha! You're hilar.

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterSara F

    Rubbing elbows with the Kleptocrats, eh Buff? These folks assume that their new found lower upper class status gives them licence to unleash all their anger over their potty training failure induced lack of self esteem on anyone who dares exist in a lower tax bracket than themselves.
    Having spent large chunks of my wildly misspent youth guiding exhorbitantly wealthy and exhorbitantly stupid petulant rich fuckers down hard wilderness whitewater runs rivers, I, too, have a feel for walking thru the barren landscape of these rude nouveau riche folk's acidic thorn gardens....and their jabbing little dagger statements directed toward the "hired help". I lost a guiding job once for handing one of these asshats the following response; "You know, Pardner....I could walk thru all the rivers of your mind, and never get my feet wet". Yeah. Well..the boss doesn't like guides who say shit like that.....

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterRosamond

    Jeff: Thanks dude!!

    Sara: Those pics are ridic right? Thankee!!

    Rosamond: That is an AWESOME comeback! Brill. One for the record books FO SHO.

    November 16, 2009 | Registered CommenterBuffy Charlet

    Asshog, hahahaha! I want to name my next pet Asshog. Haha!

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterRonny

    My question is where do you find these amazing photos??? I heart you.

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterCaroline

    I need to find me some purple underwear to wear over my red shirt. asap.

    You freaking crack me up. Love it, as usual.

    November 16, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterElise

    Ronny: Oh that's a fabulous idea!

    Caroline: Too much time on the internet! Scaaaary! :)

    Elise: Absolutely you do! It's cutting edge. ;)

    November 16, 2009 | Registered CommenterBuffy Charlet

    I love the end of this post, "arriving." I hear ya, sister. I feel like I've been waiting my whole life. Which really is no one else's fault but my own. We need to figure out how to get the fab writing job or whatever it is we should be doing. I guess it's about putting ourselves out there and not being afraid to fail. Funny how life's little revelations can pop up in a 90210 lobby.

    November 17, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterJen

    Great writing Buffy! Love me some HHH.

    November 17, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterTim Coyne

    ok. totally and completely hear you on the must be doing something. i absolutely hate the following: monotony and doing nothing.

    secondly, it's not possible for me to fall any further in love with you after that story. i've reached my limit. asshog, really? and i luuuuurve collection the most random ridiculous jobs, its fun eh?

    November 17, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterblunt delivery

    Jen: EXACTLY. Amen sista!

    Tim: Thankee McNults! :)

    Blunt D: Aww, but I wuv you BD! We're so fucking cool. :)

    November 17, 2009 | Registered CommenterBuffy Charlet

    I totally thought of you at work today - I got an email entitled "Don't Cha..." and then in the email body was "wish your girlfriend was hot like me" followed by ten or so pictures of some purdy hawt laydees. The sexy minx picture of Asshog was in the email, staring back at me... and off to the right a little too. I was sitting there, sniggering away (going straight to hell), saw Asshog and thought, "OMG! Buffy!.... I mean, Buffy's post!, not Buffy...." Awesome.

    November 18, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterElise

    Elise: Nooooooo way! Asshog is such a ho! She's making her rounds! I love that you saw Asshog and thought of me! Awww, tear drop. :)

    November 18, 2009 | Registered CommenterBuffy Charlet

    PostPost a New Comment

    Enter your information below to add a new comment.

    My response is on my own website »
    Author Email (optional):
    Author URL (optional):
    Some HTML allowed: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <code> <em> <i> <strike> <strong>