It Begins: Just a Urine Drop and I was on My Way to Prison

As Some of You know, I have a new job. The stock market was just scaring me, and I thought I would bolster up that portfolio with a little gainful employment. About a week before I made this decision, a Temp Agency, who shall remain Nameless, called me about working in the prison system. Of course, being of sound mind, and hearing they wanted full time, I brusquely said, “NO.”

Then I thought about it. My mother actually encouraged it. Why not? Temp job, interesting stories… if I worked full time for three months, I could lolly-gag around for a while. So I called them back.

They had two jobs, one at a maximum security men’s prison for a month, and one paying slightly more at a woman’s minimum for three months. The second one paid better, but the first was closer. What the heck, said I; it should be interesting. I called them back.

Two weeks after my résumé, my references, my height, weight, eye color and the name of my first born, they called me back. And they offered me the job. Do you see what is missing here? AN INTERVIEW??? I must admit, even I was a bit freaked out. They had sent me a job description, but it was such a generic one, my mother could have written something equally informative. Actually, my mom would have done a more thorough and interesting job of it. So, please, let me speak to this guy who wanted to hire me without even talking to me…

Well, it was an informative phone call for me. Seems that the Nameless Temp Agency just pulled a generic psychologist job description out of their files. Not even close to the actual job. I would be monitoring the stable mentally ill population at the prison. Could do that with one hand behind my back and my left eye crossed. And the boss-guy sounded sane and reasonable if a bit exhausted. He thoughtfully provided me with the names of professionals we had in common. So IMMEDIATELY I called my best nurse, Fred, and checked this guy out. Fred has perfected the art of emotive restraint and understatement; frankly, he is not prone to excitement and is allergic to hyperbole. He described this potential boss-guy as, “Top Notch.” Praise beyond the pale from Fred. I was sold.

So, what do you wear to a prison?? I suspected that Emily Post wouldn’t be able to help me. So I asked. I got a bit of a silence from the boss-guy, and then in the most delicate “duh” tone, he suggested, “regular clothes.” OK, it wasn’t a stupid question. So I told him I would sashay in wearing heals, nylons and a skirt; I mean, that IS what I normally wear to work. Well of course, with a top and undies and things…. Again, a silence. Just a moment of silence, but then, “Uh, khakis, pretty much everyone wears casual slacks and sometimes jeans on Friday.” Apparently “new women” were especially under scrutiny, and pants were less provocative. I didn’t get it, I’d think the men would be more exciting, but what did I know…

Just a urine drop and I was on my way. Drive sixty miles to the Nameless Temp Agency, do my paperwork, drive another ten miles to pee in a cup. To facilitate, the Agency had me go on their website, download the 25 pages of forms, and fill them out the night before. I am nothing if not a form filler, so I did just that after dinner.

Have you EVER been in a temp agency? GRIMGRIMGRIM. I was dressed better than the screener at the front desk and I was planning to walk all day shopping. She BRIGHTLY shuffled through my papers, announced half the forms on the site were outdated, but comforted me that that was, “all right.” I didn’t believe her. I felt irritated, not, “all right.” She told me things were “all right” about four more times. Snow White kept telling me, “Oh, my goodness!” at Disney and she nearly died of it. This Sparkling Little Robin was treading a thin line.
I refilled out half the forms while leaning away from the poor young boy reeking of alcohol applying for a mechanic job. She questioned him about the 14 month lapse in his résumé, and he announced totally straight-faced he was, “on vacation.” I then questioned Sparkling Robin about the form saying Nameless Temp Agency could deduct the cost of the drug test out of my paycheck at their discretion. Seemed a dicey thing to sign to me. She assured me they wouldn’t do it unless I got fired. I raised my eyebrows. What were they thinking to write such a crappy form that didn’t say that AT ALL. Misreading the eyebrow flick, she assured me it was very difficult to GET fired.

I gave up, and slunk out of the office to go pee in a cup.