I started a new job recently, but one of the provisions of my hire is that I am not allowed to communicate in any official regard about the company, particularly online. While I find this particularly constraining, I understand the legal reasons for doing so. Unfortunately, I am now left with a considerable amount of pent-up energy that I would normally direct toward griping about my situation. Since the rest of my life is relatively uneventful at the moment, I am left with nothing to vent about, except the boneheaded actions of the government, and Lord knows we don't need another jackass pundit ranting about that.
And so I plan to direct this energy into a new, ongoing creation I have had in mind for some time now: the episodic story of Ted, a low-level hechman in the globe-spanning espionage organization known as (ahem) SPECTOR. Remember, this is entirely FICTION. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or situations is ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL. I swear. I'm just pulling this out of my head.
And now, episode one: Paperwork.
I have rarely been as confused as I have been the past week during my courtship with SPECTOR. The first inklings I had of working there came when I stopped by a local branch (Didn't know espionage organizations had those? Well, of course they do.) to purchase some electronics equipment. The "Now Hiring" sign was on full display, but clearly said it was for holiday help only. (Spy organizations always ramp up activity during the holidays. I don't know why.) However, the henchman I delt with mentioned that another employee had recently left this branch, and so a more permanent henchman position was opening. I let this ferment for a while, and slowly became comfortable with the idea, so I returned for an application. This was returned the next day and given directly to the managing henchman, who promptly lost it.
I found that out when I followed up with the managing henchman, who swore it had been passed on to the district office. After some digging, I found the district office's phone number and called to inquire about the status of everything, figuring that having someone higher up knowing my name might be beneficial. They had no idea I had applied and could find no record of it. Undaunted, I applied again, this time online. This, too, apparently never made it in.
Still undaunted, I tried a third time, and was handed off to another local managing henchman, Blofeld, for vetting. Blofeld has seemed either overwhelmed or, ahem, not on top of things every time I delt with him. Deadlines were continually missed. Phone calls unreturned. Following up in person, he had clearly not looked at my application in any detail and continually misprounounced my previous employer (SMERCH), even after I discreetly corrected him on it.
Most frighteningly, however, Blofeld had also misjudged my level of experience, choosing to place me in a distant office in the lowest henchman position possible, a position requiring little more intelligence than your average monkey. When I pointed out some more pertinent experience to him, he brightened up and suggested a position at a branch no more than 10 blocks from my house. This cheered me up considerably.
Unfortunately, he seemed to have forgotten all of this conversation immediately. Since our next conversation consisted of being offered a position at the distant location again, which he attributed to thinking that I lived near there. Being the generous sort that I am, I would never tack it up to incompetence. I am sure he was just swamped.
I held my tongue, but I wanted to reply that the address is right there on the second line of the application, right next to the phone number that he must have used to call me, and it clearly shows that I reside not five blocks from where he was calling. Instead, I politely asked if he would please try to place me at a closer location.
After a few days of sweating, he called me back and said that another position had opened up at a different, though closer location. This seemed like good news to me until he mentioned that the reason it had opened up is that one of the location's henchmen had been hit by a car driven by a rival agent who had gotten behind the wheel after too many martinis. This left me feeling ambivalent, but I accepted the position anyway, since there was little I could do.
Since then, I made a trip to the district office to fill out paperwork (who knew that espionage agencies had so many forms?) alongside another new hire with a breathing problem, while listening to frightening pop country on the office radio.
The truly disturbing thing (besides the drunk driver aspect, I admit) is that I know little or nothing about the particulars of my position yet. How many hours do I work? Am I seasonal? What should I wear? Blofeld never told me. I have a training session in, oh, about 6 hours, but I have no idea how long it will take, or, indeed, whether I will be paid for it. This all seems terribly slap-dash to me, but perhaps things will improve. And, if nothing else, at least I'm not working at the mall.
©2003 Ted the Henchman.
And so I plan to direct this energy into a new, ongoing creation I have had in mind for some time now: the episodic story of Ted, a low-level hechman in the globe-spanning espionage organization known as (ahem) SPECTOR. Remember, this is entirely FICTION. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or situations is ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL. I swear. I'm just pulling this out of my head.
And now, episode one: Paperwork.
I have rarely been as confused as I have been the past week during my courtship with SPECTOR. The first inklings I had of working there came when I stopped by a local branch (Didn't know espionage organizations had those? Well, of course they do.) to purchase some electronics equipment. The "Now Hiring" sign was on full display, but clearly said it was for holiday help only. (Spy organizations always ramp up activity during the holidays. I don't know why.) However, the henchman I delt with mentioned that another employee had recently left this branch, and so a more permanent henchman position was opening. I let this ferment for a while, and slowly became comfortable with the idea, so I returned for an application. This was returned the next day and given directly to the managing henchman, who promptly lost it.
I found that out when I followed up with the managing henchman, who swore it had been passed on to the district office. After some digging, I found the district office's phone number and called to inquire about the status of everything, figuring that having someone higher up knowing my name might be beneficial. They had no idea I had applied and could find no record of it. Undaunted, I applied again, this time online. This, too, apparently never made it in.
Still undaunted, I tried a third time, and was handed off to another local managing henchman, Blofeld, for vetting. Blofeld has seemed either overwhelmed or, ahem, not on top of things every time I delt with him. Deadlines were continually missed. Phone calls unreturned. Following up in person, he had clearly not looked at my application in any detail and continually misprounounced my previous employer (SMERCH), even after I discreetly corrected him on it.
Most frighteningly, however, Blofeld had also misjudged my level of experience, choosing to place me in a distant office in the lowest henchman position possible, a position requiring little more intelligence than your average monkey. When I pointed out some more pertinent experience to him, he brightened up and suggested a position at a branch no more than 10 blocks from my house. This cheered me up considerably.
Unfortunately, he seemed to have forgotten all of this conversation immediately. Since our next conversation consisted of being offered a position at the distant location again, which he attributed to thinking that I lived near there. Being the generous sort that I am, I would never tack it up to incompetence. I am sure he was just swamped.
I held my tongue, but I wanted to reply that the address is right there on the second line of the application, right next to the phone number that he must have used to call me, and it clearly shows that I reside not five blocks from where he was calling. Instead, I politely asked if he would please try to place me at a closer location.
After a few days of sweating, he called me back and said that another position had opened up at a different, though closer location. This seemed like good news to me until he mentioned that the reason it had opened up is that one of the location's henchmen had been hit by a car driven by a rival agent who had gotten behind the wheel after too many martinis. This left me feeling ambivalent, but I accepted the position anyway, since there was little I could do.
Since then, I made a trip to the district office to fill out paperwork (who knew that espionage agencies had so many forms?) alongside another new hire with a breathing problem, while listening to frightening pop country on the office radio.
The truly disturbing thing (besides the drunk driver aspect, I admit) is that I know little or nothing about the particulars of my position yet. How many hours do I work? Am I seasonal? What should I wear? Blofeld never told me. I have a training session in, oh, about 6 hours, but I have no idea how long it will take, or, indeed, whether I will be paid for it. This all seems terribly slap-dash to me, but perhaps things will improve. And, if nothing else, at least I'm not working at the mall.
©2003 Ted the Henchman.
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