Loser Cruiser

The summer I became a Putnatemp, I chose the cheapest office wear at Filene’s Basement, all of which I paired with nude control top pantyhose. I had gained the freshman 20-30 and everything looked hideous on my squat frame. No matter. I had a job at a major investment company and I was going to look the part. Assigned to the workflow department, I was tasked with sorting “output” and picking up the faxes from all the floor’s 7 or so fax machines on an hourly basis. Apparently an important fax had once gone astray and subsequently cost the company a client, bearing the creation of my job.  So, at 9, 10, 11, 12, 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5, I would go on a lap around the floor and pretend not to notice the snickers of co-workers 5 years my seniors. I bet I was known as “fax girl”.

When I wasn’t picking up faxes, I sorted output armed with a tub of pink Sortkwik, an electric stapler, and a pile of paper clips. Some output needed to be stapled, some paper clipped. The report covers were slightly different on each kind and that’s how we knew which method was needed for fastening. Nothing was worse than realizing a staple had been shot through paper clip output. That meant getting out the staple remover and interrupted the race I was in to get my pile done before my equally competitive cubemates. We should have had daily prizes for that race, I would have won a few. I still have no idea what this output was or why it needed to be sorted, I just remember getting really excited when the mailroom guys dropped it off.

The air conditioning in the large brown and grey building was set on hyperfreeze and lunch was the only time I got to feel the sun. Gone were the days of sitting on Buzzards Bay beaches all summer long. I was in college, time to be adultish and make money. Thankfully, I was not alone. My best friend had also gotten a Putnajob that summer, an assignment that was far superior to mine. While I toiled away with paper cuts in a tiny refrigerated room, she got her own desk and computer. She got hit on by a hot co-worker, I was asked out by the guy who barely spoke English and was very specific about only wanting to go out with me for lunch on casual Fridays. When I suggested a different day, he said no. Perplexed, I told him I didn’t think I could go with him and left it at that which made for an awkward number of Fridays to come. “You go to mall with me this Friday?” he’d ask. “No, Francois, I cannot” I said. Dateless, overweight, and horribly dressed, I spent another summer woefully single, wondering when I would ever catch a break. So I did what any self-respecting young lady would do—went to Rhode Island and got a tattoo. My friend paid for half because I didn’t have enough cash with me. I think I still owe her. Scratch that, I know I do.

One of the greatest challenges of those Putnatemp jobs was that we had to take the Putnashuttle each morning. The Putnashuttle, or “Loser Cruiser” as everyone called it, was the van for workers who were at the bottom of the seniority list, which obviously included us. There was not enough room in the on-site lot thus forcing the rabble of the company to park at the remote lot about 1 mile away and then ride the Putnashuttle to the office. “Aw you gotta take the loozah cruizah??!” people would say. I was almost never on time and the remote lot meant arriving that much later. Rather than arrive 15 minutes earlier, I decided to live on the edge and park right at the office on many days. My friend and I would sheepishly shuffle in, hoping to not get caught.  This was a big risk because, quite often, a tow truck would be called and one poor soul’s Toyota Tercel would be paraded around in a shameful loser lap on its way to the tow lot. Suddenly, you’d see tens of Putnarebels scurry like ants into the blinding sun to move their cars. I was one of those rebels but didn’t get towed until I tried parking in the lot across the street. I was clearly a Putnaidiot.

Although I worked primarily with output, I did eventually graduate to use a computer. Once they figured out I could do data entry, my days were so filled I needed to make appointments. I even started to work overtime until they told me I wasn’t allowed. I was fortunate to have this job every summer—it paid for countless textbooks, slices of Domino’s pizza, and scorpion bowls at Yong Shing’s. I learned how to be comfortable with being uncomfortable, especially in control top pantyhose with a fresh sun tattoo on the front of my left hip. Loser Cruiser and all, it was a time of exponential growth during which I began to shape my path toward adulthood. My co-workers were from diverse walks of life and I loved talking to them everyday. I learned about different perspectives that challenged my worldview. Guess I was pretty Putnalucky to be a Putnatemp.