I still have only one character and no plot for my work in progress. Life interfered in the past few days, but now I have this new glorious Monday to start all over again. No distractions, nothing else to worry about but getting this damn proposal written. As a writer, I love Mondays. I'm endlessly thankful that I have a job I actually look forward to doing, and I even look forward to wrestling with this plotless characterless mess I've made.
I can easily remember the days of old when I had many a crappy job--too many to list--and I dreaded Mondays most of all. They were the furthest point from the next weekend, and I had a whole week of drudgery to look forward to. My worst job? Telemarketer.
No throwing rotten vegetables. I was only a telemarketer for two weeks, and I was trying to pay my way through college. Everyone else working there was miserable too. It's the only job I ever left where people actually clapped for me when I walked out on my last day there. A few people, with looks of desperation in their eyes, demanded to know where my new job was and was there any chance they could get hired there too.
The telemarketing place where I worked was about a step above slave labor. Our time was so strictly monitored that we had to be really quick about using the restroom or risk having our pay docked for taking minutes too long on our breaks. Our phone conversations were monitored, and if we didn't follow the script and push as hard as we could to get the desired customer response, we risked being fired.
I like to think that having suffered through one of world's crappiest jobs gives me an acute sense of appreciation that I'm doing my dream job now.
And I swear, I never called your house. Well, probably not.