Riding Babylon Down

    Through the air conditioning he smelled the smell of  temp office: sweat and satisfaction that all of us are smart enough to make money off of  your work. The sweat was his own.
    Last name first, first name last, middle initial to the side. Address.
The honest answer was No to the question, Address.
(Funny how questions used to have a question mark. Now, even on paper, they are barked like orders.)
Blame it on dope.
But blame it on dope Later, after this here Job App thang is finished and we catch ourselves a Buzzard.
Then we can Blame it on Dope.

    Turns out the rules make it virtually impossible to get hired for a real job while you work for a temp agency. Nobody you are temping for will even talk about breaking the rules. And the rules say that the temp agency is entitled to about half of everything you earn for six weeks or more AFTER the people who want to hire you talk to the temp people. Or your new employer can "buy" you like a slave, paying off to the temp company about $1200 to compensate them for the loss of  your Valued Ass.
    So you end up working for the temp company full time, since you gotta keep that check coming and you are too tired to go look for another job. Heaven knows you'll never find a job where you actually work (the temp company.)
    What kind of work do temps do? They do the work that's too nasty for a company to make its own employees do it, a lot of  work with "low level" toxic waste, or at least that's what we were told. Scored some really cool "Hazardous Waste" stickers on that job. It was a company that used chemicals to purify gold, and they were moving to another location. Heavy metals, metalurgical solvents, acids, some packed away for years in closets... Who ya gonna call? Not the Mexicans. They would be cheap, but they might be liable to do something stupid that could hurt you... and liable is the key word. No, you go a rung up the workin' ho food chain and you call in the Temp Guys. These guys can read English, and will be careful not to drop a bottle of something that could eat through the sidewalk. Give all the regular employees the day off. It'll just be management and five temp slaves till the move is done.
    And anyway, there is no pay for two weeks. So I go to hock my camera. Man looks at the camera and all the lenses in the bag, there, says a Number. I say, "You have got to be kidding" He says, "Get the fuck out of my shop."
    Outside I barely fought down the urge to put a stone through the window of the pawn shop... Later...
    And that was when I understood what Punk Rock was really all about.