World Trade Center

I shot this video when I was in New York last year on September 11th. Today is the 10th anniversary of the September 11th attacks, and the video reminded me of something I wrote in my old blog in 2003, so I dug it up for today.

_____________________________

6/27/03 11:10 pm

In 1998, when I lived in New York, I landed a sweet and much-needed temporary proofreading gig at OppenheimerFunds in Tower 2 of the World Trade Center. Great pay, business casual, free Starbucks coffee in the kitchen, even a window office overlooking the Hudson River and New Jersey. And, most importantly, lots of down time where I could write my comedy shit.

There was only one catch. And that was another temp. A 50-something-year-old woman named Barbara.

My first day on the job was a Friday. I remember, because when the supervisor introduced us, Barbara said tartly, “Today’s casual Friday. You didn’t have to dress up.” I couldn’t have felt more chastised if I’d worn a bikini.

The supervisor, Ezra, was an overly tolerant, born-again Christian hippie with terrible halitosis. Later, in private, he said, “You’ll have to excuse Barbara.” He always spoke as if he were in a room full of sleeping babies. “She used to be an opera singer and she’s a little temperamental. But she really doesn’t mean any harm.”

Yeah, right. It was obvious that Barbara wanted me dead. But the job was awesome. I was getting a flow going there: doing the job for which I was hired, and getting lots of writing done, too. The only down side was feeling the hatred from Barbara. In a momentary lapse of judgement (a frequent occurrence, due to his fundamentally un-corporate, hippie nature), Ezra informed me that Barbara had accused him of playing favorites. “All she has to do is flash those actress eyes at you, and you’re like putty in her hands!” Barbara had reportedly hissed.

“Actress eyes?” I said. “What is she talking about?”

“Oh, that’s just Barbara,” he sighed, as I ducked to avoid the toxic breeze. “Always so dramatic.”

A few days later, Ezra informed me that I wouldn’t be coming back. And, not only was Barbara staying on, but it was she who had successfully engineered my removal. Apparently, she’d gone to the department heads and told them that there wasn’t enough work for the two of us, and that I was using my time there as a personal study hall. Which was true, but so was she, that bitch! Back in the lucrative ’90s, that’s what temp proofreading gigs were all about! If there was nothing to proofread, you were paid to sit there and wait. That’s what made it so beautiful – unlike other temp jobs, you didn’t have to pretend to be busy. Barbara knew that perfectly well. But she wanted me out of there.

I was livid. What goddamn right did she have? Never in my years of temping had I known a temp to screw over another one so hard. That shit was for the world of showbiz. I never imagined it happening in the dowdy world of temporary employment.

Then again, she was an opera singer.

I sputtered to Ezra that this was Barbara’s doing and that it was devious, malicious, and unfair. He just sighed, clasped his hands together like a minister and said, “Oh Rachel, you don’t understand now, but one day you will. Barbara is just jealous of you. You’re young, happy, beautiful, and about to get married. Poor Barbara has no one. She sleeps with a teddy bear! So don’t waste your energy being angry with her. One day, none of this will matter.”

I remember where he said this to me:  in the hallway of the 33rd floor. I don’t know what happened to Ezra or Barbara. And the 33rd floor is now just empty sky.