by I I-Smith
"Your view of history as
a nightmare from which you are trying to escape seems awfully pretentious, as no
one will remember you five minutes from now."
Today I am temping as a receptionist in a company whose name I cannot remember. This is not good, because I have to repeat the company’s name, together with the question ‘How may I help you?’ every two minutes - which is approximately how often the phone rings. There are two reasons I can’t remember the name of the company and the main one is that it is one of those very dull, meaningless names that are instantly forgettable. I think it has ‘Investment’ and possibly ‘Communications’ in there, and it definitely ends in ‘Ltd’. The second reason is that I am slightly nervous, because I have never worked as a receptionist in my life and have, therefore, to learn how to operate the switchboard, as well as taking messages, opening the security-locked door to clients, ensuring they have coffee to drink and a copy of ‘Investment Communications Ltd: Annual Report’ to read whilst they wait, all the while smiling and looking slightly stupid (I imagine that Communications Investment Ltd would prefer a receptionist who does not quote Nietzsche at the clients).
Before I manage to learn the company’s name I discover that being a receptionist is a very unrewarding job, I imagine a bit like being an airhostess or a ‘people greeter’ at Wal-Mart. You exist in a constant state of first encounters, of meeting, of greeting, of passing on to someone else. You never develop a relationship, you're merely a conduit through which people pass.
You must constantly renew your fresh-lipsticked smile and welcoming expression. I'm not sure into what frame of mind such enforced freshness put me exactly, particularly as my natural state does not include a fresh-lipsticked smile or a welcoming expression. I also realise that part of my job, part of the reason I am being paid, is to be a person whom other people can pretend is not there. I am completely ignored by the waiting clients reading ‘Communications Investment Ltd: Annual Report’ who seem to find the pie charts of the company’s sales on page 2 far more interesting than a conversation with me could possibly be. No one remembers my name, but I remind myself I cannot be too upset about this because I cannot remember the name of their company.
I sit and wait for the day to end, the working day anyway. Inside the capsule-like office the environment is strictly controlled and I have no way of knowing what the prevailing weather conditions are outside on the unprotected surface of planet Earth. The windows are tinted, presumably to prevent us from being distracted from our work by the comparatively fascinating scenes of people commuting, and also perhaps to hide from clients the reality of the ugly view the windows afford of the cheaper end of the City.
The lighting and the climate control are fixed at the precisely the shading and temperature to provide the worker with the feeling either that it is raining, or that it is just about to start raining, or that it has just stopped raining but may begin again at any moment. This ambience is designed, I believe, to ensure the worker does not begin to wish that he or she would rather be outside; but instead reinforces the feeling that he or she might as well pass the time working because the weather is so depressing. After a while I take up a copy of ‘Investment Communications Ltd: Annual Report’ to see what is so interesting about it. After reading the report from cover to cover I am still no clearer as to what the company does or makes or sells, but I have learned that one of its mottos is ‘achievement through innovation’ (or was it ‘innovation through achievement’?)
At about 3pm I begin to doubt my own physical existence after three people ignore me simultaneously. I then get completely lost on the way back from the Ladies, which is located on another floor. All the floors look the same, and there are no landmarks to fix oneself in space and time. There are only dried flower arrangements on each floor but these are all identical, as are the people walking past them. It is a theme park of anonymity and I am on a white-knuckle ride. By the time I make it back to my reception, I have to wipe cold perspiration from my forehead. Perhaps Kafka worked for a while at ‘Communications Investment Ltd’.
I leave at 5pm and am caught in a stream of almost identically dressed people who are also leaving. The only difference is, I will not return.
