My humble beginnings.

I didn’t go looking for this job. I just wanted a nice gig at a well-funded non-profit with flexible hours and good insurance. Something with children would have been nice… maybe the elderly.

Too much to ask, I know. Or at least, as I found out. Times are tight and jobs are hard to come by, so I just needed income. 

I interviewed for three jobs initially: a call center “how can I help you” type job, a temp agency, and this one. I’m not so great at being nice to people when they’re incompetent or rude, so the call center didn’t seem like a good fit. The temp agency wasn’t promising steady work and asked if I would feel comfortable posing nude, so I just about ran from there. And that left this option.

I responded to the ad because it sounded so vague and I have a bit of whimsy about me:

 ”Seeking to change the world. Assistant needed. Vegetarians and hippies need not apply. Must be comfortable working nights and odd hours. Excellent benefits. To apply, contact entropyincorporated@gmail.com“

 It hit a couple of my high points for my ideal job, and I really enjoy cheeseburgers, so I e-mailed the contact.  I heard back almost immediately and thought, “Yay for promptness.”  We scheduled an interview and here I am.

Sitting in the lair.

Alone on a Friday.

But I don’t suppose that would be any different if I didn’t work for the 3^rd greatest super-villain of our times.

I know what you’re thinking-I must be completely screwed up to choose to be an evil minion.  Possible I have daddy issues or experienced extensive bullying as a child. But it’s not like that. It didn’t start out that way. And he didn’t exactly tell me that I was being hired as a minion.

 My interview intrigued me. We met at a coffee house and he didn’t really seem to like me.  He kept rolling his eyes and checking his watch and staring at me through his coke bottle glasses as though he could barely tolerate the sight of me.  But then at the end, he offered me the job on the spot.  He looked at his watch again, drummed his fingers on the table and said, “You’ll do. Can you start tomorrow?” 

 His tone suggested I simply got lucky because he didn’t have the time or the energy to speak with one more bright-faced recent college grad with optimism and a briefcase. For the record, I didn’t have a briefcase-just a messenger bag with an Apple sticker slapped on the side.

I’ll admit, I thought he was shady. But the price was right and he made it sound like we would be working to make improvements to the world, so I agreed. He explained he was a “thinker, an inventor, a creative mind with aspirations to do more.” Using my nearly useless psych major expertise, I gave him a working diagnosis of delusions of grandeur (delusional disorder not otherwise specified, if you want to be technical).  He told me he needed a personal assistant who could adapt to a variety of roles. He said he needed someone to keep him on track.

 And boy howdy did he ever need that. With those nerd-squad glasses and that hair like a demented static electricity halo around his head, he already looked like he could use some grooming. But then add the mismatched socks and the suit borrowed either from a hobo or a 1920s circus ringmaster and you have a situation not even Tim Gunn could make work.

I didn’t realize until much later exactly what I’d gotten myself into. By that time, I had developed a healthy appreciation for funky yet expensive handbags and a dependence on technological gadgets. Furthermore, the economy was still sucking so it wasn’t like I had other options. And, anyway, he’s not one of those crazy-eyed villains that wants to annihilate all of humanity. He wants to correct the wrong of man in a more aggressive way than most people are comfortable with. He’s kind of like Robin Hood.

Okay-he’s not at all like Robin Hood. But I’m riding the Rationalization Express all the way to my next paycheck.

Think of it this way:

In your 20s, you usually have to work at a crappy job. It’s all grunt-level bitch work so you can build your resume and get something better later.  Usually you have to bite your tongue when your boss says or does something you think is stupid/unethical/ inefficient. Usually you’re pretty certain your company is not run particularly well and the people in charge are corrupt.

 I know for sure that my boss is corrupt. At least he’s honest about that, and I don’t have to sit in a cubicle.   I can sleep in most days, he let’s me wear jeans to work, and there’s not a single website I’m not allowed to access from work.

Yeah, being an evil minion isn’t looking so bad now, is it?

~ by M on October 7, 2008.