Workplace impressions

I have four jobs and a handful of month to month or otherwise periodic responsibilities. I am paid for the time I spend solving these problems and creating these outputs or interpreting these inputs.

Lets pretend I work for employer #1 on Monday, #2 on Tuesday, and so on.

On Monday, I take the elevator to floor 13 (of 17) in Denver's first skyscraper. I am greeted warmly by everyone. They miss me and I have made an impression on them. For several weeks I worked in a small conference room. But I spent very little time in that conference room, because when I show up at this job, I spend very little time at a desk and much more time "consulting" or training or working to make improvements to schedules with other, continuing workers. I grow frustrated at others' ineptitude, and at other times I am impressed with the boss's trend towards better control. He is the right man for the job and I would not hesitate to work for him again.

On Tuesday, I take the same elevator to the eighth floor. The front desk girls are very attractive, and predictably, they ignore me. I walk in like I own the place and I go to sit at a woman's cubicle. She has funny motivational posters (like literally funny, not motivational). She also has cat picture calendars and mostly purple pens. I sit at her workstation and I focus on my task. My task is fairly technical, I record equity in earnings, I reconcile corporate accounts, I record miscellaneous joint venture revenue, and equity transactions and related schedules. I billed them for two hours so far for the time it took me to learn their file structure. The work itself is impossibly easy for me. I bill them a solid rate, but they are getting a bargain with me.

Wednesday I head to the lower set of elevator banks at the city's premier office tower. I ride up to the 38th floor, to a sparsely populated and barely decorated office space.  This company developes and mines precious metals in North and South America. I am in charge of consolidating Mexico and Luxembourg into the consolidated financial statements. It is incredibly simple accounting, but it is complicated politics. At my rate, and as a "consultant", I will gladly deal with it. Bigger issues are "not my fucking problem" and smaller issues are easy enough to deal with. We have a good view from that office.

Thursday I might get to go work in my last office. Gotta find a place to park; it don;t matter where cause it's gonna get reimbursed anyway. Park the motorcycle and grab the camera, go to the VIP window and grab the credentials, show my ID, sign my name, walk over to the media entrance, head upstairs, make sure my import settings are right, and head down to the area behind home plate for the first inning. Don't forget the folding camping chair. Shoot one inning of the pitcher face-on and head over to first base or third base. Doug, George, Walter, Levi, Don, and the others keep the fans in line and the photographers too. Sit in the sun shooting backlit, or sit in the shade and find the contrast. Anticipate the action. Tag the image on the back of the camera, and try to get it to the east coast in time. Always file something if a homerun is hit. I like shooting the closers; the closer drama is the weirdest drama in baseball, but also the most enjoyable to worry about. File 20-30 pictures and head out the side door, since the fans have already left. Hop on the moto and ride it home. File the rest of the pictures during Dawson's first nap in the morning.