The joys of temping, part 2

So I finally get to this place after all of the arrival time gymnastics. It's an uptight law firm: all the furniture in the reception areas looks like it was lifted from the set of "Masterpiece Theatre."

The word processing center has an overly bright, 2001: A Space Odyssey look to it, but with really old computers. I sit around for three solid hours waiting for work, idling away the time reading The Life of Samuel Johnson, listening to The Flaming Lips on my iPod, and making the occasional call to my son's little league game to get the score.

Finally, they give me a sheaf of papers to proof, the originals of which are handwritten and coffee-stained all to hell. No biggie. Except, it seems, I have been breaking rules left and right since my arrival.

To wit: no cell phones allowed in the word processing center; no music allowed in the center; (can you guess what's next?) no leisure reading allowed.

Note to self: Next time the agency wants to send you to this place, tell them "Steve is not allowed in blue-blood law offices."