Welcome to the USS Caine

I have long since accepted that the folks managing Temp Town are not always -- or even usually -- the sharpest knives in the drawer. After all, if they were, would they be that close to Temp Town? Of course not. I also have long since accepted that they might not be the most mentally stable people out there. Given the number of crazy-ass temps, I can see that being contagious. Also, of course, many of the people who are directly responsible for managing temps used to be temps themselves. Anyway, the bars for competence and sanity are low.

We may have descended into "Caine Mutiny" territory here, though. As you know, some of the folks on this project have been here since the beginning, two years ago. Needless to say, they are socially bonded. They are planning to have a potluck lunch before Thanksgiving, and in preparation, sent out an email letting people know they could sign up to bring a dish and advising all of us to get ready to "eat, drink and be merry."

This might be the first time the use of a cliche has prompted a threat from management. Apparently, as soon as the project manager (the surviving project manager, as the one was called home to Jesus) saw the email, he rushed over to inform the sender of the email that consuming alcoholic beverages during work hours was "a fireable offense."

Obviously, no one suggested any such thing. As The Buffalo Springfield once noted, paranoia strikes deep.

In any event, I'm not sure what's going on here, but I think it solves the dilemma we had about what nickname we should assign to the surviving project manager. We debated Mini-Me, but decided the character ultimately became sympathetic and thus would not fit. The Brain also got some major support, and would have won if the other project manager were still around as the two could then be called "Drinky and The Brain," but I ultimately rejected The Brain as not quite right. The Brain is funny, after all. I currently am leaning toward Captain Queeg:

Naturally, there won't be a mutiny. We need the work, after all.

What could go wrong?

So we're at the firm now, the sword of Damocles hanging over our heads. No worries, right? After all, it's not like they cut us off from the outside world, is it? Oh, wait. We're in a part of the building that you have to leave to get cell phone service. And we were told on day one that we could "check personal email periodically," but that "internet use can be monitored." Not that it is, mind you, just that it can be. Of course, everybody knows it "can be," but throwing that out there is just designed to inject paranoia. Combine that with the fact that internet use beyond checking email often results in "Page Cannot Be Displayed" only feeds the paranoia. So no cell phone, limited internet and the threat that just trying to go beyond checking email will be "monitored" leaves us where? Yeah, cut off from the civilized world. All in all, the only plus here is the associate from the firm stays in his office instead of sitting in an office a few feet away, so nobody really fucks with us. Weird, when you consider that he's still in the same building. But I digress.

So here we are, in an environment where we no longer really know what the rules are (sure, they can "monitor" our internet use, but do they care so long as we get our work done? Not clear. Is spending too much time in the kitchen, the bathroom, or whereever going to be a problem? Who's watching? Who cares? Not clear.) and no one knows what the consequences of breaking the unknown rules are. I hate this shit. And on top of all that, we have no idea whether Friday is the last day. So here we sit, trying desperately not to do anything to get fired when we have no idea what it is that we might do that might get us fired, and we might get fired in 48 hours anyway.