In spite of my efforts, the work upon which my neurotic nature failed to allow to go easy, was noticed by the Higher-Ups. Within three weeks of working as a temp, I was lured into the first ring of hell by the golden promise of almost negligibly priced health insurance, which in turn, promised a daily glass of ambrosia in exchange for becoming an Amazon associate. I signed on the dotted line with a smirk, knowing that it wasn't my work ethic that got me this far, only the complete lack thereof in all other employees. I planned to continue at my own personal lackluster pace, which failed in the eyes of other, more experienced slackers. Often times I would hide with a cartful of books in one of the hundreds of tall, dark aisles, putting away a single book every two minutes and reading from "The Serial Killers' Encyclopedia" for five or ten.
In a few weeks Amazon was in trouble. Backed up orders flowing out the ass like a case of chronic dysentery. This meant nothing for the temps, but with my new light blue badge proclaiming me as an Amazon associate, it meant the dreaded red light. On various parts of the warehouse hung traffic lights, their representative colors indicating how much more work associates were responsible for doing. Green was the "OK," yellow the "Watch Out," and red the "We're Fucked." I enviously watched as the temps rolled out the door singing songs of newly freed prisoners and spat on the floor to display my disgust at having another two hours left of work, which consisted mostly of using the Star Trek Phaser Scanners like Laser Tag or sweeping the many aisles of styrofoam popcorn and cardboard debris. Usually I would freak about having to work the extra hours until I would just convince myself to leave early anyway.
