I work an eight hour day. I am a receptionist in a real estate office, and it is not a terrible job. I have eight hours to do homework. Eight hours to think. Eight hours to research, to read news, to read gossip, to find new and interesting hobbies to take up for a day or two, to shop, to lose myself. To do anything really because on average I get about 8 phone calls a day, 3 of which are wrong numbers.
It's a satellite office of the main office and it's pretty empty all of the time, so my boss isn't breathing down my neck and I don't have really anyone to answer to for much. I am responsible for answering the phones and setting showings. That's my job description. However, at the age of 18 I'm more mature, responsible, understanding, kind, hard-working, literate, clean, and respectful than every single last person I work with, not a single one under the age of 30. I come here to do a job, get paid for doing that job, and go above and beyond that job to do the best I can to help the agents out and make their lives maybe a little easier because God knows that not everyone can live in Utopia.
I don't ask for favors, for money, for cheap rent, for a cut of that deal they just closed that I drew up the contracts and forms for. Nope. If they ask me to do it, I do it.
"Hey Heather, my clients brought their kids in. They're going to sit in the front with you for two seconds while we run over this offer."
Which actually translates in to "Heather, I'm leaving you in charge of four disgusting children, two of which have shitty diapers and snot running down in to their mouths. I'm going to give them drinks with which they can pour all over that $4,000 Italian leather sofa Joyce (the owner) bought for the office and crayons so they can finish off the coffee table. Wait, better make it markers because, well, I, personally, think it will be hilarious to watch you try to scrub it off for the next few hours because, you know, you're not doing homework or anything stupid like that. They also brought their fucking dog, which you and I both know you're allergic to, and I'm going to chain him to your chair because I can't wait to watch you have an asthma attack. He's a snuggler, this one! This meeting is going to be a while, probably well over an hour and I have no doubt in my mind that someone will come in to see another agent or to deliver a package and the dog will go nuts, the kids will attach themselves to one of this persons legs (except for the one that's crying in the corner because he didn't want to be here and instead would rather be at McDonald's where he was promised to be going in the first place) and you will get screamed at and embarrassed by the other agent for bringing in your puppy and your children. Oh, and by the way, can you please get us some water because, gosh, we know you can't walk, but it's really funny to watch you on your crutches trying to carry drinks! Oh no, little billy rolled off in your wheelchair. Good luck catching him! Thanks a bunch!
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