why, you ask? first, because i'm the go-to guy, the one who rides in to the rescue at crunch-time (just doin my job, ma'am); and, secondly, because i make sure they never have to worry about me--unlike so many of the prickly prima donnas who populate my workplace, i'm unfailingly calm, good-humored, reliable and accomplished, and i make it a point to get along with everybody. my yearly reviews are always excellent, my raises always in the upper percentile.
and you know what? i love them back: first, because i know i'm one of comparatively few americans lucky enough to have a job which not only demands little of him, but for which he's both overqualified and overpaid; second, because i'm thankful to work for a company that makes so much money they can afford to keep highly-salaried people like me sitting around doing mostly nothing just for when they need 'em; and third, because they're always so grateful when i fix something.
oh, and my schedule suits me perfectly--i'm allowed to show up at noon, and my week doesn't start until wednesday, leaving me only three days where i'm forced to actually interact with people, and saturdays and sundays spent mostly in glorious, sweats-and-flipflops, web-surfing solitude.
and then there's the final reason i love my job--it's the last remaining thing that gives my life any kind of structure.
see, on those days i don't have to work--when i don't have to meet anybody's expectations--more and more, i go into full-depressive mode: i rarely see anybody anymore (except maybe v sometimes) and i don't crawl outta bed until 4 if i can help it--and then only if i'm hungry. but come hell or high water, on wednesday at eleven, i'm up and moving, the mask of normality firmly back in place, and off to work i go. i sail in with a big smile and, to the inevitable questions of "so how were your days off?," i blithely come up with some bullshit, some approximation of what my weekend might've been like had i been normal like them.
it's all a lie, of course--at work, i'm nothing more than an actor playing a role. but since i've been doing that almost all my life in one way or another, it's relatively undemanding--and work's the one thing that's keeping me from spiraling into the abyss right now. so everything's cool, right?
well, actually, no--now there's a problem, one thing i haven't been able to control. it was formally brought to my attention today that i have more unused vacation/sick time than anybody else in the company, and the time is drawing near when i have to use a big chunk of said time or lose it. which means, of course, i have to take some time off--to do otherwise would just be too damn weird.
and when our h.r. director leaned across her desk today and urged me to take a long, well-deserved vacation, i guess the facade slipped a little, because she fell back in her chair, wide-eyed and a little shocked, and i realized i must've snapped at her. i recovered, made some soothing noises, told her i'd give serious thought to where i wanted to spend my glorious holiday, but i could tell the damage was done--despite five years of carefully-maintained equanimity, they now know something's wrong.
and on top of that, this is all i need right now--a big stretch of bleak, unstructured time. fuck.
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5 comments:
The best written post you've done in a while . It actually felt moving and real as opposed to the usual tripe . Why ? Because it does not bash work as the cookie cutter "i shouldn't be doing this , i should be painting" bulltripe . Work is an amazing thing and it helps to show Man that he is most actualized when working towards a goal , a project , a sense of community etc .
People bash work because they're lazy socialistic idiots . Let the peasants eat their cake .
As for your vacation dilemma coupled with the money you have stored up . How about a nice visit from your favourite pupil ? Some fois gras and lobster and oysters and what not ? I'll make sure to dress nicely so that people don't mistake me for a rent boy ; God knows I wouldn't touch decrepit and rott-- well you know what I mean . Plus I'm afraid if I ever see backhair my penis would implode .
hmm, i didn't exactly see this as a "whistle while you work" kinda post, but ok.
and, bb, as i've said before, you're setting yourself up for such a miserable old age.
One of my favorite sayings is "They call it work for a reason."
As someone who has seen the breakup of so many "marriages" concerning work, my experience is not really representative.
In general, what I despise is when some employers put a big smiley fact on it and call work a "family." My family is my family, work is work.
The biggest thing I get from your post is that you and your employer, for whatever reason, have made a bargain and both think you are getting the better of it. Your employer is getting someone incredibly competent who is essentially slumming and doing something a lot of folks with your intelligence and capabilities just wouldn't do. You're getting a job that appears to be a lot less stressful than most (like mine) and that pays pretty well.
Count it even.
I've been absent...that work thing keeps me a little busy...you could always come to Austin and visit me.
Rest assured we could get into all kinds of deliciously fun trouble but you'll have to trade your cheap vodka and sprite/7-Up for decent vodka and Bawls.
And balls. :::grin:::
rob: you have it exactly right.
judi: you never know, babe--that could happen.
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