Thursday, July 26, 2012

Apparently my parents don't like me comparing my job to being in jail.

Or an internment camp. But it feels so apt! Ever since our company introduced time clocks and we've had to punch in and out of work, I feel trapped. It's like when I worked at Walgreens in high school, except there is nothing good to shoplift. 


I've been looking for new jobs for a while now* and it is not surprisingly a frustrating experience. My suit has seen more action lately than it ever has before, but sometimes not even an attractive suit is enough! Everyone keeps telling me to be thankful I have a job, which is a good point and very true, but it is difficult to process when all you have been trying to do is get out of your current job. Perhaps it is because I've never been without a job, but saying this doesn't do as much good as people would hope. Would you say the same thing to a Nazi official? "Look I know you don't believe in eugenics, but at least you're working." Or a man who has just had one of his legs crushed by a riding lawn mower? "I know you are missing a leg and without it it is impossible to walk on your own, but at least you have the one leg! You can still wear one shoe!" While it is indeed very good that I have a job, knowledge of this somehow doesn't relieve the boredom and frustration of working an unfulfilling job. 


I guess I'll just have to keep dreaming that the perfect job is out there. It's a bit like being in a relationship, because once you settle down you are forced to realize that what you thought was perfect secretly cross-dresses on the weekends or has been faking an English accent this whole time (I have made up examples so as not to point fingers). If you never settle down with anything/anyone, your elusive perfect job can always have an on-call masseuse and offer free jet-ski rentals. Of course some web companies actually do offer things like this, which is why I will always need to be several steps ahead of them so I am not bummed about not working at Google. My perfect job, which pays me to write, paint, to watch television as long as I promise to think about working sometimes, and to criticize people at whim, also picks me up at my house each morning (it supplies the house) at 10:30 AM in a private jet and chauffeurs me to my office (which is a pool). 


If this post just seems like one big complaint, it is because it is one! Sorry. Will try to think of better things to write about next time.


*Millions of years

1 comment:

Pete said...

Love the pessimism