Monday, June 22, 2009

one desk jockey speaks out

I hate my job so I write, think of photographs, Daniel Craig, Edward Norton, and how to get a better job. Not always in that order...
How could you NOT be inspired?
I spilled tea... guess I better clean it up. I'll get right on it.

It makes it easier.
Can anyone tell me how or why decorating the veal pens like a bad high school dance will boost morale?

"Our cubes are like veal pens. And they treat us like veal, horrible as that is. Constant overlords wielding what they perceive to be power. Ten years working in a call center does not give you power, except to bully others, a constant here. I refer to my id badge holder as my slave chain. I refer to myself as a "good lil' robot" and proclaim myself "bad robot" when they bitch at me about something meaningless. They don't like that. They don't like me; I'm an agitator. I refuse to be treated like garbage by anyone. We are considered nothing more than a replaceable cog in their machine, a machine that's soul purpose is to make money....
I search for meaning in this cramped crate of what some would call a workstation. Really it's just a bunch of papers, pens, cups, pills. I keep my cube messy on purpose. Just another small irritation, half expecting them to tell me to clean up my desk like I am a petulant child to clean it's room."

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