why i hate my job (or a daily mail whine to music)
ever arrive in work on a delightfully horrible sunny spring morning and realise (although really you’ve always known) with ballshrinking certainty that the career (ha!) path you’ve chosen (ie been forced and/or wandered into) is one of utter inconsequential madness? one where the sheer mindnumbing souldestroying incalculable inscrutable pointlesness weighs upon you so heavily that even kafka and camus would have laughed their collected works off as fluff. the horror.. the horror…
i’m trapped in this bloated hell mainly because i can’t think of fuck all else to do with myself and no-one will pay me for my word assemblage, to write stupid music based mutterings or for my endearingly amateurish photography. so i do that for fun and whore myself to the man in order to pay mortgages, buy vinyl and drink myself to willing apathy. i am bunny lebowski. i’ll suck your (metaphorical…) cock for a thousand dollars. i’ve accepted this ugly world i’ve created for myself. and it galls. i’m fucking terrified. sometimes i see some worth in what i do. most times i’m just idling away my precious short life. hey ho.
what i do understand though is the ridiculousness of the job, the work, the culture. colleagues who willing accept pissing away the public purse on nothing very much, yet pay their taxes, wonder aloud, amusingly, where the money goes, while organising shite like this.
a perfectly rectangular symbol of everything, everything, wrong with the public sector. an all day event in a hotel attended by nicola sturgeon that translates basically as wash your fucking hands you filthy buggers. an event! wash your hands! there’s your fucking event. and look it cost nothing bar the three seconds it took me to type and press post. if in this day and age we still haven’t realised, health workers particularly, that having mucky bloody germs on yr hands while poking and prodding sick people one after another isn’t a very good idea then we all deserve painful slow deaths from clostridium difficile or the fucking hanta virus.
what does this eight hour slap in the face fuck your mother and steal yr wallet-a-thon have to say:
- using an improvement design approach to change behaviour? roughly translated as telling people to wash their fucking hands. please.
- collaborative working to improve hand hygeine? roughly translated as ‘hey you, wash yr fucking hands’.
- making hand hygeine sustainable? roughly translated as buy enough soap and paper towels for your dirty fucking hands.
sweet jeebus christ!
thank holy fuck i’m out of here for a week. long term, i’m begging for an end, an exit, an out of this unholy shitrimony.
free me, free me…..
19/03/2009 at 10:01 pm
I don’t think you wandered into it, I think it was set up for you, everyone, to naturally wander into it. We all get sucked into the money trap, the myth of man system, and short of divorcing yourself from life (which you can’t really do can you) what else can you do, but try to strike a balance? I have fantasies about aboriginal walkabouts or living on a farm, growing my own food, simplicity in general, but then I think of what I would do without my laptop, for example. Are we ever free? Can we ever really ‘wash our hands’ of it? Or can we only find things that give us pleasure to soften the chains of modern living? I like your rants, mate. They get me going on my own tangents.
19/03/2009 at 11:50 pm
ach i’m just griping. it’s not like i’m in burma digging roads at gunpoint.
tangents? you should try holding a conversation with me for more than five minutes. my brain’s like a crack adddled dustin hoffman just now.
and shit don’t start me on freedom. i will bum you the fuck out. that’s another post for another day.
i’ve just found myself in the wrong set of chains is all. i wanted the fur lined handcuffs with vibro-massage facility. instead i find myself shackled with jaggy rusty manacles and the onset of tetanus. and now the balance seems weighted more towards the mundane than the unreal (which obviously i favo(u)r) and the choice of chains is starting to shrink as the months go on…
blah fucking blah.
i’m on vacation for the next goddam week. i’ve greased up and slipped out for a while. i have nothing to do, bands to see and words to read.
you my dear are a tonic; a fucking pill. can i get you on prescription? i look forward to yr own tangential weavings.
thanks for the words. as always.
20/03/2009 at 11:42 am
my sympathy and empathy, but as bad as the public sector is, I’m not sure the private is any better;
http://www.wikileaks.org/wiki/Barclays_Bank_gags_Guardian_over_leaked_memos_detailing_offshore_tax_scam%2C_16_Mar_2009
20/03/2009 at 11:38 pm
m’dear, in fact i do come in pill form
21/03/2009 at 3:03 pm
I spent a day in London learning a system that I’ve been using for 9 months now. Using it fully for nine months and now they decided we would all benefit from being trained on it.
And did they show us anything groundbreaking??? Nope, just new ways to screw more money out of the poor sods who are on minimum wage and how to get around paying them for their work.
Did they have their name badge on – NO dock them two hours pay
Did they have a mark on their crappy yellow shirts which are so thin you could piss through them – yes. Dock them a further hours pay.
Did they not sign 19 bits of paper it takes for them to get paid? NO? then strip all their pay and then don’t tell them.
Nine hours to show us more effective ways of not paying people for their honest work.
At least your job is an honest days work, even if it does take a day to tell you to wash your hands.
I even had to pay the privilage of £8 on the congestion charge for the joy of attending my course.
22/03/2009 at 2:08 pm
“ever arrive in work on a delightfully horrible sunny spring morning and realise (although really you’ve always known) with ballshrinking certainty that the career (ha!) path you’ve chosen (ie been forced and/or wandered into) is one of utter inconsequential madness?”
i work with emotionally disturbed teenagers, and that ballshrinking certainty (god, i love that line) is with my every goddamned day. i get what brian is saying about public vs. private sector but at least private pays better for “the sheer mindnumbing souldestroying incalculable inscrutable pointlesness”. or maybe not.
PiL is awesome, esp. Metal Box.
22/03/2009 at 3:50 pm
brianorama.
public / private. major label / indie. arthouse / hollywood.
shit is shit no matter who’s ass it’s coming from.
it’s government/public sector policy that decides barclays can get away with this. and this ain’t even new new news. it’s old hat baby. but while we were all rolling around in cheap credit like grubby little whorepuppies we (and yes i include myself in all of this) were wonderfully apathetic about the whole disgusting spectacle.
hey ho.
fuck dole scroungers and council scum breeding for houses and benefits though.
22/03/2009 at 3:55 pm
harmonie m’dear.
are you an upper or downer? if i chug you down with a shot of jagermeister while i fall into woozy narcoleptic slumber or freak-out-run-around like a medicated nick nolte? i need both i think.
i doubt i could afford yr wondrous narcotic properties…
22/03/2009 at 4:02 pm
dumpling. daisydaisy.
did you wash yr hands before typing here?
my job is anything but an honests days work. involving neither honesty. nor in fact any work.
and unfortunately you (me and everyone else paying taxes (not barclays or news corp or whoever else in the ftse top100 though) are not only paying the eight quid congestion charge but you are paying for me, for handwashing days-out, for politicians to attend them, and all the other pointless crap used to justify someone elses unexistant jobs.
thanks for the words.
22/03/2009 at 4:12 pm
jason.
there’s enough grumbling going on here so i’ll say this:
pil are/were indeed awesome. a far tastier proposition than the sex pistols ever were.
metal box. jah wobbles bass is a work of fucking beauty.