Disappointment.
Finding time to post is kind of a difficult task nowadays. First, there was the "24" involvement. Recently, my mother lent us the first season of "24" on DVD, a show which I had never actually sat down to watch until about a month ago, partway through season 5.
So we watched the first season. In five days. Watching one episode was like smoking crack, or what I imagine the addiction of smoking crack to be if it somehow resembled watching a television show. Watching one episode was not enough, and having all the episodes there was instant gratification. No longer did we have to wait for an entire week for a new episode, it was next on the disk.
When one show ended I would look at my pregnant, suffering wife, who would wordlessly nod her assent or denial. We often ended up watching several shows in an evening. I would come home, grab something for dinner or eat what she had already prepared and we would sit in front of the television, DVD remote in shaky hand, ready to feed the addiction. At the end of that we would crawl off to bed until the next day, when I would go to work, come home and repeat the exercise.
Season one led to season two to season three. My mother warned me that season three got a little boring in the middle where Jack and crew were in Mexico, but I liked this part ok. Mrs. Buddy got a little bored with it though.
We finished season three and were ready for more, but we were denied. I knew my mother had all the sets up to season four, but in our relentless mind-rotting we caught up with my parents. They were not finished with season four.
So, we wait. I have no idea whether my mom and dad are finished with it. The newness has worn off a bit and all the seasons have sort of blended into one long show. I can't even really remember what happened when. I may have to go back and watch some previous shows to catch up again. Meanwhile, we record each episode of season five on the DVR. We have five or six now, unwatched until we can get season four.
---
So I think I am getting a promotion at my job. I call it a promotion but it really is more a refinement of what I already do.
I applied for a second level position at the help desk. I already do work that is at or above the second level people who worked there before and do now, so it is not too much a stretch for me to do it permanently.
Now, to know me before i started working at my current job is to know personally an example of someone with a nihilistic attitude toward work. Rather, I did not care about making money for anyone else than myself. In some ways, I still don't. I believe that most people work for companies that bleed dry their talent and ambition, transforming the employee rank and file from excited, caring people to mind-numbed marionettes making the bottom line look better for the executives, who couldn't care a whit about them.
I believe I work for one of those companies. Still, I have retained enough of my pre-enlightened personality that I simply don't take it too seriously, or I try not to. It amuses me when people become so upset at things that happen at the help desk, as if every nuance of the dynamics of the Company computing infrastructure was within our immediate control.
But, I admit to some excitement when I finally thought I found my way up in, if not out of, the level one pit I found myself in. I was one of the first to apply for the position when it opened. I found myself excited at the prospect of finally being paid closer to what I think I should earn, not to mention the challenge of harder problems to solve.
Fuck that.
Sure, the problems are harder sometimes. But I have been doing the level two work unofficially now for over a month. They have not hired me for it, and are not paying me for it, but I am still doing it, "on spec" I call it. I give a little to get a little more.
Trouble is, it ain't all that much more. See, one of the biggest insults to the RaF is the percentage increase. Essentially the Company says "fuck you" to the market and pays you what they think you'll take. Some of us make less than $25,000 a year, some as much as $35,000. So if you make somewhere in there, you can hope for, at most, a seven percent increase above what you make. Never mind paying you what you are worth on the market, you are paid what you are paid because you aren't going anywhere.
Even the "merit increase" is nothing more than a pittance that feels more like a slap in the face given the down talking and patronizing attitudes we endure, the (empty) threats of outsourcing being constantly held in front of us in an attempt by weak-willed middle management, whose fists of mercury scare no one.
---
I once worked at a military contractor that constructed jet engine electronics. This company was slow to move on anything that threatened the health and long-term safety of the people working on the factory floor, but bring a radio in and you could count on a visit from the pit boss.
This place had people who worked the same job for 25 years or more. Twenty-five years assembling electronic parts into a metal case, day in and day out. I can't possibly see how that could be fulfilling, but a look at the people who did that showed me that fulfillment was not a primary concern.
One of the bosses had a sign on their cube wall that indicated exactly how they expected one to feel when working there. I can't remember the exact words, but it was something along the lines of "I feed you, I clothe you, I care for you, who am I? I am YOUR JOB!" That has never failed to scare me shitless.
I like working okay, and I don't even mind working for someone who appreciates hard work and rewards it accordingly. For years and years I have heard of this "work ethic" that people have, people who never miss a day and who strive for excellence in whatever large and small task is given them. Nothing wrong with striving for excellence, but there is a certain feeling of futility and sadness in seeing someone who once had a freshness about them now tired and submissive. To me, work should be a contract between two parties, no matter what size difference appears between either side, and the sole reward should be money. I don't care about what kind of insurance plan a company has. Many times it sucks anyhow. I would rather have more money in my pocket to spend on crappy insurance of my own choosing, if I so choose.
Money is the buffer of a civilization, the thing that separates people from their animalistic past of hunting for food and gathering wood to survive the winter. Trinkets and promises make a poor substitute for that buffer. When you take away my money, you take my power of choice. But, just so you know, I can still make the final decision.
So we watched the first season. In five days. Watching one episode was like smoking crack, or what I imagine the addiction of smoking crack to be if it somehow resembled watching a television show. Watching one episode was not enough, and having all the episodes there was instant gratification. No longer did we have to wait for an entire week for a new episode, it was next on the disk.
When one show ended I would look at my pregnant, suffering wife, who would wordlessly nod her assent or denial. We often ended up watching several shows in an evening. I would come home, grab something for dinner or eat what she had already prepared and we would sit in front of the television, DVD remote in shaky hand, ready to feed the addiction. At the end of that we would crawl off to bed until the next day, when I would go to work, come home and repeat the exercise.
Season one led to season two to season three. My mother warned me that season three got a little boring in the middle where Jack and crew were in Mexico, but I liked this part ok. Mrs. Buddy got a little bored with it though.
We finished season three and were ready for more, but we were denied. I knew my mother had all the sets up to season four, but in our relentless mind-rotting we caught up with my parents. They were not finished with season four.
So, we wait. I have no idea whether my mom and dad are finished with it. The newness has worn off a bit and all the seasons have sort of blended into one long show. I can't even really remember what happened when. I may have to go back and watch some previous shows to catch up again. Meanwhile, we record each episode of season five on the DVR. We have five or six now, unwatched until we can get season four.
---
So I think I am getting a promotion at my job. I call it a promotion but it really is more a refinement of what I already do.
I applied for a second level position at the help desk. I already do work that is at or above the second level people who worked there before and do now, so it is not too much a stretch for me to do it permanently.
Now, to know me before i started working at my current job is to know personally an example of someone with a nihilistic attitude toward work. Rather, I did not care about making money for anyone else than myself. In some ways, I still don't. I believe that most people work for companies that bleed dry their talent and ambition, transforming the employee rank and file from excited, caring people to mind-numbed marionettes making the bottom line look better for the executives, who couldn't care a whit about them.
I believe I work for one of those companies. Still, I have retained enough of my pre-enlightened personality that I simply don't take it too seriously, or I try not to. It amuses me when people become so upset at things that happen at the help desk, as if every nuance of the dynamics of the Company computing infrastructure was within our immediate control.
But, I admit to some excitement when I finally thought I found my way up in, if not out of, the level one pit I found myself in. I was one of the first to apply for the position when it opened. I found myself excited at the prospect of finally being paid closer to what I think I should earn, not to mention the challenge of harder problems to solve.
Fuck that.
Sure, the problems are harder sometimes. But I have been doing the level two work unofficially now for over a month. They have not hired me for it, and are not paying me for it, but I am still doing it, "on spec" I call it. I give a little to get a little more.
Trouble is, it ain't all that much more. See, one of the biggest insults to the RaF is the percentage increase. Essentially the Company says "fuck you" to the market and pays you what they think you'll take. Some of us make less than $25,000 a year, some as much as $35,000. So if you make somewhere in there, you can hope for, at most, a seven percent increase above what you make. Never mind paying you what you are worth on the market, you are paid what you are paid because you aren't going anywhere.
Even the "merit increase" is nothing more than a pittance that feels more like a slap in the face given the down talking and patronizing attitudes we endure, the (empty) threats of outsourcing being constantly held in front of us in an attempt by weak-willed middle management, whose fists of mercury scare no one.
---
I once worked at a military contractor that constructed jet engine electronics. This company was slow to move on anything that threatened the health and long-term safety of the people working on the factory floor, but bring a radio in and you could count on a visit from the pit boss.
This place had people who worked the same job for 25 years or more. Twenty-five years assembling electronic parts into a metal case, day in and day out. I can't possibly see how that could be fulfilling, but a look at the people who did that showed me that fulfillment was not a primary concern.
One of the bosses had a sign on their cube wall that indicated exactly how they expected one to feel when working there. I can't remember the exact words, but it was something along the lines of "I feed you, I clothe you, I care for you, who am I? I am YOUR JOB!" That has never failed to scare me shitless.
I like working okay, and I don't even mind working for someone who appreciates hard work and rewards it accordingly. For years and years I have heard of this "work ethic" that people have, people who never miss a day and who strive for excellence in whatever large and small task is given them. Nothing wrong with striving for excellence, but there is a certain feeling of futility and sadness in seeing someone who once had a freshness about them now tired and submissive. To me, work should be a contract between two parties, no matter what size difference appears between either side, and the sole reward should be money. I don't care about what kind of insurance plan a company has. Many times it sucks anyhow. I would rather have more money in my pocket to spend on crappy insurance of my own choosing, if I so choose.
Money is the buffer of a civilization, the thing that separates people from their animalistic past of hunting for food and gathering wood to survive the winter. Trinkets and promises make a poor substitute for that buffer. When you take away my money, you take my power of choice. But, just so you know, I can still make the final decision.
posted by Primate Buddy | 8:26 PM
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