Worker

I consider myself a somewhat creative person. Probably not as creative as some might think I am, seeing as I rarely have ideas of my own. Most of the artistic stuff I’ve done over the years has been a copy of something I’ve already seen or heard someone else do. But I guess I do have some level of artistic ability, as the ‘copies’ I have attempted have ranged from “not bad” to “pretty darned accurate”. I remember when I was growing up hardly a day would pass when I wasn’t making some crafty thing, drawing a picture, designing, building, envisioning. I’d wake up on a weekend with an idea burning inside that I would just have to try out.

Occasionally I still get split second glimpses of that creative desire. But only glimpses. Enough to remember what it used to be like. And I know why it’s gone. I’m a worker now.

Working (almost) full time requires a great percentage of my waking hours, a lot of my attention, thoughts and energy. Monday and Tuesday I work. Usually Wednesdays are reserved for studying. Thursday and Friday I work. Weekends are for winding down, or housework, or social occasions, or obligatory activities. Then the cycle starts all over again.

At first, when one of those split second glimpses of creativity would flash into my mind, I would do my utmost to grab a hold of it. I’d summon up any leftover dregs of energy and force myself to focus on one of the many activities I used to love – playing music, drawing, writing, sewing, etc. But as the glimpse faded, so did my motivation. I’d end up hating the project I’d begun, struggling through to the end. Or worse, not finishing it at all.

I’ve come to realise that in order for the creativity of yesteryear to dwell in me again, I need time. I need more than a day, or two days rest from work. By the end of the two weeks of holidays that I had recently, I was motivated. Raring to go. Lots of projects were flying through my mind. Where to start? Nowhere, that’s where. It was time to go back to work. Batteries recharged, I had to spend my renewed energy, concentration and motivation on my job. Going back to work, where bit by bit the life gets sapped out of me again, while I look forward to my next lot of holidays to recover from it.

Is it worth it? I have a lovely place to live, nice possessions, and we never go without. I am sacrificing my time and energy, and that small creative part of me along with it, for financial comfort. For possessions that I never have the time to enjoy. Our house is lovely and sunny, but I’m never home during the day to enjoy it. We have a deck, a hammock and outdoor areas, but lack the leisure time that the enjoyment of these things requires. When I do have a Wednesday off, or a weekend, I spend it staring vacantly into space, zombified by work, trying to get work out of my head so that I can concentrate on something worthwhile. I can’t decide what to focus my precious spare time on. I wander here and there, not really satisfactorily finishing any one thing. All I can think about is how little time I have before I have to go back to work. I no longer have the mental clarity I used to. My mind is a fog. I forget things. I have no concentration span. I don’t care about anything.

I know, boo hoo. Everyone else has the same dilemma. And it’s not that there’s anything wrong with my job. I get paid a pretty reasonable wage for doing things that require not much effort on my part. The work isn’t hard. It isn’t strenuous, and it’s not really boring. It’s just constant. It’s like a dripping tap. One drip isn’t really a lot of water, but if you put a bucket under it, then by the end of the day that bucket would hold more than you realise. That’s what it feels like to me – I look at that bucket of water and think, “did all that come out of me? I didn’t realise I had that much water to give. Imagine all the other things I could have used that for”. Instead, I used it explaining people’s accounts to them, and taking their credit card numbers.

I don’t think I can take much more before I completely lose the person I am. But I’m trapped. I can quit work and have nowhere to live and no means to be creative even if I wanted to be. Or I can keep working for another twenty years until the mortgage is paid off, by which time I’ll be fifty and my young adulthood will be behind me.

Some fucking choice.

Holidays

I’m on two weeks holiday, starting today! YAAAY! I feel so… temporarily free. I’ve been engaging in all manner of uncharacteristic behaviour, like laughing spontaneously, smiling for no reason… just feeling happy in general really. I hardly recognise myself. K keeps looking at me with a quizzical expression, as though my personality is splitting right in front of his eyes. Never fear – I’ve got no doubt that my soul will be back to its regular shrivelled-prune state in a fortnight’s time.

Not that work has been that bad lately. We have a new staff member in the complaints… err… I mean accounts department. She’s not exactly Speedy Gonzales yet, but any work she does get done is work I don’t have to do myself. So I’ve been spending the last week at work doing those not-that-important-so-it’s-gonna-have-to-wait jobs. Like deleting old accounts. I printed out a giant list of businesses that have a thirty day account but haven’t used it for three years or more, and sat there methodically exterminating them, blasting their outdated zeroes and ones into oblivion. Bam! Pow! Like Space Invaders. But the Amstrad version, where you have to wait half an hour for the tape to load. Freakin archaic accounting system.

I could see why a lot of the businesses whose accounts I was disposing of probably didn’t last very long. Not that I know much about running a business, but even a dumbass like myself could tell that their scope was way too narrow. Of course the Cake Decorators Guild of Cressy was sent to the collection agency. I mean, geez. Were they really expecting to do well? Become a franchise, perhaps? Go global? Morons. So, to make the afternoon a little less mind numbing, I started my own Businesses Doomed for Failure list in my head. Like the Mobile Chihuahua Tail Clipping Service. Or the East Launceston Electric Toothbrush Repair Centre. Or the Over 70s Beach Volleyball Club of Liaweenie. Or the Penultimate Tuesday Morning Of The Month Walkie Talkie Association for Men Aged Between Forty Six and Forty Eight Who Also Happen To Really Like Crumpets And Have Problems Expressing Their Feelings And Who Always Wanted A Pet Labrador But Their Wife Wouldn’t Let Them And Their Wife Is Fat And Smells Bad.

I mean, you just never know.

Damn, I'm glad I'm on holidays.

Aged Rage

My new job seems to be working out okay so far. Not that working in accounts is my dream career or anything, but it seems like a pretty cruisey place to work. Apart from the fact that it was like entering some sort of technology time warp. I mean, don't get me wrong – the good old days of CRT monitors, Office 97, dot matrix printers and DOS-based command prompt software were damn fine days indeed, but in this day and age I must admit I've gotten used to the finer things in life, like, oh I dunno, being able to email someone an invoice instead of faxing it. But the atmosphere there is a pretty good one, and that's the main thing. It seems like everyone who works there has been there for about twenty years, which is a good sign I guess. Either that or the place is like the employment equivalent of the Hotel California. Apparently on your 25th anniversary, employees are presented with a silver tray. On your 30th anniversary, you get a matching decanter. When I asked what you were supposed to do with the tray for five years while you waited for the decanter, they just laughed. Whether they were laughing at me, with me or near me, I'm still not sure.

This week, all the subscriber invoices went out with an error on them. Instead of the due amount being in the 'current – please pay in 30 days' box, the amount owing was printed in the 'overdue – please pay immediately' area. So all week I've been answering the phone to every damn Betty Jones in Launceston, demanding to know why their invoice says they are overdue when they know full well they aren't. Sigh. Needless to say, it's been a long week – one endless conversation with an irate elderly person. Elderly people aren't the only ones who subscribe, of course, but they certainly seem to be the only ones who complain. It wouldn't be so bad if they'd just tell me the problem, listen to my explanation and heartfelt apology, accept it, and hang up. But nooooo… First, they have to announce their age, the aeons they've been subscribing for, and make sure you're very clear on the fact that they have always paid on time. Then they have to tell you the whole long-winded story of how they came to discover the error on their invoice:

"Well! I woke up this morning, and after my cup of tea, I heard the mailman. And I thought to myself, 'There's the mailman. I might go and check the mail'. So, I went and checked the mail. I walked back inside with my letters, and I sat down to look at them, and I noticed there was a bill from you! So I opened it, and I had a look. And well! Imagine my shock when I saw that the bill said I was overdue! I have always paid on time, you know. I've never been overdue, and I've been subscribing for fifty years. I'm eighty six years old, you know!"

"Yes, I know Mrs Jones, I'm really very sorry. Our accounts were printed with an error on them. The amount that you owe is not overdue, it's in the wrong section. It should be in the 'current' section. You have until the end of the month to pay. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. Please accept our apologies."

"Well! Yes! Because I'm not overdue, you know. I knew that was a mistake as soon as I saw it. I couldn't believe it! I mean, after I woke up and had my cup of tea, and heard the mailman, and went to the mail box, and came back inside, and opened the mail, and saw the bill from you, I was most unhappy! I've never been overdue. I have always paid on time, and I've been a subscriber for fifty years. I'm eighty six!"

"I'm really sorry, Mrs Jones. Hopefully the problem will be fixed by next month, so it shouldn't happen again."

"Well, I certainly hope not! I'm eighty six years old, you know! I've been subscribing for fifty years, and I've never been overdue!"

And so on. I finally get Betty off the phone, breathing a sigh of relief as I hang up the receiver. The phone rings again. This time, it's Wilfred Smith. He's ninety three years old. His mailman came before he'd had his morning cup of tea. He's got a good mind to cancel his subscription. He doesn't need this stress. He's ninety three years old. Next time I ring up to complain somewhere, I'm going to announce my age a few hundred thousand times and see if it makes a difference. Unfortunately, "I'm twenty eight! Give me a discount!" doesn't really have the same ring to it.

Work Schmerk

Lately I've been bounding out of bed every Saturday morning and racing down to the corner shop to get the paper to check the positions vacant. Okay, maybe not 'bounding'… probably more like 'ambling arthritically'. And maybe not 'racing' either… perhaps more like 'sauntering slothfully'. Anyway, checking the paper for a new job has become a highlight of my week. There's no need to tell me how sad-arsed this is – I'm fully aware.

A few weeks ago I saw a job that looked okay, as a credit clerk for a local publication. After five minutes and a few copy and pastes later, I had an application letter together. One interview and a medical later, I was offered the job! So, today was my last day at my current workplace, and I start my new job on Monday. I really really really really really really really hope I like it. I've had just about enough of shit work situations. New year, new job, new start, and all that glass-half-full kind of crap.

A few staff gathered around me at work today to say farewell. One of the partners of the firm asked me where my new job was. When I told him, and that it was in the accounts department, he screwed up his nose. "Ohhh… I hope you won't be in the debt collection part, ringing people up chasing payments. That would be awful. I had a friend who worked there and did that, and she lasted a whole three weeks before she quit. Horrible job, it was." He shook his head, evidently trying to clear it of the awful thought of what a horrendous job it would have been. I stared at him, instantly deciding that it would be best not to tell him that that was exactly what I'd be doing in my new job. Then, seeing the gigantic novelty farewell card I was given, he seized it from me, declaring that he'd forgotten to write in it. With tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth in concentration, he penned, "Have fun with Eb Hextall… hope you don't get stuck in the phone debt accounts collection".

Okay, first of all, who the fuck is Eb Hextall? And secondly, not only did he feel the need to verbally cast doubts on my future at a company I haven't even started working for yet, just in case that wasn't enough, he thought he'd do me a favour and put it in writing. In my farewell card. Ha! I suppose if I cared what he thought, I might be offended. Still, I hate to admit it, but I am slightly more worried about my new job than I was before. Damn.

I guess it could be worse. I could be starting a job as an accountant.

Employable

Well, seeing as the myriads of people who read my blog (okay, maybe just the one) are clamouring for part two of the tale of my journey to the dole queue, I thought I'd better oblige with an update on what's been happening lately.

After the company I worked for gave me the right foot of fellowship, I was suddenly left with the task of finding a new job – and quickly. It's kind of weird actually. I'd become very attached to that company (even though things were pretty shit near the end there), and suddenly I was supposed to just get over it and move on to something else. This sounds a bit extreme, but it's kinda like, say if K died, it'd be like joining a dating agency the next day to try and find a new husband. There was no time to grieve for the chapter of my life that was closed forever – I needed to earn an income.

Luckily, all I had to do was sit on my vast acreage and wait for a job to fall in my lap. The day after my last day at AM, I got two phone calls from guys who worked at recruitment agencies who had heard my plight and wanted to put me on their books. Sounded good to me! However, I felt obliged to go to some sort of effort myself, so I went hunting on the Seek website and checked last Saturday's Examiner. To my surprise, there were heaps of admin jobs. Must be a skills shortage or something. The Seek website had one that closed the next day, as an MYOB assistant at an accounting firm in the city. I threw together an application and emailed it off. Exhausted from the effort of applying for one whole job, I decided to resume my search the next day.

Turns out there was no need. The next morning I got a phone call, inviting me to an interview with the recruitment agency for the job I'd applied for! So off I trundled. It went very well. They called me for a second interview – with my prospective employer. It went very well. That afternoon, the recruitment agency called me and informed me that they would like to offer me the position! Man, I thought, they sure don't waste time. So they sent me a letter of offer. I read through it – it was pretty standard, apart from the fact that I'd be taking a $5k per annum pay cut. Damn. Oh well, I thought, at least I'll have a job to go to. Any job is better than nothing.

Well, I've been there nearly four weeks now, and I have to say it's one of the most uninteresting jobs I've ever had. Don't get me wrong, the company seems really nice and all, and there are some great people that work there, but I just don't have anything to DO. It's driving me nuts. And when they do give me work to complete, it's like the accounting equivalent of cleaning the toilets. Like entering two years worth of transactions into an abandoned MYOB file with only bank statements to work from. It's really not something I can see myself doing long term. Plus, the work environment is much more restrictive than I'm used to. I have to timesheet every minute of my day. I have a swipe card that tracks my every movement in, out and throughout the building. The only websites I can view are work-related ones that have been whitelisted in the system. Email is tracked. Personal phone calls are forbidden. I mean, I understand that people need to keep on track and focus on work, but I'm not TWELVE, for crying out loud! I think that staff are much more likely to be loyal if they feel they are trusted by their employers. Sure, there will always be the odd one or two that take advantage of that trust, but you'll get them no matter what. I really don't want to work in an environment like that for much longer. I feel like my personality is slowly ebbing away, being drowned in a sea of conformity.

So that's where I stand at the moment. I know I should be grateful that I've even got a job at all. I dunno, I guess job satisfaction is important to me. Maybe my heart is still with the old company. Who knows. I'm keeping my eye out for somewhere I feel I could work long term. I've applied for a job in a school office, which I really hope I get. I've always wanted to work in a school office. Huge ambition I know, but at least it's achievable. My only concern is that the job I've applied for is with a school that is a client of the company that recently gave me the arse. All it would take is for someone to ask BJ about me, and my chances of getting the job are probably screwed. But I think it's worth a shot.

Bludger

I began this week with a job, and ended it without one.

At least I can stop worrying about what I should do now, I guess. No more whinging to God about it, trying to decide if I should stay or move on. But I wish it had've been my decision. It wasn't. I got fired.

Well, when I say 'fired', I should probably say that I wasn't given the option to stay. I had been back from holidays for a whole day and a half before the new 'general manager', BJ, asked me to go out for a coffee. Well, at least he asked my boss G to tell me that's what we were doing. So I reluctantly trudged down to the coffee shop with a sinking feeling in my heart. I said to G on the way down, "Is he gonna fire me?"
"He can't do that" said G, "he's not your boss."

We sat down at the table. BJ started by asking me if I was happy in my job. I replied by saying I had been very happy up until a few months ago, when the company had gone into administration and three new companies had started up. I told him it was a bit hard to answer that question until I was sure about what the new structure would look like. He tried another tack. "But you're not happy working under R, are you?" I said that admittedly it had come as quite a shock when I heard that G was leaving and that R would be my boss again, but I had had some time to think and gain perspective over my time off, and I'd come to a peace about working under R. This didn't seem to be the answer that BJ was expecting. "That's not what I've heard", he said, "I've heard differently. I've heard that you have issues working under R". I replied that sure, we'd had our ups and downs over the years, but I respected R and was happy to work under him.

BJ replied, "Well let me tell you, that won't be the case. R was confused when he said that he would be your boss. He won't be your boss. I will be. I'm the new General Manager. So that's not really going to work very well, is it? We don't really see eye to eye, do we?"
"No. We don't."
"I can't really see us working well together, can you?"
"Are you firing me?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"Well, you were never re-hired, Rebecca" replied BJ. "Your employment ended when the company went into administration last month. And you haven't been offered a new employment contract, have you?"
"No. I haven't. I'm guessing I won't be offered one, then?"
"Well, it wouldn't really work, would it? You don't want to work under me, do you?"
"No, I don't. Absolutely not. But I was told R would be my boss! I have no problem working under him!"
"Well, that isn't an option. I'm the new General Manager, and you and I can't work together. So we need to look at other options."

He then went on to tell me my 'options' – I could either leave immediately, or I could stay for two, three, four weeks, however long it took me to find another job, and that they would help me to find work, as long as I would help them in return. He said I could let him know which option I'd decided on in the next couple of days.

Wow. I was speechless. After all the hard work I'd put in over the years. All the stress. All for nothing. They were asking me to leave. I felt like someone had punched me in the guts. I decided to go home for the rest of the afternoon, seeing as I was in no fit state to concentrate anyway, and think about my decision. But I already knew that there was only one option really – there was no way I wanted to stick around in a work environment like that for the next few weeks. I didn't want to be there for one more second, knowing they wanted me gone. So the next morning I went and cleaned out my desk, gathered my stuff together, and said goodbye.

Being the third person to leave the company this month (with more departures looking likely very soon) speaks volumes, in my opinion. It hurts that I had to go out this way though. I would have preferred to leave on my own terms like the others, not in semi-disgrace. At least, that's what it felt like. I feel sorry for whoever replaces me. There was two weeks worth of backlog sitting in my in-tray, waiting for me to come back from my holidays. Anyone with half a brain would have sacked me after I'd at least gotten through the pile. Which reminds me – one point of interest is that the old company went into administration on July 13^th, and I got fired on 21^st August, over a month later – enough time to set up the MYOB files and stuff for the new companies. Coincidence? Hmm. The most hurtful thing of all though, is that my supposed boss, R, didn't even say goodbye. Didn't ring me, didn't talk to me. Didn't say thanks. I worked my butt off for his company for two years. Apparently, that's not even worth a phone call.

So… anyone got any jobs? Will drop pants for food.

TGIF

Someone on my work Messenger account today had their personal message as "TGIF" (Thank God It's Friday). It got me wondering a few things. The first random thought was, "Does God like Fridays more than other days? Like, does he look forward to the weekend like everyone else?" My next thought was about how ridiculous my first thought was. But then I thought, "If [person at work] was so damn pleased that it was Friday so that they could have a couple of days off from working, then why don't they get another job? One they enjoy going to?"

I love my job. And I'm not just saying that in case someone from where I work randomly decides to see if I have a blog somewhere (unlikely – they probably have a life). When Friday rolls around, most of me is glad for the respite the weekend brings, but another part of me is disappointed that the work week is over. Does that make me a freak? Maybe. I always dreamed of having a job that I loved though – it has made such a difference to my outlook on life. Before I worked full time, I was often sad and depressed, and was never really sure why. Sometimes I wonder if that's still all lurking beneath the surface, and having a job is simply a distraction from it. I'm a bit scared of taking holidays, for that reason. I don't think that's the case though – I think most of the reason for the sadness was that I didn't feel like I had any reason for being here on earth, I had a shit job that any halfwit could do. Now I feel slightly useful occasionally.

How many people, at a vague guess, don't like their jobs? I reckon it would be a lot. Maybe even more than half. So then, is there a solution to that? Are they in the wrong job, or do they just have a negative attitude towards work that would carry through no matter where they were? I think it's sad. You spend so much of your life working, if you don't enjoy it, then that's a big part of your life you haven't enjoyed. It's just not worth it! I'm not sure what you'd do about it though. Changing jobs isn't all that easy sometimes, particularly with financial commitments or families to support. But even if you work towards your goal bit by bit, it's heartening to know that you'll get there eventually, and it makes working in a shit job a bit more bearable.

Congratulations to my brother, Luke, who just quit his job at Kmart that he hated, so that he could go to TAFE and get a trade. What a bold move – but one that will pay off in the end. Go Luke!