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If you are offended by depressed rants, or they trigger the same thoughts in you, or are perhaps having a good day, and the sun is shining, and you are at home drinking coffee or petting your cat or eating breakfast or anything else that is pleasant, you may not want to read this. You may not want to read it at all. There's really no reason to and I am not holding your feet to the fire on it. But I am saying it, and I am saying it here, and I am saying it relatively frequently and if you feel the same way I do about the ominous, strangling way the world works, at least you are not alone.
But if not, if you gain nothing from this kind of thing, this may not be for you. That's all I'm saying.
The only active thing about my life that isn't terrible right now is Katie, really. Everything else is pretty much on hiatus. Katie and I are both feeling super shitty. This is a terrible start, 2012.
What could be so bad about it? I already posted something in a funk and then thought better of it, deleted it. It wasn't wrong, however. I started this new gig and it's already killing me. I'm in training, but I trust myself here; I have literally already done this job and I know what the jig is versus what we're being told. It's simply this - I wake up at 6 AM and drive for an hour to work where I stay in a dimly lit area the color of textured beige or that scuffed white that they paint both uninhabited rooms and school rooms in places where they don't have either budgets or books. There is no need for daylight, presumably, or any light at all and I should be thankful for that small favor because the alternative are the long tubes of stark, halogen white that makes everyone look like they're hungover or deeply ill.
I wouldn't know, because we all are both, all the time.
Maybe not literally, though it's true at least some of the time. There's the new job rush - the endorphins that come when you realize that you've escaped rock bottom, which is a rush when you can see it walking down the hall at you with the inevitability of a slasher flick villain. I didn't even get that. Just the grim certainty that I've escaped one kind of slavery for another, slightly nicer version. The one you're supposed to feel thankful for but somehow eats everything about yourself that you still like. om nom nom, a Cookie Monster for the soul.
What are the terms? They're actually pretty simple. The kind of thing you tell the well heeled Republican at the bar, and they kind of look down their nose at you and say that this is what you should expect. That you come in, you sit down at a bright screen and smile at it like it's someone you know and are kind of happy to see, and when you hear a buzz or a ring, you talk to it. Never looking away, you explain what the voice has done wrong and you interface with another screen hundreds of miles away - or sometimes just down the block. Just never, ever in person. And there is no break, except to eat and shit, and you can never look away or you don't have the pleasure of doing this. Your reward is survival. This is better then other jobs out there. You tell yourself that because it puts your misery into perspective. Someone is more miserable, and they're forced to smile or else, and so you cannot be unhappy with how miserable you are.
You are never, ever allowed to be unhappy. That is class warfare, and the idea that you might actually wage it - which is to take up arms rather then just be slaughtered - is anathema. But, I say, look who is telling you that. It is the people you would typically take issue with. There's no conflict of interest here. It is too big and there is nothing I can do and I am slowly drowning. That is how I feel. It is actually worse then not having a job, except that is no longer an option because my numbers are too low and I need more numbers or I am not allowed to live, not worth living, not worthwhile to
anyone.
But if not, if you gain nothing from this kind of thing, this may not be for you. That's all I'm saying.
The only active thing about my life that isn't terrible right now is Katie, really. Everything else is pretty much on hiatus. Katie and I are both feeling super shitty. This is a terrible start, 2012.
What could be so bad about it? I already posted something in a funk and then thought better of it, deleted it. It wasn't wrong, however. I started this new gig and it's already killing me. I'm in training, but I trust myself here; I have literally already done this job and I know what the jig is versus what we're being told. It's simply this - I wake up at 6 AM and drive for an hour to work where I stay in a dimly lit area the color of textured beige or that scuffed white that they paint both uninhabited rooms and school rooms in places where they don't have either budgets or books. There is no need for daylight, presumably, or any light at all and I should be thankful for that small favor because the alternative are the long tubes of stark, halogen white that makes everyone look like they're hungover or deeply ill.
I wouldn't know, because we all are both, all the time.
Maybe not literally, though it's true at least some of the time. There's the new job rush - the endorphins that come when you realize that you've escaped rock bottom, which is a rush when you can see it walking down the hall at you with the inevitability of a slasher flick villain. I didn't even get that. Just the grim certainty that I've escaped one kind of slavery for another, slightly nicer version. The one you're supposed to feel thankful for but somehow eats everything about yourself that you still like. om nom nom, a Cookie Monster for the soul.
What are the terms? They're actually pretty simple. The kind of thing you tell the well heeled Republican at the bar, and they kind of look down their nose at you and say that this is what you should expect. That you come in, you sit down at a bright screen and smile at it like it's someone you know and are kind of happy to see, and when you hear a buzz or a ring, you talk to it. Never looking away, you explain what the voice has done wrong and you interface with another screen hundreds of miles away - or sometimes just down the block. Just never, ever in person. And there is no break, except to eat and shit, and you can never look away or you don't have the pleasure of doing this. Your reward is survival. This is better then other jobs out there. You tell yourself that because it puts your misery into perspective. Someone is more miserable, and they're forced to smile or else, and so you cannot be unhappy with how miserable you are.
You are never, ever allowed to be unhappy. That is class warfare, and the idea that you might actually wage it - which is to take up arms rather then just be slaughtered - is anathema. But, I say, look who is telling you that. It is the people you would typically take issue with. There's no conflict of interest here. It is too big and there is nothing I can do and I am slowly drowning. That is how I feel. It is actually worse then not having a job, except that is no longer an option because my numbers are too low and I need more numbers or I am not allowed to live, not worth living, not worthwhile to
anyone.
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From:
You are literally working in prison conditions.
From:
no subject
"Don't get caught using the internet during the day, there's no breaks between calls, it's back to back, don't get caught using your phone unless it's an emergency then ask for permission to respond to emergency, watch your time, we're a fun loving group, the calls never stop, it's a good place to work, I was told to be more positive or I'd scare you away, shine and they'll hire you for real, we hope you stay."
A shadow passes over us, but I nod.
I mentioned something briefly to Katie as I read this article. "50 cents an hour for the 'opportunity' is slave labor. More so because the vast majority of prisoners are people of color." but then I realized that it's not any better for me.