As of late, I've been waking up with absolutely no idea what my day holds. I'm jobless, I'm broke...$37 in the bank broke...and living with my parents until I can so cliche-like "get on my feet again." I am job hunting fairly successfully...each resume I've submitted has granted me an interview full of corporate lingo and dress codes. "What are your career goals for the next five years?" they ask. Gee, to win the lottery so I don't have to work for your company. Or maybe own a houseboat and travel down the mississippi like a rich Huck Finn. Or how about live in Spain, walk around in white linen, and have an affair with the extremely tan and attractive, accent laden gardener? Gimme a break. I'm 24...madly in love with my lifestyle of playing more than I work and unable to tell you what I'll eat for lunch, much less what I'll be doing career wise in 5 stinkin' years.
At one place, I was handed about 72 sheets of rules, some of which I'll mention here, because they're just too ridiculous to keep to myself:
*Hair should not be styled with outrageous clips, pigtails, messy ponytails or buns.
*No necklaces or bracelets, one ring per hand, worn on ring finger. (As if!!!! "Yes, client of mine, I am a respectable married woman...because all respectable people are married.")
*Underwear must be white. (I was in there yesterday and NO ONE was wearing pants you could see through. Must be a fetish of the bosses.)
*Breath must be fresh (carry mints).
*Men: no facial hair or sideburns.
*About 15 or so rules dedicated to a clean/pressed uniform and shoes.
These rules might not seem ridiculous to the average person, but to me, I feel like I just got stabbed with a blunt knife 48 times and it never really broke the skin. I'll be walking around bearing the bruises of the corporate world and if I ever undressed the person next to me, I'll find the same 48 bruises all over their body. Please, don't EVER show the client that you could be a real person. Just admit to them that you're a Stepford Wife and if they'd like to change your attitude, there's a control panel on your back, just above the waistline.
Where, may I ask, is the inspiration in a life like this. Everyone looks the same, acts the same, moves and smiles in exactly the same manner as the one next to him. No one ever thinks of dressing to impress, being just a bit different to stand out amongst the competition, living for someone to complement the necklace their dead grandmother left them in her will, sauntering down the hallway in their new fabulous heels, trimming thier moustache to impress the ladies, feeling attractive in their own punkish, hip, abnormal way, or just plain having lifelong aspirations to never apply for robotdom.
Now, if they want to hire me, I'm sure I'll take the job because right now, having money to pay bills is more important than wearing my black thong panties to work. I just hope that the big wig bosses of these corporate rule-making complexes go home and have the ability to get inspired from the same mundane outfits and attitudes they see every day. Because I'll be damned if I can get an ounce worth of positive, how to live my life like I want to inspiration from a place like that.
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7 comments:
Hi, your blog is my 'blog of the day' over on http://sometimesitspeaceful.blogspot.com/
OK. Take the job at "Anal Retentive" corp, but buy the most outrageous set of Bridget Jones'esque floral, paisley and polka-dot apple catcher big knickers you can get your hands on, and wear a different set of colours every day under black skirts or pants. That way, you will be secretly rebelling all the time and no one will ever know....
Its the little things like this that keep people sane in office land. Some people have stubble, some photocopy their arses when they are alone, some even raid the stationery cupboard and steal a few paper clips for home use. All of these small things are designed to beat the system - without them and the small solace they provide people would go mad.
Its not much I know, but look at it this way, you'll be able to pay the bills ;p
You could, of course, become a conceptual artist. You need sod all qualifications and, provided you can convince a rich moron that the pile of milk cartons you stacked messily is art, you'll earn upwards of $10,000 per piece...probably!
Damn, girl. To hell with the corporate crap - ditch them all and go write for your living. With a turn of phrase like yours, you should be getting paid for writing, not lurking in some windowless cubicle.
Keep posting - we'll keep reading.
You should definately keep writing...
AAA.
http://hudsonschoice.blogspot.com
Wow...thanks for your overwhelming support on my blogs. I just discovered blogging the other day and it really is my new favorite thing. I'm addicted. So, get ready to hear more!
I think I worked at that place. Well, maybe not the same place, but any of the hundred or so organizations just like it. I wonder sometimes what color the sky is in their world?
I truly enjoyed your post and will stop back often... great stuff! I was led to your site through a posting on Gill's site. Never lose your sense of "write-talk" (by this I mean that it feels as though you're sitting across the table from me telling a story rather than putting it to words in writing).
Oh yes, and I wish you the best at job hunting. It's a jungle out there!
um, hi. this is my friend sara and i get to actually sit across the table from her and hear it first freakin' hand.... :) that's my girl...and you listen to these people... YOU SHOULD BE PAID FOR WRITING!!!!!! :) Love you Love you Love you!
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