Saturday, February 11, 2006

My DREAM job...hmmphh~

I started my third job stint a while back. Left alone in the game of independence for one year and a half, I said goodbye to the security of copied notes, textbooks and exams, and hello to the world of etiquettes, bosses, responsibilities, supervisors and people whom I’d rather know as the friendly uncle who lives across the street.

Quickly, I learnt that the journey of finding your ‘own work’ and own way to please the boss and benefit the company—the company that cares more about profits than its real assets (i.e., employees)—would be a tiring one. From Day One, the weird glances, sarcastic remarks and unpleasant comments, all disguised as acts of concern or friendliness, showed me how much more I had to learn about the working world than I previously thought. Suddenly, the student life seemed a distant memory.

WORK IS A RELIGION

There were, of course, those basic survival tips I already knew: the ‘act busy even if you are not’ concept, the ‘always help your colleagues’ rule and the ‘be polite to your superiors’ principle.

Still, something was amiss. Unless you were impossibly brilliant or somehow related to the management, following the above advice didn’t quite equate to getting the boss’ acceptance and trust.

Then, I discovered the hidden art of ass-kissing. I watched how my fellow workmates would willingly lick their boss’ flat, chocolate ass. For instance, one colleague always tried to suggest new things to prove his smarts to the boss while shoving his nose in everything someone did, desperately trying to find fault with others. Another colleague got to work early and went home late, doing little work in between, but she was ever-ready to put her best front for boss. All in the name of ‘professionalism’.

Part of me wished for the day when my dad won the lottery (sadly not) and bought me a big biotech company, where others could lick my shapely yellow butt. But the rest of me didn’t want that. I told myself that they had forgotten that whatever colour our rumps, they still do the same thing: shit. In other words, their desperate efforts to please had meant compromising their values and identity. For the sake of a pay cheque, they had allowed themselves numerous double standards and distinctions.

And yet I realised how easy it was for me to be just like them. A mask-wearing office rat. A superimposed version of my boss, sharing the same goals, aims and dreams for a company I secretly don’t give a jack about. All this is just to keep the inferior capitalistic economy running, bills paid and individualistic, materialistic needs met.

Which means that workaholics are essentially cultists who worship their work and their companies. The CEOs are their gods; the managers, their damn prophets. Money is their motivation. And as a colleague told me, “There is nothing to like or dislike—it’s a job.”

WORK IS A PRISON

I also discovered something else: work is like a prison.

Take the 5pm syndrome. That the time when work ends for most of us, which translates to a few hours of doing whatever we feel like until the 9am buzzer sounds again. Is that not like imprisonment, where inmates are given a fixed time to walk around the compound? Like us, they use that break to do sports or watch TV (and they don’t have taxes to think about). And like us, when that period is over, they are unwilling to go back into their cells.

It gets better. Think about it: how much freedom do we really have? We subscribe to what society and the mass media tell us is cool, hip and right. Our busy schedules and never-ending work takes away almost three quarters of our lives, stripping us from things we really need. Things like unselfish relationships, fresh air and a sense of true accomplishment from doing what we want to do rather than what others dictate.

Meanwhile, our fellow inmates lunch with us. No one cares too much about purposeful existence, but rather everyone looks forward to the next promotion or assignment. And everyone is trapped in this sick, sad, crazy illusion called work.

You could say that my reality is still in the making.

I still want a dream job where I can truly be proud of what I do. I want to be content earning an honest, decent living for myself and still have the ideals that I have now. I want to continue to piece together the meaning of life, believing that a better understanding will help me live it to its fullest expression.

Thankfully, i still got my dream job and almost over. After this, I still have one more year to enjoy my life before being officially absorbed into the workforce again. Which, come to think of it, still gives dad enough time to win that lottery. ah ha...

just my 2cents at 7:43 PM |

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