Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Death of a Phone Salesman
It was a dark and stormy night. The day was already starting like any other. Except for the spaceship. Not too many days, especially Tuesdays, begin with spaceships.
I was in my robe, eating cereal and drinking my 5th cup of coffee, in a desparate attempt to wake up. I got
up and stretched. As I arched backwards, I realized I probably should have gotten dressed. My coworkers were NOT pleased.
I did the "march of death" to my cubicle, a process so soul-crushingly depressing it didn't even get capital letters when I referred to it in quotes. The design of the place taunted me, every little bit designed to "get you" psychologically, to make you focus on your job. I should have known years ago, before it was too
late, when I first sat down, voluntarily, in a small confined space with carpeted walls. The alarms were
sure going off now, but 10 years too late.
The shade of green was particularly depressing. They chose that shade, because it was the color of money.
Designed to make people focus on selling, and getting money. It worked for most of them. It made my brain
scream.
I didn't so much sit at my desk as I finally admitted defeat in the face of gravity. It was good preparation
for the day, admitting defeat. Far fewer days wound up disappointing that way. Defeat upon defeat. Every time I sold something, I could feel another piece of my soul being shaved off.
Today was to have a surprising success, though. It had something to do with that spaceship I mentioned
earlier. Trust me.
I turned my computer on, and it gasped for life. It didn't want to be here either, but it was under warranty, and knew it was just easier than having IT look at it again. My manager had put another "uplifting" post-it on my monitor. It said "SUPERSTAR!" and had a star drawn like a child does when he or she first learns to draw a star. The upper-left point was way too fat, so the lines wouldn't meet.
This is what people in town called "a good job" (again I will not use capitals), as it paid more than minimum wage and you could sit down. As far as counting my blessings go, this was #3. My glasses being the correct prescription and not having blood in my stool that morning were one and two, and ironically, the stool thing was not #2. That made me smile a little bit to myself.
"Ah," said my manager, who at this point in the story, doesn't have a name, "You saw my post it!". I had to laugh. He walked away, confident that his smugness is justified, not realizing that I only didn't say "Sorry, I was just thinking about blood in my stool." because I didn't want another "HR meeting". The kind where humanity is reduced to bland regulations, and I should be excited about THAT, rather than thinking independently.
My computer had completed the hardest part of it's day, loading up my information. I dutifully clicked
"Ignore" on all the errors that greeted me. I clicked the beige icon which was identical to the brown icon in almost every way. I was supposed to click on the brown one. If I hadn't caught that, I wouldn't have been paid for the hours I put in today.
I logged into my phone. I read my propaganda about the new product we were selling. Another screwdriver we could sell for $20 because it had an adjective before screwdriver as a product name. That and enough people are stupid enough to make that sort of thing profitable. That made me hate more people. The people that wanted to resell screwdrivers for an enormous sum, and also thought it was appropriate to make someone who would have to "save up" to buy one get excited about it enough to sell it to people who call.
I was in my robe, eating cereal and drinking my 5th cup of coffee, in a desparate attempt to wake up. I got
up and stretched. As I arched backwards, I realized I probably should have gotten dressed. My coworkers were NOT pleased.
I did the "march of death" to my cubicle, a process so soul-crushingly depressing it didn't even get capital letters when I referred to it in quotes. The design of the place taunted me, every little bit designed to "get you" psychologically, to make you focus on your job. I should have known years ago, before it was too
late, when I first sat down, voluntarily, in a small confined space with carpeted walls. The alarms were
sure going off now, but 10 years too late.
The shade of green was particularly depressing. They chose that shade, because it was the color of money.
Designed to make people focus on selling, and getting money. It worked for most of them. It made my brain
scream.
I didn't so much sit at my desk as I finally admitted defeat in the face of gravity. It was good preparation
for the day, admitting defeat. Far fewer days wound up disappointing that way. Defeat upon defeat. Every time I sold something, I could feel another piece of my soul being shaved off.
Today was to have a surprising success, though. It had something to do with that spaceship I mentioned
earlier. Trust me.
I turned my computer on, and it gasped for life. It didn't want to be here either, but it was under warranty, and knew it was just easier than having IT look at it again. My manager had put another "uplifting" post-it on my monitor. It said "SUPERSTAR!" and had a star drawn like a child does when he or she first learns to draw a star. The upper-left point was way too fat, so the lines wouldn't meet.
This is what people in town called "a good job" (again I will not use capitals), as it paid more than minimum wage and you could sit down. As far as counting my blessings go, this was #3. My glasses being the correct prescription and not having blood in my stool that morning were one and two, and ironically, the stool thing was not #2. That made me smile a little bit to myself.
"Ah," said my manager, who at this point in the story, doesn't have a name, "You saw my post it!". I had to laugh. He walked away, confident that his smugness is justified, not realizing that I only didn't say "Sorry, I was just thinking about blood in my stool." because I didn't want another "HR meeting". The kind where humanity is reduced to bland regulations, and I should be excited about THAT, rather than thinking independently.
My computer had completed the hardest part of it's day, loading up my information. I dutifully clicked
"Ignore" on all the errors that greeted me. I clicked the beige icon which was identical to the brown icon in almost every way. I was supposed to click on the brown one. If I hadn't caught that, I wouldn't have been paid for the hours I put in today.
I logged into my phone. I read my propaganda about the new product we were selling. Another screwdriver we could sell for $20 because it had an adjective before screwdriver as a product name. That and enough people are stupid enough to make that sort of thing profitable. That made me hate more people. The people that wanted to resell screwdrivers for an enormous sum, and also thought it was appropriate to make someone who would have to "save up" to buy one get excited about it enough to sell it to people who call.
Monday, January 31, 2011
To my Valentine...
You get me, and my quirks. I get you and yours. You humor my geekiness, and realize it's a big part of who I am. You don't try and change me, but you do encourage my best.
You can make me laugh when I'm feeling low, your smile is contagious. Your laugh is the sweetest melody I've ever known, which is good because you think I'm funny.
Your strength allows me to be strong, you make me want to be a better person all the time, and I always want to show you how much I appreciate you, just for being you.
I've made peace with the likelihood that you may not exist and/or we will never meet, but the hopeless romantic in me will always hang on to a seed of hope.
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