Today I celebrate two years since leaving, what was possibly, the worst job I have ever had. Now, those are words that get thrown around a lot, by a lot of people, but believe me when I say, this job had some rather stiff competition. I've watched a number of movies about soul crushing jobs, and nearly every job I've had have reminded me of them at least a little. This job however, truly took the cake.
It helps that a few people I know have worked there in the past, and they have all had their stories. Even some warnings for the future. But I'm the type to make my own decisions, and viewed it all with a "there's two sides to every story" kind of attitude.
Wrong! Wrong!
At this point in time, I had been unemployed for a few months, and I leapt into this job with some optimism and gratitude. Just happy to be out working again, and not just scraping by as I had in the past. That being said, I happily donned a pair of rose coloured glasses, and overlooked every little indicator that I was in for a rough ride.
I won't go into too much detail who I worked for, and certainly won't name them or say what I did there, for reasons I'm sure you can guess. I will say this however. The organisation employs more people in total, than Google does worldwide. Just their list of people making over $100,000 a year is greater than Alphabet's list of full time employees. But, they managed to get their hands on a lucrative money stream that was never going to end, so let the good times roll!
The trivial nature of my work often made me feel like my toil to gain post secondary accreditation was equally fruitless. People I know, in analogous positions in other organisations, were often flabbergasted by the absurd and preposterous problems we seemed to have to clean up, on an astonishingly regular basis.
The more I worked there, the more I felt as though some of the hair brained schemes you'd see on "Trailer Park Boys" were inspired by another former employee who also felt like it would work.
It was what you would come to expect from a disordered, inefficient, venal, bloated bureaucracy.
I was beholden to people with less post secondary education than myself. Not only was I kept from full time hours, but scheduled in such a way that I couldn't try to work a second job elsewhere in bring in more income. There was the occasional lay off because the people in charge couldn't figure out how to schedule hours at the same time they were negotiating a work contract. Being told I would receive more and more responsibility, but could not look forward to any pay increases. (another symptom of the aforementioned, bloated bureaucracy)
Interpersonal relations there also left something to be desired. While, there are a number of people there I found to be a delight and would willingly associate with outside of work, several others quite probably received the frequent remark on their report cards "doesn't play well with others."
I came to expect a myriad of little slights here and there. Such like not being able to walk further than the trash can to throw out paper and turn around before my pens were stolen. Little complaints about minutia of my day-to-day behaviour. The whole place was filled with members of the "high opinion of themselves" society, walking around, acting like their farts don't stink.
Let this be the prism that you view the situation.
What could I do about any of those? I had to work and this was what was paying the bills. And I'll admit it, the prospect of eventually getting a lick of that brass ring appealed even to me at times. Still, a very minuscule amount of time elapsed compared to my over all tenure, before I realised I needed to find the door on my own terms.
But what did I really expect?
While I was there, I had read a few farewell letters from co-workers, as they had managed to find their own golden ticket out. Usually just a short email to tell us they enjoyed working with us, and how to contact them. Once in a while however, someone decided to do things their way and give us a longer, funnier spiel that would go on for about a page. After reading them, and maybe even a chuckle or two, I thought to myself "Amateur."
When I left, I was going to have a little bit of fun. I was going to leave them something they'd remember. Truly memorable.
So one day, after years of trying, I found my own way out. I remained tight lipped about my impending departure to everyone, except those who needed to know. And on that final day, I cleaned up the last of my things off my desk, sent out an email blast to the entire department (which included my supervisors, and their boss), and waved to everyone as I walked out the door.
So with no further ado, here it is.
(PS
~most~ spelling mistakes were intentional)
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Goodbye is a word I've had trouble with. Are we to assume that distance is inherently dangerous? To understand what the people who first spoke the words intended, we must look to etymology, which is the study of what words mean and where they came from. The most obvious and common answer being, the mouth. Less common answers include, the mind, and the alphabet.
Many people believe the placement of the letters in the alphabet to be arbitrary. This couldn’t be further from the truth. It is only with extended study that one can see the hidden message in them. The letters writing their own story. But it is a mundane story. Nothing special at all. One that any school child could write. All 26 parts. Banal and pedestrian, which is perhaps why law enforcement officers insist you recite it as you walk. Still it is the source of inspiration for a multitude of works, with so many other literary pieces derived from it. The letter E seems to be a particularly borrowed theme in English.
My own story is far more sensational, and I shall share it with you all!
Most stories start at the beginning. My own gallant tale however starts at the end, revealing more of the relevant details of the past as they pertain to the subject at hand, sequentially, as they set the scene for the future, which has since become the past. For now, I am moving on to new horizons, after years of dwelling upon this place and presence. Before that, I was but a mere student. I say mere student, not to denote that I lacked any exceptionalism, which I did anything but. As a student, I worked hard and excelled, providing an exemplary example for the other students to revere and strive to live up to. I knew that they felt that way, because they thought it, though they might not have always said so. But I knew that they said it, so they must have thought it as well.
I say mere student to denote that, despite my age and wisdom, I was then but the green acorn to the mighty oak I am today. Taking focus, and casting shade upon others.
This time as a student, lead me to the place I am now, but before I was a student, I was but a young man in search of a new life, away from the daily ho-hum that so many resigned themselves to. Sadly I had counted myself in that number. Before I sought this dream, I spent my time labouring. And before this time, the Earth was a molten ball orbiting a young star, bathed in light despite the endless darkness.
My time at my alma mater truly allowed me to stand apart from the rank and file. While most of the school chose to spend their time, littered about the campus, I chose to spend my time in the labs and attend class.
It was also a chance to display my impeccable taste and style. My travels through the halls of learning would be an impromptu display of such for the other students. I would spend hours contemplating which shirt to wear and how each type of thread might impact my appearance. They would say "I can't believe he wore that" and "did you see what he had on?"
My mornings started much as they do today; with a glass of milk. It is rich in vitamins, proteins and other nutrients.
My afternoons were welcomed with a glass of cooled beer, often accompanied by a tomato puree, spread over a flattened bread, and drizzled with an aged dairy coagulation.
In the evenings, I returned to my home to dwell on what I learned. It was a time of solitude, spent in a trance-like state, before a glowing screen of moving characters.
The night would start by changing into comfortable clothes, as sleep is important. Over time I have learned that one should not be a slave to comfort. While something may be comfortable to sleep in, it might not be best suited for a trip to a retail outlet.
Which brings us to an important lesson. Never wear sweatpants, because life is too precious a thing to give up on.
You have likely asked yourself many times "how can I stand out from my peers." And you have asked yourself because you have not yet asked me. I will save you the trouble and resolve this seething question in your mind. Dedication, ethic, and last but certainly not least, vision.
I fear that vision, might be the characteristic that might need the most attention, for I did not observe any willingness to ask me sooner.
Ethic can be displayed through many little changes to behaviour. Such as increased personal responsibility, both at home and at work. For instance, you can't say "it was like that when I got here" when you were the last person here before you were. You might also say, that you did not fill the garbage bag when asked why you didn't take it out, but I will know that you did. Dishonestly is a failing so many need to work on.
Dedication may be the most important of them all, for it is with this attribute, that the other two are watered. You may choose to start small, by dedicating poems and other literature to my bold and innovative style.
Time management is often over looked in improving one's life circumstance. People too often waste what time they have in this world in wait. Waiting is another way of saying "sitting idle," which is why time waits for no man. I however truly detest such idleness, which is why I have always been ahead of my time.
When talking about different time zones I prefer to say how far ahead I am to place emphasis on how exceptional I am.
Make each day count, and endeavour to do as I would. When the sun goes down, you enter into a new era. Or do you? People often say “this day will never come again” yet all the same, a day just like it starts every morning. This is why it is important to never throw away used calendars.
Now, where was I?
Is something cool because I like it, or did I like it before it was cool? It is a paradox to which there is a concrete answer; Yes. Or is something intrinsically cool and I am simply there to recognise this before others?
Is it really such a bad thing to buck trends, and go against the grain? Some say it was backwards. One could say that it was simply facing forward the other way, or that one soldiers on against the torrential flow of others.
The summers of my youth were filled with merriment. I spent many an afternoon with a congregation of miscreants at a local billiard hall. We sat in the far corner, discussing the ways of the world, as we understood them, and keeping a watchful eye over our table. In those days of great and sudden change, both internally and externally, we clung to what constants we could find, sharing what little we had among all. As such, the large plastic cup was routinely filled with pop, accepting the constant free refill policy.
Challengers came and went, with great bluster, littering their golden discs of provocation upon the stained oak around which we gathered. Never was any affront to our resolve and skill refused. I of course, ready to face any opponent, accepted their challenges and placed them in the table, our claim to which was contested.
Which brings us to another important lesson. Treat every shot like your first. Chalk that stick.
These challenges to the prowess of my crew became common place. For a time, I came to resent the tenacity and savvy I had displayed, simply wanting to share the fellowship of my comrades without the disruption of one with something to determine. The hours of it filled me with emptiness, often replaced with pizza. This was the course those days took for some time. Not until there was another great change. Not until, she arrived.
Suddenly, those constants seemed far away, and the foundation of our world was shaken. The plastic cup was returned with a fresh heap of ice. The once pristine bar counter, now littered with school books and study sheets, strewn about with little regard for the bowls of pretzels and peanuts. Once, the staff was happy to face me as I made a request. But then, I barely caught a glimpse of her eyes behind the thick black eyeshadow and fake eye lashes, unwilling to lift her face from her studies as she deigned to ask "what?"
The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife, then eat it with a fork, or at the very least, a slotted spoon. Still, I couldn't help but feel there was something warm between us. That was to be expected as the air was warm from summer. Or was it spring? At any rate, that was the tone that winter, in those cold September nights.
My 20s were littered with instances of outings to the beach, where I would join in the mirth offered by the relaxing waters. My attire complimenting my chiselled physique. My skin shone in the sun like an alabaster statue. Brilliant and defined. Many of the other patrons diverted their eyes, not feeling up to the task of beholding the intensity as I strolled past in the hot sand.
Bearing all this in mind, the importance of etymology comes into view and the significance of the historical context of phrases seems more relevant.
I was head hunted to another company, which is yet another peculiar expression. However, it may seem appropriate, given that their decision was not based on any part other than my head; covered in long luxurious hair which people often stop to admire. Why, poems have been written entirely on the subject of my hair style, and what part is more lovely.
In my travels in this universe, filled with dangers and pleasures alike, I have laboured in many fields. Mostly personal fields of grass, that are quite common in the suburban dwellings, my wages earned by the sweat of my brow, directing the controlled chaos of the lawn mower. But I have also had many jobs, and met many people, and they all spoke of me. They found my work esoteric. I have always disagreed on that, as I knew exactly what I meant. The term “full moon” is a curious expression, one I have thought about often. “Full of what” you inquire. I’m glad you asked. The saying is from centuries ago, so it’s a very old story, as it started long ago.
A well balanced diet is key to a healthy, happy and productive life. Eating too much of one food can hinder you. Take for example, the giant panda.
At one time, the panda was believed to represent a link between bears and raccoons, though later investigation ruled this out. In fact, the two species aren't even related to each other. It seems as though closer examination at the start should have been able to reveal this sooner. One can't help but wonder what other information has been missed by such negligence. Perhaps the animal had a penchant floral arrangements, hoping to achieve harmony through the appreciation of beauty. With no information to the contrary, we have no way to say that this is not the case.
We are often told that giant pandas eat only bamboo, but you can easy read that they are omnivores. Is the giant panda really omnivorous? Will it really eat anything? When I gave that panda a risotto, did he eat it? No. The people at the zoo were very upset.
Which is another matter of great importance. You must never waste food. As the adage illustrates, there are starving children somewhere in the world, though it seems, there were not starving pandas.
I wondered if I could travel west so fast that it would appear as though the sun was setting in the east behind me. Yes, one would have to travel very fast indeed.
To test this I decided to gas up the bicycle. I say that for the bicycle tires were out of air, air being a gas. This is truthfully discussing the state of matter which the vehicle lacked. Perhaps this is what was intended by the saying "stating the truth." Where was I?
I took the bicycle down a straight path and rode as fast as I could. The sun appeared to give swift chase in my endeavours, not wanting its glory to be out-shined by the likes of me. I focused purely on my goal. Also on the lovely floral arrangements in the gardens of some of the houses I passed. Also the exact hue the sky had taken that day. I venture to call it, azure. Many simply say "sky blue" but that would make one a poor word smith. This is why it is important to learn at least one new word every day. Where was I?
In a short period of time I discovered the sun had found its way before me. Did it really win, or did I just make the Earth spin faster beneath me? I had to know the answer.
I repeated the activity the following morning, to my chagrin, with the same results. I resolved, for time, to continue the practise until I could make sense of what had actually transpired. Before long, I had a following.
My ideamen and I travelled, spreading new thoughts and ideas. So much so, that after a time, these ideas were common and considered truths. In times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a revolutionary act. I have always been most revolutionary, so eventually it was just me.
At this time I was forced to talk to myself for company. There is nothing wrong with talking to yourself. It helps document what transpires. I would recite my day and resolve to make note of it later.
The nights began with the bitter taste of defeat. The realisation, fresh each time, that my day started by running from the sun, and ended by chasing it so far from me I could never hope to catch it. It vanished beneath the horizon, my only routine companion, leaving me in the cold.
Each night, I secured my bicycle and gathered wood for heat. My survival seemed as not but pure providence, sustaining myself on the kindness of those around me, who offered food and drink expecting nothing from me but meager offerings of currency.
I would sit and look at the stars and contemplate how far away they were. Distance can be measured by triangulation. That is to say by using triangles. Triangles are just half squares, a kind of rectangle, or half parallelograms if you prefer.
As these distant lights, often actually lights within lights, revealed themselves through the dark night, deep realisation came to me. A magical thinking divulged in moments of clarity, brought upon by great and profound reflection. Clarity like that of a filtered liquor. The stars did not come out, they had been there the whole time, merely made visible again in the absence of a blinding light. Just as I understand this reality, the truth I sought came into focus, in the absence of the deafening thoughts.
Everyday should begin with a degree of optimism. A positive outlook can greatly improve the course of the day. That is why one should put their best foot forward. That foot being the one with the most neatly groomed toe nails and minimal callouses. This foot, along with the third best foot, should be adorned with high quality socks, with only the finest elastics.
Some time ago I set out to perfect the art of meditation by recording the sound of silence in order to clear one's mind. I had succeeded, but was ultimately foiled when someone recorded over it with their loud breathing. The devastation was compounded by the flapping of a moth's wings, which was discovered when inspecting the track more closely. Which brings us to another issue, when cleaning your ears, one must always do so gently.
I once successfully took a picture of perfect darkness. I had travelled deep into the outer darkness of the north. Farther than any faint hearted man dared to follow. I came upon a precipice, overlooking a vast river. Along it, several bears stood fishing. Upon the cliffs, a mountain lion stalked. When I was sure I had the perfect vantage point, I lifted my camera for them to see. Under the watchful eye of two great owls, the shutter froze, and I captured the elusive.
It was a triumphant moment indeed. I wondered if the animals even noticed, until I realised, that it was not indifference, but approval. And the evening wore on... I've always found that to be an interesting expression, and with your permission, I'd like to say it again. The evening, wore, on.
I was once involved in a legal battle with a small village in Europe, when I had named a river "Lethe." As the fates would have it, the name was already in use and the village was concerned that they would face reprisal.
The judge found that the name could not be used, but found the village liable for exposing me to public scrutiny. In order to make it up to me, the villagers threw a party on a small river bound cruise ship, where there was much drinking and merriment. By the time we docked again, we had forgotten the whole thing ever happened.
Perhaps this could have been avoided by using a map. I have always had trouble with maps. Not because I have difficulty reading them. It is simply that looking at them raises too many introspective questions. Where am I? How did I get here? Where am I going? The time goes on as these spin in my head, ultimately getting me nowhere, both literally and metaphorically.
Perception is important to consider when examining circumstances. Take for instance, it is said that when you sit by a fire, you are still cooling your body. The same cannot be said about clothing, which is why fire safety is very important, and should be discussed soberly and with great seriousness.
"Burning the house down" has always been a curious expression, seeming to have both positive and negative connotations depending on the circumstances. Which is easy to understand given that wood is not only our primary building supply, but fuel supply as well, but also our principle source of recreation and philosophy and wisdom. Just recently I made a sojourn to the forest, when a great truth was made manifest to me through the woods.
"MJ + LC"
How could such knowledge be revealed, to such a simple organism, in such isolation? And why did it choose, of all that it had learned in its years, to share what that morsel with one such as myself?
As the saying was once shared, "The only thing I know, is that I know nothing." Often hailed as the only true wisdom. I know this saying, for I just spoke it a moment ago. Having spoken it, I wrote it. Having spoken and written it, I knew it. In knowing it, do I know something about nothing? And in knowing nothing, do I in fact know something? Can nothing be the answer to the aforementioned something and nothing I am convinced I know? Will something come from knowing this truth about nothing?
Perhaps dwelling on this mystery is what brought me to the point I reached.
It began one morning as I enjoyed a hot beverage at a cafe on Place de la Madeleine in Paris. I will always remember the way the steam gently rose from the delicate china cup filled with warm water, for I do not drink tea, but enjoy the ritual. The streets were a buzz. Nigh a quiet moment to be found as beautiful and haughty people delighted in their worldliness, while the rest of the townsfolk revelled in yet another squirrel-free year. The people felt truly blessed indeed.
The leaves from the trees along the streets and avenues, dashing against the stone and paved roads. The air was cool and crisp. Summer had finally left, and autumn encroached, as if to remind us of the fleeting and changing nature of all things. It is a memory hewn deep in my mind, never to leave, for all my days.
In trying to tune out the white noise, it is easy to overlook when one is speaking to one's self. It seemed that each time I lowered that white cup of water, there was another face waiting on the other side of it. Hoping to stem the tide, I opted to dwell on my quandary further, and raise my cup less. Perhaps, this was not the most effective way to achieve this goal, because it was not long before what seemed like the whole cafe was filled with people watching and listening to me.
A rather slender waiter in a tailored vest, which I ventured to believe was Vera Wang, approached me. Given that there was nothing at all written on his notepad, I knew this matter was absolute and serious. I couldn't help but feel that something was amiss. A realisation, so close I could reach out and take it in my hand, but so obscured, I could have been reaching out to the night sky as dark black silk. Then it occurred to me; Joseph and Feiss. I have enjoyed their vests in the past.
When the gentleman asked what I was speaking about, I was as forthcoming as I could be. Setting down my cup, I answered. "...Nothing." Unable to accept my answer, he persisted, insisting I must be speaking of something. It seems my quandary had manifest into conversation. Before the last of my beverage could evaporate into the gentle breeze, I was discussing that knowing that we know nothing was the greatest wisdom. My words piqued the curiosity of the other patrons
After discussion, several other patrons came to the realisation I had; that in knowing nothing, one might know something. They splintered, and argued about what extent this knowledge could manifest. Did those who knew nothing about more topics become more knowledgeable about the world? Things spiralled out of control, growing beyond the bounds of the thought experiment I proposed. As a result, they fashioned their new school of philosophy as "the know-nothings." I had become attached as advisor to several political campaigns, in which they began flaunting their knowledge of nothing as the basis for their superior aptitude for the positions. Several of which were successful, granting them great power and influence. I opted not to partake further, recusing myself, and they viewed my saying nothing as an esoteric knowledge of something not for everyone.
Which brings us to another valuable lesson; Silence is golden, but idle mumbling leads to trouble.
My enchanting, gripping and lamentable story is replete with deep thought and subtext. It is filled with strong and varied emotions, just as a cherry tree is filled with ripened fruit. Such a fitting parallel.
The cherry tree blossoms, providing vibrant colours and blooms, for the world. Its branches provide homes for birds and small arboreal mammals. Its green leaves absorb the sunlight, making our air fresh, giving it the sweet aroma of the flowers. And in time, it produces delicious fruit for us to eat. But in order to do so, the blossoms must wither and die. It is the cruel dichotomy of nature, for the beautiful to end in order to give rise to more beauty. All of this happens in the fall, when the cherries are gathered, and that is when my story starts. Drawing another parallel is that, in order for the cherry to produce fruit, it must be paired to another with whom it could bask in the glow of the sun.
Which was exactly what happened.
…
I would not say that I cannot speak Latin. I can. I'll say only that I do not at this time. It is important to focus on what strengths, rather than weaknesses, we have. For instance, my strength at Scrabble, instead of
The time has come for me to hit the proverbial trail. Should our paths cross again, I would expect you to adhere to the rule that says the first one at the intersection has the right of way, unless traffic is otherwise controlled by a police officer relegated to managing the flow. It may not seem like a glamorous position but traffic safety is a very serious matter.
Until such a hypothetical future, that is all!
Submitted November 18, 2019 at 03:30AM by TheAngryCanadian17 https://ift.tt/32UpUtz
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