'How can you live without working? You can only live without working.'
- Raoul Vaneigem, philosopher
Trouble at mill? There has been trouble in almost every job I have ever had. During the bewildering mess that I class as my 'working life', I have received numerous bollockings and 'tickings off', and heard the same criticisms time and again: 'You're not a team player'; 'You live in a world of your own'; 'You have a lasse faire attitude' (that last one is my personal favourite). There have been several cautions, disciplinaries and even sackings. And now I'm back where I started, out of a job, and looking to re-enter the world of casual work, because in the current economic climate, those are the only sorts of jobs available. Irony! The author of Temp/Casual is back temping!
Only now can I see why this keeps happening; I'm batting for the wrong team and doing the wrong sort of work. Doh! How can I be passionate about a job that involves 7 hours of data entry each day? In 2006 I was desperate and unemployed, and took a job in a call centre. During the interview, I became possessed by a corporate incubus, and heard myself spouting the sort of clap-trap which managers love to hear: 'I'm target driven ... blah blah ... I have excellent customer service skills ... blah blah ... I'm looking to work in a challenging, high pressure environment blah blah ...' My soul briefly left my body, and for a
few seconds, I actually died. The job was in the car insurance department of a successful financial services organisation. Hateful doesn't even come near.
TANGENT ALERT!
Coincidentally, the staff website was called L.I.L.Y. This stood for 'LIVING IT, LOVING IT.' Jesus. Think about that. Someone somewhere has actually sat down and created that acronym. What's more, they believe it, to. The 'living it' part seems to suggest some sort of dream. As if working in a call centre could actually be the life you had always wanted. Not only living the dream but loving it as well! It frightens me that a concept such as this could actually exist. Who thought of it? And how do they sleep at night? In a posh, comfy bed with crisp, perfumed, cotton sheets, probably.
Where was I? After struggling through two weeks of brain-frazzling training, a manager asked if I was ready to 'hit the ground running.' See, I have a problem with people who use phrases like that; it seems an incongruous fit with life in an office environment. How do you hit the ground running in a swivel chair? Not a physics major, obviously. After two days on the phones, it was clear I was unsuitable for this sort of work. I resigned. Yes, this has happened before.
SOME OTHER CRAP JOBS THAT I HAVE HATED
TRAFFIC ADMINISTRATOR. Logging post-codes for the M60 ring road survey, 1991. Temp contract, 8 weeks. Manager kept a log book containing a list of people who talked too much. My name was included.
SALES ASSISTANT. WH Smith, Manchester Airport, 2006. Summer job, 3 months. Duties included restocking the Haribo fruit and wine gum stand at 2-hourly intervals. Verbal warning for reading the newspapers when things were quiet. The Manager who did this watched me whilst hiding behind a plastic palm tree. I kid you not.
BOX OFFICE ASSISTANT. Taking phone bookings for gigs and concerts, 1997. Rolling contract dependent on 'needs of business'. Minus-benefits included no holiday or sick pay. Verbal warning for making personal phonecalls longer than 3 minutes duration.
TELEPHONE OPERATOR. BT Directory Enquiries, 1996. Temp to perm contract. Walked out after 4 days. Why? It was rubbish
SALES ASSISTANT. Pen Shop, 1992. Selling expensive pens to posh customers. Manager: 'You have to make the customers believe they are special. These are more than pens - they are lifestyle accessories.' Resigned after 1 week.
TOUR GUIDE. Granada Studio Tours, 1994. Summer job. Selling tour tickets at the Primark version of Disneyland. Verbal warning for leaving post unmanned during toilet break. This from a supervisor with a cocaine habit.
SALES ASSISTANT. Book shop, Oldham, 1997-1999. Books on shelves, books in bags. Shop had creaky floorboards and was understaffed. Disciplinary hearing for being late three days in a row. Left to pursue other options.
You get the idea. Is it me or them? Both, probably. I'm a dreamer, a storyteller, a poet (so I have been told). My mind is filled with stories, thoughts and ideas. I'm happiest lying on a hay-stack staring into the middle distance (though they're a bit hard to come by in North Manchester). How does office work make me feel? Trapped and caged. The soul needs to fly, the heart needs to sing. We are all spiritual beings having a human experience. Yet the world is run by soulless, money grubbing drones whose only belief is in worshipping the Gods of profit and expansion. Governments want people to work. They want people to consume (maybe I got it wrong; are we spiritual beings having a consumer experience, perhaps?)Governments want people to struggle, to be in debt. People in debt are full of fear. And people who are afraid do as they're told. The perfect system.
Is it possible to earn a living doing something I love? This is the question I am forever asking. The excellent website Anxiety Culture (http://www.anxietyculture.com/) includes a feature on identifying your life purpose. In order to do this, we first need to bypass the critical, fear-hectoring voices in our heads: the politicians, the media, the bosses, the teachers who always told us to stop dreaming. Give it a try now. Turn off the static and then:
| 1. |  | Identify what you like about yourself. |
| 2. | Identify how you most like spending your time. | |
| 3. | Imagine your idea of a perfect world. |
Sounds simple. Of course you then have to figure out how to put this plan into action. At least it's a start! Anyway, I'm going to look for a haystack, stare into the distance and ruminate. Yes, ruminate. The world of temping will still be there when I get back. I want more than a life of data entry. Why? Because I'm a spiritual being having a human experience. I deserve better.
We all do.
