I've moved my blog to WP: idefiningi.wordpress.com
October 15, 2009
angst (n.)
This is not teenage angst. I'm in my 20s. This is a proclamation that I hate Working in the Service Industry as a Recent University Graduate.
I feel I am at a crossroads - and what better way to approach my post-grad crisis than to place it on the virtual web that makes me remember that: The conundrum that is my life is merely a fraction of all the mumbo jumbo that's floating around out there. Puts things into perspective.
It all began about a week ago after a horrible, demeaning, mentally-blah shift at work (at GM Place) serving beer and hot dogs and those dreaded nachos with the "cheese". With little to no tips. While being passively bullied by my mean co-workers who've been on payroll (and in the union) for over a decade.
I don't mean this post to be a venture to vent, but when I realize that places like my current workplace exist, I start to lose hope in the world we all think has come so far. There is not enough love, not enough justice, not enough intuition, and not enough moral fiber to keep our system from being the evil spawn of our misguided nature and greed, rather than the love child of our desire to improve and be good to one another.
There's no point in even mentioning that WWI and WWII posed extreme moral dilemmas about the nature of humanity and its capabilities. We, as a society, have drastically shed light on the potential of our evil convictions. And while we have formed a more liberal and tolerant status quo, there is still a war going on. It's inside us - and inside our stadiums - and it's bubbling.
It happens every day when we get up to go to work - at least for one too many of us who: hate our job, are underpaid, are mistreated, and/or Settle for Less because others have done so and there's no better alternative to Competing by Showing Up.
I would have hoped that a University degree would have prepared me better and that I wouldn't need to take a year off to figure out how to avoid being pawn in this game of "Sorry". (Ironically - or quite fittingly - my Bachelor of English has best prepared me to verbalize my complaints...)
Is there nothing better that society can do for me than offer me a web-ring of blogs that I can read and relate to, subscribe to, or complain on?
I took a year off with hope that my resume would become fuller, with something more meaningful, a line or two that would reflect that I have Figured Something Out about myself and where I'm going. Instead, this Gap Year has truly just exposed the inevitable gap that seems to exist in modern adult life.
I feel I am at a crossroads - and what better way to approach my post-grad crisis than to place it on the virtual web that makes me remember that: The conundrum that is my life is merely a fraction of all the mumbo jumbo that's floating around out there. Puts things into perspective.
It all began about a week ago after a horrible, demeaning, mentally-blah shift at work (at GM Place) serving beer and hot dogs and those dreaded nachos with the "cheese". With little to no tips. While being passively bullied by my mean co-workers who've been on payroll (and in the union) for over a decade.
My blog idea took shape as a small morsel of spiteful, frustrated energy in the middle of my stomach, that has been accumulating since I left my former "job" - if you can call my work at THE VTC EDUCATION GROUP that (since they sent out bad checks, closed their doors to students and teachers, and disappeared from the scene while in crazy debt to everyone including the landlord.)
This little "hate morsel" moved up my heaving chest, passed my pissed-off heart, and slid up my dry throat in a gurgly, angry, helpless
" AHHHHHHHH!! "
(I promise the sound was a much more exhilarating and liberating release of worker agony than the lame pressing of "A" on my keyboard followed by a lazy index finger on "H". )
Tonight I was in a murky mood, walking home from the stadium through the dark, urban, police-car illuminated underpass on Expo Blvd. My first shift at my new job had finished. I had arrived five hours before in a cheerful mood trying to forget how stupid I looked in the company baseball cap (do you want fries with that?), while inquisitively looking up at the schedule on the wall to check my stand number.
Five hours later, I came out with grease on my glasses, a leaky pen in my pocket, and a slew of insults and ego busts smeared all over the lining of my stomach. It made me feel sick; I wanted to cry; and to add to my melancholic symphony, a couple of loonies and a quarter jingled in my pockets, an echoing reminder of how badly my shift had gone in terms of tips.
What's worse is that it really wasn't about my lack of genuine care to do a good job. I had quite enjoyed the same position working at a different venue (pouring beers at Canadians games was actually really fun!); however, this new job just reeks of what Marx and Engels kept complaing about. This job has molded me and my over-sized uniform into a meaningless worker, to not only the company, but to both myself and the customers who probably think that my uniform warrants them to devalue me as an individual.
" AHHHHHHHH!! "
(I promise the sound was a much more exhilarating and liberating release of worker agony than the lame pressing of "A" on my keyboard followed by a lazy index finger on "H". )
Tonight I was in a murky mood, walking home from the stadium through the dark, urban, police-car illuminated underpass on Expo Blvd. My first shift at my new job had finished. I had arrived five hours before in a cheerful mood trying to forget how stupid I looked in the company baseball cap (do you want fries with that?), while inquisitively looking up at the schedule on the wall to check my stand number.
Five hours later, I came out with grease on my glasses, a leaky pen in my pocket, and a slew of insults and ego busts smeared all over the lining of my stomach. It made me feel sick; I wanted to cry; and to add to my melancholic symphony, a couple of loonies and a quarter jingled in my pockets, an echoing reminder of how badly my shift had gone in terms of tips.
What's worse is that it really wasn't about my lack of genuine care to do a good job. I had quite enjoyed the same position working at a different venue (pouring beers at Canadians games was actually really fun!); however, this new job just reeks of what Marx and Engels kept complaing about. This job has molded me and my over-sized uniform into a meaningless worker, to not only the company, but to both myself and the customers who probably think that my uniform warrants them to devalue me as an individual.
I don't mean this post to be a venture to vent, but when I realize that places like my current workplace exist, I start to lose hope in the world we all think has come so far. There is not enough love, not enough justice, not enough intuition, and not enough moral fiber to keep our system from being the evil spawn of our misguided nature and greed, rather than the love child of our desire to improve and be good to one another.
There's no point in even mentioning that WWI and WWII posed extreme moral dilemmas about the nature of humanity and its capabilities. We, as a society, have drastically shed light on the potential of our evil convictions. And while we have formed a more liberal and tolerant status quo, there is still a war going on. It's inside us - and inside our stadiums - and it's bubbling.
It happens every day when we get up to go to work - at least for one too many of us who: hate our job, are underpaid, are mistreated, and/or Settle for Less because others have done so and there's no better alternative to Competing by Showing Up.
This is what explains all the middle fingers and cussing we see on the road, and the cutting in line at the supermarket, and the cold work environments, and the evil-hearted competitiveness that fills the working world.
This is all quite loaded, I know. I am not prepared to compose a Manifesto on Worker's Rights, or diagnose society and propose a remedy that fits my utopic vision. However, like any modern-day citizen, I am ready to lash out with words and bitch bitch bitch.
This is all quite loaded, I know. I am not prepared to compose a Manifesto on Worker's Rights, or diagnose society and propose a remedy that fits my utopic vision. However, like any modern-day citizen, I am ready to lash out with words and bitch bitch bitch.
Is there nothing better that society can do for me than offer me a web-ring of blogs that I can read and relate to, subscribe to, or complain on?
I took a year off with hope that my resume would become fuller, with something more meaningful, a line or two that would reflect that I have Figured Something Out about myself and where I'm going. Instead, this Gap Year has truly just exposed the inevitable gap that seems to exist in modern adult life.
The Days of Bachelor Degrees is over.
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