Corporate america sucks. Or just corporate.
It’s been ten long years but I remember this now.
Money grubbing lunatics. Paying their workers a pittance to do back breaking labor and expecting results at twice the speed a machine PLUS doing everyone else’s job as well at the drop of a hat. Why do the butt-scratching monkies in the “big chair” get such a huge chunk of change when we–THE WORKERS!!!– make it for them by selling their products?
…….Can you tell the shine has worn off my new book seller job? It only took three months and it’s not even the crazy season yet. Sorry I’m not a robot, management. Why don’t we trade for awhile and see if you can do three carts in 4 hours, hmmmmmm??????? I swear it’s like working on a U-boat. Everyone had to be ready to pick up slack if someone falls. Geezus.
Well I’m not here to be a negative Nancy, although I could rant for days about everything wrong at my store. I want to talk about something more…practical?……more….positive? Some sort of “P” word, instead. It’s something that I don’t usually notice is a thing until I’m faced with such bad days and it’s a thing I am so grateful for. I don’t know how I cultivated it but I’ve learned to rely on it to get me through.
It’s the ability to turn every experience I have into a story. And I truly think this is a mark of a true writer.
Just like a dancer can choreograph to any music or a painter can see the brush strokes and colors to create a scene in their minds eye. Taking anything and everything in real life and being able to bring it back around to the thing you truly love in your heart of hearts…..that is true artistry. That’s PASSION.
Yes, I’ve had a bad day and it sucks. HOWEVER, I know that I’m going to use the injustice and indignance I feel and funnel it into a story someday. Several probably. Some angsty pre-teen or crochety old man waving his cane will be the vessel of my outrage. As I write the words, I’ll let the memory fill me up. I’ll close my eyes and remember how frustrated I felt and how the hot tears slipped down my cheeks. The horror of crying at work. The unfairness of being told I’m not doing well at my job. The miscommunication between management and their workers.
“It’s nothing personal. It’s just business.”
F%^& you it’s not personal!! I’m making is personal! And you all shall be immortalized as catalysts for my angst! May your sins be printed forever on the pages that come from me! You will not keep me down!!!!!
So thank you Barnes, for allowing me to experience how it feels to be helpless and criticized. Middle school is flooding back to me all over.
And I’m so so sorry to my co-worker for spilling my word vomit on her. I added my burden to her already sagging shoulders >.< I promise, some chocolate cookies are going to be baked for you.