Workplace witticisms, job jokes and career quips; who says work can't be a laughing matter?
Crumbling brick walls replace cubicles. Tattered blankets act as doors. People rely on barrel fires spread throughout for warmth. A wall marks those who've fallen. When you open your eyes, however, you realize it's not a post-apocalyptic world; it's your toxic workplace. If you’ve recently woken up to the realities of your employer, consider the following tips as your crash course for navigating your new world till redemption.
You just purchased something that you've been wanting for a while. You've done your homework and read up on all the amazing features that come with the new toy that you just purchased. The reviews were terrific, and you thought to yourself, "I can't go wrong". You read about "how easy it is to assemble", "how your satisfaction is guaranteed", "how it's easier than ever to use", blah, blah, blah.
My coffee is as cold as are my ideas. I walked up to the counter and ordered a refill. Trish, the barista, refilled my cup and handed it back to me. “You look like you need this. This cup is on-the-house.”
Who ARE the people who design software programs? It is a mystery but I believe I know the answer to who designed the software for the Community Health program known as PARIS. And, which has forever ruined that name for me or any desire to visit what is purported to be the most beautiful city in the world. City of Light? My ass. City of Perpetual Pain PTSD.
Deciding to become a work-from-home freelancer is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made in my life. Becoming a dad is another one of the best decisions I’ve ever made in my life.
Dawn. Creak my way down the stairs. That’s my knees creaking, not the stairs. Get ambushed in the dark by happy dog. Fight happy dog, kick him out. Make coffee. Go outside, feed dog. Have coffee with fresh air (rather than with a cigarette. No more choking). Secretly wish I had a cigarette. Check sky, beach, waves, weather, temperature. Cut kindling and firewood. Put clothes by fire. Shower. Muck around doing God knows what.
I currently work in retail, and it makes me miss waitressing every other day. So if this is a little disorganized, I apologize. This is a rant about the ridiculousness that is the retail industry and what I have to put up with on a near daily basis.
Thomas and I are in our 50s. We travel around Australia with our English staffy, Beni. We stop and work, save some money, travel, repeat. We have been living on the road in our caravan for over three years, and are loving the lifestyle.
I see that both MI5 (Domestic Terrorism) and MI6 (Overseas Operations) are openly advertising for new recruits via the internet and broadsheet newspapers, in a break from the tradition of selecting their new intake from public schools and top universities. I guess that it had to happen; if you keep plumbing the depths of only certain institutions, you eventually get to the dregs, and who really wants our security safeguarded by second-raters?
I have a new job writing about conspiracy theories… Or, do I? Maybe it’s actually that I have been selected to do it by The Illuminati, that well-known international group of world domineers, who want to get me off the scene in case I ask too many awkward questions. Perhaps the job was put up only on my version of the freelance website that I use—it must be pretty easy to do, with known IP addresses—so that I pick it up and not look too closely at the fact that the world is owned by The Illuminati! Perhaps I’m just paranoid.
I have upset my house painter. I have. I didn’t mean to, I just needed to have something done very fast, because I only have a 26-hour turn around. Did I insist that he did it? No. That’s not me. Even if I pay you, I often feel very bad asking you to do what I pay you to, because, polite. Yes, this makes no sense. Most of the time people want to do what they’re hired to do. I have been in a couple of careers where I’ve done a lot of things for free, because I was so desperate to do it one day for money. No, I was not a prostitute. Have I been treated like an unpaid prostitute at work? Sure. But that’s a very different story. I worked in my career choices for free sometimes, because I wanted to be in a friend’s project, I wanted them to be in mine, or it was just plain fun.
With my awkward social skills, it’s no surprise to most people that I work in retail. When you go shopping, you can almost always bet that you’ll run into an incompetent sales person when you need help. Or, frankly, you don’t want anyone to talk to you. This I can understand as a shopper, because I don’t need your help finding a piece of clothing that’s going to look good on my awkwardly-shaped body. That’s basically a fruitless effort. The answer is nothing, so don’t lead me to the trendy oversized tee shirts, or the ripped mom jeans that don’t hug in any of my good places. My sales persona is a completely different beast. I’m going to bug you about all of your deepest desires and passions, all while wearing a beautiful smile on my face that is only genuine about 50 percent of the time. Good days usually afford me a confrontation or two. I’m going to start telling you about them. While I do my best to not say no to my customers, there are sometimes where you’ll catch me doing the job I am more than happy to be doing.