It doesn’t happen, by design, that I talk about my job. Frankly, most of the time it’s nothing particularly interesting, and probably not really any different from anyone else who works a fairly normal corporate job anywhere in the world. But lately, my work has been a little bit more encompassing in my daily life than I’d really like it to, and I feel like I’m in a not-that-great position currently, and I feel like everyone I’d vent to is kind of tired of hearing the same old stories about my job, but I still have a lot of thoughts and words that I’d like to get out of my system, that writing about it, seems like the only viable option in order to accomplish that.
Imagine . . .
- You’re an auto mechanic. You fix cars and motorized vehicles for a living. You use tools and work with your hands in order to fix said vehicles, day in and day out. One day, a chef walks into your shop, and gives you a bunch of forks, spoons and spatulas and tells you, these are your tools now. Please fix my car.
- You’re a chef. You cook food for a living that feeds all sorts of people. You use an arsenal of knives, spoons and various utensils in order to prepare all the food that you cook. One day, a graphic designer walks into your kitchen, plops and laptop and a mouse on your counter and tells you, these are your tools now. Please make me lunch.
- You’re a graphic designer. You make shit on computers, using a variety of artsy software, specifically made to make shit. Sometimes the shit you make ends up on the internet on websites and sometimes it is manifested into something tangible. One day, an IT guy walks onto your floor and installs this shittily-made, outsourced, glorified data entry program and tells you, this is your primary software now. Please resume creating advertisements at a high volume and high quality. Except there’s no please, because this IT guy is a fucking asshole
That’s my life at work, in a nutshell.