Crushed by the Wheels of Industry

Sigh. I am not looking forward to work on Monday morning. I don’t usually anyway – as a matter of principle – but this time, it’ll be back to the grind after the longest break since my days as a student. And THAT was back in the days when the government gave you money to attend, rather than the other way around. Three weeks it’s been since I took my nose off the mortgage-supporting grindstone; I’m not sure I can remember where I put my shirts, it was that long ago.

It would be very nice to be able to sit around the house all day, doing nothing, and getting paid for it. But of course it doesn’t work like that. So that’s why I must go in: to sit around the OFFICE all day, doing nothing, and getting paid for it. [Hah — I would like to state, for the benefit of any boss-types reading this, that that was just my little joke. This explicit disclaimer is necessary because, to become a boss, you generally need to have your sense of humour removed. Certain incidents over the past year have proven this. Buy me a pint sometime if you want the details]

I don’t actually mind my job; things could be a great deal worse, as the fact that I’ve been there for over eight years shows. This is because my problems are not with the specifics — you get the same shit shovelled at you, regardless of where you are. Sure, at X you might get better pay, but then you have to work longer hours, while at Y the manager’s a jerk, and in company Z you must provide sexual services to board members. Same shit, just different flavours. What I’d rather avoid is the general concept of employment itself – it’s just glorified prostitution, with a pension plan. Sadly, while I remain fond of things like films, the Internet and two-week junkets to America, I can’t see any viable alternatives, since I doubt I’d be any good at dealing crack.

So I guess I’ll just have to put up with it, despite the iniquities of a capitalist system, and strive to retain my freedom. This consists largely of wearing steadily more offensive T-shirts on dress-down Friday, as well as…hell, but let’s not give away too many secrets here, as I do (quite) like my job (or at least, the salary) and want to keep it.

Thus, it’s back to the rat race, fully refreshed and recharged. And ready to sneak off to the toilet in the afternoon for twenty minutes kip. Sigh…