The snowy, blustery Spring that has battered the states this year has me musing about the bright line that snow represents to our lives. On one side is wonderful, crazy childhood, where snow, deep snow, lots of snow, represents fun and days off from school, and sledding, and snowballs, and snow forts. On the other side is adulthood, where we gaze with anxiety at the forecast, knowing our unsympathetic bosses will want us to trek to work anyway. We have to worry about sudden daycare, and whether the car will make it, and if some loser will slide into us. How is it that the same kids who grew up playing in snow can be the same company administrators who tell us to get to work? Snow is that genetic marker for carefree child that gets replaced by the un-remembering asshole. Snow is the big switcharoo. Snow is that op-art twister – the drawing of a beautiful young girl? Or an old hag?
Archive for the ‘Asshole Jobs’ Category
Posted by middlerage on March 25, 2013
Posted by middlerage on September 18, 2012
Reader Switbo has inspired me to write about something that was already pissing me off: school fundraisers. Earlier this month, the OK’s school sent home a packet to sign up family and friends for purchasing “gourmet” cookie dough. According to the packet materials, this is because the school “struggles every year to make budget” and fundraisers help raise important monies to supply our classrooms. It’s extremely annoying – I remember being kid-less and on the other side of the doorbell, and I don’t appreciate being subject to “guilt sells,” either as a target or as a salesman.
I am reminded of a paid political advert I saw a million years ago: It’s time we let schools have all the money they need, and make the Pentagon hold a bake sale to raise funds.
Folks who have an abundance of financial and monetary sense go off to Wall Street. The rest of us become firemen, laborers, programmers, mayors, and, yes, educators.
So the golden-hearted, well-meaning, service-oriented folks who run our educational institutions get approached by sketchy businesses that will provide products for armies of unpaid school children to sell, while the business skims a hefty percentage off the top. (Note. I admit this is pure speculation on my part. This is a blog, not a newspaper, and I haven’t done actual investigation. But critical thinking and a healthy dose of real world experience, makes this a not unlikely scenario. Note, I’m also not saying teachers are idiots who can’t count change. I’m saying they are like the rest of us.).
If the school needs money, I would be happier just writing a check; forget the middleman, and the (oddly creepy) cookie dough (we have purchased it in the past and it bakes up kind of weird and exotic. Give me an Oreo).
Now, I’m no economist, and I am sure there is “economy of scale” here, where even skimmed-profits, pennies-on-the-dollar proceeds from selling cookie dough to an entire neighborhood dwarfs any check I write. But it’s just sad. Again, bake sale, Pentagon, ’nuff said.
Posted by middlerage on April 19, 2012
Fuck, I hate that question.
Recently, I’ve been on some (uncomfortably few) job interviews. A couple of times the interviewers have dropped this little psycho-question, and I just want to say, “Really?” This is, like, the stupidest question ever. What is HR really hoping to gain from asking this open-ended question that is subject to the interviewer’s personal mood and philosophy that day? It calls for the interviewee to be a mind reader. I’m sure I’ve explained how stable I am, own a house in the area, and hope to retire locally to the jerk-offs that are hoping to hear I want to soar to managerial heights, uproot my family, move to HQ, and become executive vice-president of innovation in five year’s time. Likewise, I bet I’ve said I want to uproot my family and soar to vice-presidential heights to the people who want to hear I am stable and unmotivated and want to stay in their drudge job for the next eon. Fuck you. We, the unemployed of America, just want to work. We don’t want to answer meaningless questions to which we only give answers we hope you want to hear.
The check’s in the mail, I won’t cum in your mouth, and I will be doing exactly want you want me to be doing in five years time. Give me the fuckin’ job already.
I mean how are you supposed to answer that question? Probably the best worker you’ll ever meet in your life has Asperger’s Syndrome and s/he will never – in a million years – ever answer the question how you want.
Herewith are some true answers to the “…where do you see yourself in five years…” question:
- On a Caribbean beach sipping rum punch.
- As a captain in the rebel army in the Great Anti-corporation Civil War.
- On an off ramp, begging for change, holding a cardboard sign that says, “God Bless.”
- Wielding a chainsaw in the great zombie apocalypse.
- Winning the MegaMillions, but staying at my job and striving to be the worst, most annoying employee you ever hired, and keeping a law group on retainer to fight any attempts to fire me.
- Mowing the lawn at a mental institution.
- Becoming a cannibalistic zombie who focuses on HR managers.
- Becoming a cannibalistic zombie who focuses on the 1%
- Asking if you want fries with that.
- Strummin’ the old Banjo with Dinah.
- and my personal favoritist option of all – I see myself not having to answer that question in five years.
Thank you and try the portabello mushroom burger – it’s fresh!