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How Did I Get Here?
Today (technically March 22, but I haven't gone to bed yet, and it isn't anywhere near dawn here, and shut up, he explained) marks my 19th anniversary at my job. Of course, I received cake, congratulations, an iPad with the dates engraved on it and many other wonderful things.
Or not. I went in, did my job, went home. Just like most other days, my interaction with the boss consisted of him bitching that I had no work to do. If I were supposed to magically bring in work that I then would do, this would perhaps make sense. But we have a lying, incompetent sales dweeb who would rather look at tranny porn* (people and/or cars) on the company computer rather than go out and find work for us to do when the boss goes home in the afternoon. So work is occasional, at best.
Nineteen years. The previous record for work longevity was four years, and that was working for Parking Services at KU during my undergraduate years. I mostly sat in a toll booth for a major parking lot on campus by the football stadium. Let the people with permits in, extort money out of those without. Went by there Saturday, and said lot has been mostly converted into practice fields for the football team.
Nineteen years. Over a third of my life. Not working career, life. And here I am, trapped in a pointless job with no benefits beyond paid parking and vacation, which could disappear any day, depending on the whimand/or health of the owner. Whatever desktop skills I had have severely atrophied, between the lack of an up-to-date machine and software and my transition to laminating monkey five years ago.
I like graphic design. No. I love graphic design. Solving the puzzle of fitting pieces together to make a zine, flyer or progress report is just so damn much fun. Putting together the Anticipation Souvenir Book was something I'd been working towards for many years in my fannish life.
But I see no hope that when Darrell pulls the plug I will be able to find any kind of work in the field. I am far too far behind. Still trying to get a newer machine at home. Lost another Ebay fight tonight at the last second.
So when you see the guy by the side of the road with the sign reading "Will Design for Beer," be kind.
*Yes, I am serious. Yes, Darrell knows about it, as he monitors the work computer from home after he leaves, and will call let me know if a job has come in. But the sales dweeb is his "friend," which is how he got the job, despite no knowledge of the industry. And now we're stuck with him, as Darrell can't afford to hire someone who could do the job right.
Or not. I went in, did my job, went home. Just like most other days, my interaction with the boss consisted of him bitching that I had no work to do. If I were supposed to magically bring in work that I then would do, this would perhaps make sense. But we have a lying, incompetent sales dweeb who would rather look at tranny porn* (people and/or cars) on the company computer rather than go out and find work for us to do when the boss goes home in the afternoon. So work is occasional, at best.
Nineteen years. The previous record for work longevity was four years, and that was working for Parking Services at KU during my undergraduate years. I mostly sat in a toll booth for a major parking lot on campus by the football stadium. Let the people with permits in, extort money out of those without. Went by there Saturday, and said lot has been mostly converted into practice fields for the football team.
Nineteen years. Over a third of my life. Not working career, life. And here I am, trapped in a pointless job with no benefits beyond paid parking and vacation, which could disappear any day, depending on the whimand/or health of the owner. Whatever desktop skills I had have severely atrophied, between the lack of an up-to-date machine and software and my transition to laminating monkey five years ago.
I like graphic design. No. I love graphic design. Solving the puzzle of fitting pieces together to make a zine, flyer or progress report is just so damn much fun. Putting together the Anticipation Souvenir Book was something I'd been working towards for many years in my fannish life.
But I see no hope that when Darrell pulls the plug I will be able to find any kind of work in the field. I am far too far behind. Still trying to get a newer machine at home. Lost another Ebay fight tonight at the last second.
So when you see the guy by the side of the road with the sign reading "Will Design for Beer," be kind.
*Yes, I am serious. Yes, Darrell knows about it, as he monitors the work computer from home after he leaves, and will call let me know if a job has come in. But the sales dweeb is his "friend," which is how he got the job, despite no knowledge of the industry. And now we're stuck with him, as Darrell can't afford to hire someone who could do the job right.