First order of business:
THREE CHEERS FOR THE WEIRS!
My friend Stephie’s dad is a non-walking medical miracle. I say non-walking because the most recent of his five major surgeries so far this year were the amputations of his legs. Mr. Weir is also legally blind, a compulsive donator-to-charity , and enjoys Civil War memorabilia. We’re trying to raise enough money for at least one prosthetic limb, plus a hospital bed and lifts so that Mrs. Weir (who is 66 and already a superhero) can take care of her husband at home.
Cover charge is only $8, there will be things raffled, and you can check out The Takedown, Bill Michalski, and Buckley. I have no idea about those last two dudes, but The Takedown has played with my friends Brickshy before and are kind of boss.
PLEASE come to Off Broadway on November 4th. Please show up to drink and donate with us. Gracing us with your presence will help a very deserving family. Another incentive is that the fundraiser was briefly called “Taking It Up The Weir.”
On with the show….
Recently at work, we were asked to complete an “Engagement Survey,” which is a fancy way of saying “Employee Satisfaction Survey,” which is a fancy way of saying “I hope to god none of these peons is pissed enough to show up with a semi-automatic handgun.”
Because this engagement survey took place during the slash n’ burn phase shortly after a corporate buyout, it’s no surprise that the results reflected a general dissatisfaction with employees’ jobs and hope for their future with the company. My group had particularly dissatisfied results, but my department was the most dissatisfied of all the dissatisfied.
This is did not surprise me. My department is both Temp Hell and Lifer Hell, meaning that it seems like the only people there are part-timers who think they’re actually getting their feet in the door or cranky full-time lifers who, for some incomprehensible reason, have never been able to leave. I didn’t want to come back, but I was facing Month 7 of unemployment and thought a paycheck might be nice. So I’m back at the place I left voluntarily in 2008, doing the same job for less pay. My life is spectacular.
Let me be clear – I didn’t beg for my job back, and I was well aware that I would be making less and getting no benefits. Such is the post-buyout environment. I was also aware that a number of my former co-workers had been laid off during the buyout. But I was invited back. Frankly, I did an excellent job while there and left on similarly excellent terms. My old boss asked, I accepted. This didn’t stop the rumor mill from churning, though, so according to all the people who enjoy bitching about that place too much to leave, I was coming back as a VP.
The gossip is one thing that (I assume) brings down engagement, because when everyone is talking shit about everyone else, no one notices their surroundings enough to enjoy them. (While I don’t truly enjoy my surroundings, I’m happy to get paid and be useful. Benefits would be nice, but this is really all I require.) Another thing that brings down engagement is the fact that I work (mostly, excluding my friends) with idiots.
They’re idiots because they’re above 40 and have nothing better to do than gossip about their co-workers and American Idol all day. They’re idiots because after being there for several years, they still haven’t learned that nothing really changes and everyone is dispensable. They’re idiots because they bitch about the break schedule being unfair, because they allege that most people would actually work if allowed to work from home, and because, in an effort to raise engagement again, they suggested writing a new Mission Statement.
I loathe Mission Statements. I despise them. They are utterly useless pieces of paragraph that useless people spend useless days creating, only to ignore them completely when the novelty of actually doing something wears off, which is usually anytime between one hour and three days. We don’t need a new Mission Statement. We don’t even use the one we have. Know why? Because it’s stupid. Here. I have a Mission Statement for you.
DO YOUR FUCKING JOB.
That’s it. Come in on time, do the work, go home. You’ll find it fairly simple, and also somewhat satisfying. You have 8 allotted work hours per day compared to 16 regular hours. You can spend twice as much time not working! Isn’t that genius? And keeping this in mind may encourage you to mind your own goddamn business for a change, to focus on your own work, and possibly realize that involving yourself in the affairs of others doesn’t really work out for you in the long run. It doesn’t get you paid. It’s not your job.
Do your fucking job. One habit. Highly effective. Give me my paycheck.