the corporation and what troubles you
You are a reasonably competent surfer who is
unfortunate enough to have to hold down a 50 hour + job behind a synthetic partition in a large room in the city somewhere and you have many, many bosses telling you what to do and a hundred eager jobless graduates on the street who know they can do it better, and cheaper, and they watch you as you eat your Subway at the pedestrian crossing.
The Internet is available all day at no personal charge and you are a participant in about six forums – mostly surf based, just to keep sane. Which is more than you can say about the other nincompoops who lodge their thoughts there.
The immediate boss is a cyclone of bad moods. Daily. You use the same words to placate him as you do your wife, it’s uncanny. Frightening. Maybe you should take flowers more often.
His PA is a beautiful, stunner! Every Monday she asks you how the surf was on the weekend. There is a want there that must only be denied. Nylon sheaths.
– and the Directors are a complete and fulfilled gathering of decrepit braindead golfing zombies. Accountants and lawyers. They were all sedated at birth with some type of lifelong diazepam dosage. Injected into the frontal lobe, about a litre.
The work is mundane and unchanging. Your life is measured in quarter$.
The software is aged and unwieldy, IT development is a empty cubicle full of old chairs.
Support sounds seductive but is completely unintelligible, and unhelpful. The one time you asked him for a curry recipe he got all race-conscious, hung up without thanking you sincerely.
The weekly meetings have no consequences; there is no coffee machine. The Procurement Manager eats a breadroll stuffed with garlic on the way in, every time. He’s the guy next to you expelling bad air.
Nothing you do is ever noticed while something you forget to do is trumpeted loudly to everyone in the building. Emails; cc everybloodybody.
– and everybody in marketing plays squash and lives close to Darlinghurst Road. You suspect their sexuality, generally speaking.
And nobody knows the feeling.