Rick's May Tirade
Interview with an Unemployable Man
Midway through the journey of my career, I found myself lost in a
tangled wood of aimlessness and despair. I had become weary in my
work. I was a drudge, a hack, a joyless and futile toiler in the
grand tradition of Sisyphus.
At least Sisyphus could watch his boulder roll down the hill,
picking up incredible speed and causing the good citizens of Hades
to scatter like bowling pins. I think he must have enjoyed the
spectacle. By contrast, I was laboring in a world of almost total
sensory deprivation. No boulders. No hills. No scattering bodies.
I was a senior-level advertising copywriter in the direct-mail
industry.
I had been working at the same job, and promoting the same
products, for over a decade. How many more years could I sing the
praises of the world's most popular personal organizer? How many
more seasons could I write compelling descriptions of empty
notebooks -- even if they were the best damn empty notebooks in the
business? I itched for loftier pursuits.
Though well-paid for my exertions, I could now see why they
called it COMPENSATION. I was being deprived of bliss, and my pay
was supposed to compensate for the loss.
Most of us spend the first half of our careers struggling to fit
a mold. It's not always a mold that conforms to our own contours. If
it doesn't fit, it becomes more confining than a straitjacket. It
becomes a premature grave.
Well, now I had decided to BREAK OUT before decomposition could
set in. I would insist on finding work that engaged the talents and
imagination I had squandered all these years. I would conduct the
second half of my career on MY terms.
When I received the call for a job interview, I resolved to be
blunt about my demands. After all, I was still gainfully employed
and had nothing to lose. I would see how far the world was willing
to bend to accommodate my aspirations. I would be an egotist and a
brat on behalf of my career.
Seated in a dimly lit antechamber, I waited my turn to be
interviewed. Finally the receptionist motioned to me and bade me
enter the inner sanctum. I followed her to a cool, commodious office
with smooth cherry-wood paneling.
My interviewer rose to greet me. He was a round-faced man of
upper-middle age, ruddy-complexioned and balding, with small but
lively dark eyes.
"So you're the Mr. Bayan I've heard about," he said.
"Your resume looks impressive. What can I do for you?"
I took my seat and began to state my case as frankly as possible.
"Let me get straight to the point," I told my
interviewer. "I'm in the middle of a disappointing career and
it's time for a serious change. I'm tired of putting so much of my
time and effort into projects that don't satisfy my aspirations. I'm
always writing what other people tell me to write. It just doesn't
seem fair: accountants get to practice accounting... managers get to
manage... engineers ENGINEER. They're all doing exactly what their
educations equipped them to do. But we writers and other liberal
arts types always have to bend ourselves to the whims of the
business establishment if we want to survive. We're chronically
unfulfilled -- and that's no way to live, let me tell you."
I took a deep breath and continued. I was on a roll.
"What's even worse, we get ourselves locked into a corporate
hierarchy that values energy and glibness over intelligence and
education. Not only doesn't our education help us advance, it
actually HOLDS US BACK. We're regarded as oddballs if we'd rather
read Thoreau than play golf. If you want to rise within an
organization, you have to resemble the people in power. And you can
bet that the people in power don't read Thoreau. They're former frat
boys... corporate jocks. So if the people in power play golf, I'd
better play golf, right? Well, I'll be damned if I'm going to putter
around with a stupid club on a bright summer afternoon when the
hills and forests are beckoning to me. Play golf? Hah! I'd rather
eat a bowl of pork ice cream."
I was beginning to digress. I was enjoying my tirade, but I
thought I'd better return to the point: my need to find fulfilling
work.
"I've been accused of cynicism, of feeling that I'm too good
for my job. But I AM too good for my job! MOST people I know are too
good for their jobs. I've never been able to understand how some
folks are able to whip themselves up into virtual orgasms over their
puny little jobs, simply because they're being paid to do so. Yes,
it's nice to make money... but how does money buy enthusiasm, will
you tell me that? I've known people in my business who spend their
days scrutinizing mailing lists or writing job bags for advertising
projects. God, it's awful work. And yet they've actually convinced
themselves that they're at the center of some vast direct-mail
solar system... that all the planets and moons revolve around their
job bags and mailing lists. It's pathetic! You'd think they'd wither
away from the monotony, but they can't get enough of it! They come
in at seven-thirty in the morning and sneer at me when I stroll in
at ten past nine. I swear, sometimes I think they're aliens. No
human being with a soul could tolerate such work day after day and
actually ENJOY it. That's what kills me. They live for it! I think
they'd shrivel up into little balls of dried protoplasm if they
didn't have their jobs."
I was getting off on a tangent again, and frankly, I was
surprised that my interviewer was hearing me out so patiently. I
thanked him for his indulgence.
"What I'm trying to say is that I need work that springs
from the depths of my soul. Some people are content to be busy; I
think that's what sustains them. But if I can't be busy with
something worthwhile, I'd rather go birdwatching or fly a kite. I've
spent my years developing a mental landscape that's teeming with
life and knowledge, but my work hasn't allowed me to share it with
anyone. Just once, I'd like a job that actually pays me to
communicate the contents of my mind. Do you think that's possible?
Do you have any jobs like that at your company? The salary is
immaterial to me. Just let me show you what I can do."
My interviewer looked me in the eye with a wise and knowing
countenance. He told me, "I've heard your story before, young
man. I understand what you want, although I can't guarantee that
you'll find it here. But I feel you could have a long career with my
firm. If you'll follow Mrs. Screwtape out the door, she'll point you
toward your boulder. The hill is just behind the building. Welcome
to hell, Mr. Bayan."
I thought, "Fresh air at last. This is definitely a step in
the right direction."
