I have a hard job. The pay is low for the qualifications they require. It is also an exempt position – no overtime,
no breaks on the clock [Ed.: recently changed.]. They only pay for time they can bill to someone.
That’s all fine. Where it went off the track is last night.
I was sitting around a rectangle of tables like the ones where I work. Steven was there, Amorette, others. We were having our weekly meetings, right out of the Jonathan J. Shithead business planner.
God I was bored.
Then Ron came back in the room to tell us we were going to go over the briefs we were supposed to write. I was happy to help Steven – again. But I hadn’t written mine. I hadn’t even started. I wasn’t even aware of this assignment, so I spent furious minutes thinking of why this oversight was not worth my head on a stick.
Then I woke up, and it was just a different version of the one class left and one test before I can graduate dream. NBFD, except for the failure to keep the real work world out of my head.
My question is simple. If I have to dream about the real world, why can’t it be living out the “how you doin‘ ” banter of a couple of phone calls from this week?