December 20th, 2005
Here is something I wrote exactly two weeks ago:
My dissatisfaction with my workplace is so bad right now that at least once, and usually twice or three times a day, I have to fight down urges to just shut down my computer, grab my coat, and walk out ... for good.
It's an odd sensation to have a desk with drawers and top completely devoid of personal items. I packed them up and brought them home weeks ago, because I nearly quit one terrible day. I look around at the people and the walls, furniture, computers, etc., and realise that there is so little keeping me here any more. And because I am so uninterested in the plight of the product, and absolutely furious at some of the people here, my stay-here-glue bottle is all but empty.
I am like the drop of water at the end of the spout: gravity (the urge to leave) damn near equals the capillary force (the willingness to stay and keep working). It won't take much shaking to see me out the door like a shot.
And, actually, I already did "quit" a couple of weeks ago: I went home early, vowing to never come back ... except that I did come back "the very next day". It was close, I nearly sent out the resignation email I've been keeping for months. But changed my mind.
Of course, I am quite actively seeking work at other places, but I may have priced myself too high out of the market, and, besides, December is a tough time to be looking for a new job. Even when companies are hiring, they are not very serious about filling positions until the New Year.
The day after I wrote that, I really did walk out, and the day after that I made some calls and -er- roped in some friends' favours, and by Monday of the next week I had lined up a new position with a new company. It really was that easy. Sometimes I love being a seasoned veteran. :-)
It's a long-term contract—not permanent, but having more security than I feel like I have at this place, which is dying in degrees by the most inane and pointless chatter about minutiae while the bulk of the product rots from neglect and inferior/misguided marketing. My opinions have long gone unheeded, which is fine. If the doughheads around here don't value me, at least the people who just hired me to a 8-12 month contract do.
So, if anyone has read my Metaphor Mountain story, or the Metaphor Mountain redux, they'll get the general gist of what I am on about here:
- Let's start with that ugly little thing known as Me Too Monkey—if only to get it out of the way quickly. She used to irritate me to no end, but now I just think she is kind of pathetic. I don't take her seriously any more, and that is a good thing, because nobody else does either. She will always roll around in her own waters of inadequacy and never figure out why she is All Wet. She's just not smart enough, and not capable enough. And she follows everything in reaction, never as a pioneer.
- Ponderous Possum is not fit to manage a piss up in a brewery. Whatever talent he has rooted in the technologies of this world (which is considerable), he becomes rather comically unable to work with the other forest animals effectively. His standard operating procedure is to smile and nod pleasantly in person, then seethe about it and send out passive-aggressive jungle emails later on, infuriating the larger animals when he is not around. Cowardly little possum. Also, once he sinks his teeth into something, he hasn't got the grace to let go, even when he knows he's wrong and not up to the task.
- Gerbil Gary. Ah, if only I'd had time to write a nice long rant about this small furry varmint. He scurries around from dark corner to dark corner ruminating about all the bigger animals. His limited little mind may be full of grandiose intrigue and skullduggery, but his abilities are strictly of the gerbil variety. What does it say about someone when he aspires to be more like his bigger brother, William A. Weasel?
So these three constitute primary contributors to the death of a thousand cuts that the product I formerly worked on is currently undergoing. Too self-interested and small-picture-minded to notice, they are dragging the rest of the workers down into the depths. It's no surprise that they stand around each others' desks and trade jests with each other. Likes attract.
I expect that they might declare some sort of victory for unseating me. The three of them might genuinely feel they have achieved some great victory by finally driving me out of this place. That would put them firmly in the category of Troubled Teen Mentality. They are like the awkward 14-year-old who dances and rejoices when he is finally strong enough to knock over the mailbox or smash the glass at the bus shelter. So small and limited is their world that a tiny piece of vandalism—which hurts themselves as much as anyone else—spells satisfaction. The bulk of the rest of the world (the serious world) goes on unnoticed and over their heads.
But when I consider that my new position pays better than this place, is in a totally new and unrelated technology, and is at a larger and much more serious company (that will look much better on my resume) ... well, maybe I should be sending them a thank you card instead of condemning them with these harsh words.
Something like this, perhaps:
Dear Morons,
By being such amateur people, you have destroyed what was once a fine and well-respected product, and driven away me and many other co-workers. Thank you for creating such a wonderful opportunity for growth in our lives while you remain behind to sleep in the bed of slime you've made for yourselves. I will always consider you insufficient little beasts, not deserving of my or anyone else's respect.
-Brian
PS: I keep insulting you folks in my rants, and you keep coming back for more ... is it some sort of fetish, perhaps?
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