Another day at the Office
As I sit behind this mindless monitor, plinking at the keys of a wireless keyboard, clicking the wireless mouse, I think to myself, “Where the hell is my office?”.
A poignant observation as the fall air chills and makes me long for the hayrides of my youth. The “cubicle” of corporate America is being corrupted by the fat-cats in power that take, and keep on taking. My office is erased by the notion of “Work at Home”, and as I get a call from my creditors in India telling me my account is past due, I think “ Geez, I’d love a job calling people telling them their bills are late”, especially the CEO’s of the banking institution because they were caught spending company funds on hookers in Costa Rica, and funneling the “business expense” through an off-shore bank account, while people trying to buy houses are unable to get quality loans because of the abuse of the past.
I think, that as the government bailed out these lenders, the lenders are holding on to the homes trying to persuade the consumer that they can’t quality, but in reality, they are holding on the homes so they (lenders) can turn the house around when the economy rebounds.(whatever that means)
The economy for me pretty much sucks, not because I lost thousands in stocks, or that even though gas prices have declined, I still can’t travel, no. The economy sucks for me because as unemployment increases, I can’t even get a job as a cashier because I’m “over-qualified”. I had to dumb-up my resume to reflect my lack of achievement, and not my achievements. I’ve had to omit degrees, experience, qualifications, and work experience to get even the most basic of employment. (As of this writing, still unsuccessful.)
The office I speak of at the beginning is the cubicle of the mind. The confines of the cubicle are a direct reflection of the aptitude and resolve of the common American. As an American, I feel (personally) that I am not too good for anything. I am willing to assume a position (sic.)that will allow me to live above the poverty level. (Apparently, 150% below the average income means)
I write, because it affords me to escape the cubicle, and allow the freedoms as Americans, have lived and died for. Basically, it’s the last place a boss can affect you work, because of it subjectivity. (Also, every once and a while, someone will pay you to do what you enjoy)
As the corporate cubicle compresses on the average soul, my office will continue to have a hand grenade on the desk, sitting on a sign that says please take a number, as a number one hangs every so gently from the pin.
Andrew Rutigliano
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