Sympathy for Money

You know, it is one thing when my company wants to pay me crap money to do nothing all day. It is quite another when they want to pay me crap money to run around like a monkey performing meaningless tasks that have the due date of precisely one second from when they are given to me.

It is all becoming eerily reminiscent of my old job, a place where the pay was worse and my image was that of an overworked office Mother Theresa. Superiors would routinely refer to me as “a blessing.” Unfortunately, instead of giving my blessed hard-working ass a raise, higher-ups would walk by my desk, give me pitying looks and either tell me to “Go home” or comment “God. On a Friday night?” with a bit of an eye roll. Sometimes they would become aggressive, repeating their command to go home until I was forced into the unlikely position of insisting that I didn’t want to go home, that I was happy right where I was. The truthful translation of that would have been "Stop giving me work if you want me to leave, fucktards."

In one instance, my boss actually waited for me to pack up my belongings, then watched as I shuffled off to the elevator, presumably to ensure that I wouldn’t make a beeline back to my desk. As I glanced back in incredulity, I saw that he looked very pleased, as though he had done his good assistant deed for the year. He was still pissed when his project was a few hours late the next day.

Now people are beginning to give me sympathetic looks in the hallway. I know where this leads.

Update: I just reread my resume. If I had never met me, I would think I was important. Christ, if I ever get to leave the office, I'm going to buy a new interview suit.