View Full Version : This is what work is like for me.


Roger14
08-12-08, 05:15 AM
Looking back now it was easy to see he was bored at work. His notes were written without any knowledge or passion of the subject for which they were taken. Sometimes he would pay meticulous detail to the style of his handwriting hoping to pass the time more creatively. However, his notes were usually messy and taken hastily during doodle breaks from sitting infront of the computer screen, covertly browsing surfing and video game web pages. These were the true passions of his life and he frequently cursed the necessity of his job from steeling time away from what he truly loved doing. “How did I end up here?,” he’d ask himself referring to the grey cubical walls that resembled a prison. He hated those walls and what they represented. He hated the phone and computer at his desk. He loathed doing the work he always pretended to do. To him it was more fun and satisfying to portray the illusion of work than actually doing the work. “Any one moron with half a brain can do what I do, but it takes a real talent to pretend to be as productive as I am.” He hated everything about that office in Novato and everyone who worked there. To him they were all fools; misguided souls and slaves to the dollar. “Why would anyone choose this profession to make a living?” He knew the question was pointless and without integrity, but still he asked it frequently of those with whom he worked. Besides it was easier to ask it of others than it was of himself. Usually everyday after lunch, he would stand up from his desk to stretch his legs. Looking around the room he would think how boring and pathetic his life was becoming. Where did all the adventure go? What happened to the dreams of traveling the world in search of new beaches and surf? Maybe the surf magazines were messing with his head a little, but the passion that work seemed to strip from him were always found in their pages. He felt fake. He felt like a fraud. Everyday he pretended. Everyday he put on a mask. He knew it too, and he was glad to know because that was something he had. He wanted to ask his coworkers if they felt like him. “Does this job, this world drain the life out of you? Is your heart here in the contracts and documents?” Are the in coming faxes what quicken you pulse? Would you fight for this place? Would you shed your blood here?