THE FORKIE PHILOSOPHER

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  • MUSINGS ON THE JOB ABOUT THE JOB: “Not my Fucken Job!”

    Another phrase that would make me rich if I had a dollar for every time I heard it. The simple label is “lazy bastard’ and very often it is correct. If that satisfies you, then I hope you have a nice day and come back to read something else in the future. If you prefer a closer inspection, please read on.

    Beginning with what might be considered the other side of the workplace boundary coin, the person who accepts extra work will soon be expected to do it all the time. Ever have that happen? You jump in to cover for someone and before you notice, that someone has passed the torch to you. Deliberate or not, it is annoying at best and can soon become overwhelming if you are holding multiple torches along with your own.

    “Thanks for all your hard work” just doesn’t cut it as you slowly become aware that no benefit, either financial or that fantasy of a lighter load ahead, will come from your helpfulness. Acknowledgement in the form of praise, maybe even some bullshit award that has no value whatsoever, or at the very best some pissy gift card may be your only reward; you may also get none of these.

    The only recognisable difference in your working life will be more work and higher expectations. Step into your supervisor’s shoes. They have X number of staff to do Y amount of work. Not all workers will provide the same amount of output or competency. Not all workers will provide the same amount of whinging, fuckups and headaches.

    A supervisor is first and foremost responsible for getting the day-to-day tasks completed efficiently as possible. They must achieve this with the staff they have available. 9 workers on paper and the cost of those people are the only thing corporate sees; they are not interested in individual personalities, attitudes and work ethics.

    “We are paying 9 workers, so get it done!”

    It’s inevitable that the supervisor is going to lean on the ones who work harder, to cover for the shirkers; the path of least resistance and all that. There will be a whole other post for a deep dive into that phenomenon.

    So, they are the most obvious motivations: preventing exploitation or just being a deadshit. Another important one that may go unnoticed is demarcation. When “that’s not my job” literally means “that is someone else’s job” and if I do it, I am participating in that person losing work. Which in the long run is a loss for all workers involved.

    It is a fine line between covering for someone and annexing their duties and it often happens so gradually you may not notice until you are swamped. This is a dilemma the loafer will never have to face; in fact, they have probably employed variations on the method many times to lessen their workload a little bit more. Call them lazy; call them assholes! But you cannot deny they have a talent; albeit a dishonourable one.

    The conundrum falls squarely on Mr Reliable’s shoulders, and it will not sit comfortably. Torn between being a good worker and being a good workmate. He genuinely wants to be helpful; to earn his pay. Thus, he will do what his supervisors ask and pick up any slack if he gets a chance. If he uses moderation he may avoid being ridden into the ground.

    The supervisor is happy with his performance, yet he risks unwittingly pissing off his coworkers. Sometimes that ‘lazy bastard’ has a valid point. If you do the work of two people, eventually that will become the norm. Before you know it, that task is the first place to lose a body in a pinch. Slowly but surely, duties that were split between two or more people wind up a body down.

    Mr Reliable’s helping hand has now made that particular job more difficult and created a path for corporate cutbacks. Probably not a popular guy at this point. This would also be about the time that our righteous local loafer steps in and reminds everyone that his total lack of effort is done for the overall benefit of the team – cockhead!

    Ever notice how it’s always the uncooperative sloths that are so quick to proclaim “we work as a team here” when they need assistance; and the very same people who cannot be found when anyone else is under the pump. “The Team” seems to be a generic phrase manipulators use to strengthen their facades. These noble pillars of worker’s rights who are never around when things get hectic.

    The other “not my job” angle is a hodgepodge hierarchical model. All skill-sets being equal, it usually goes on seniority. The last person in gets last pick of the assignments. Most senior staff member gets the cream. Although it never works out quite that structured.

    In my near 40 years in warehouses and factories, I am yet to find a workplace with a system that allocates this hazy system equitably. In the end, the squeaky wheels get the grease, and the authentic team-players get used up. A person who has been there for five years is mucking around, while a person with many more years of service is busting their ass. It’s just too painful for management to try and get the pompous passenger to lift their game.

    That’s about all I can come up with for now. Of course, you can mix and match any or all of these to create hybrids, but, for me, the distinction is around the motive. If you are doing it to prevent your own burnout or to slow down callous corporate downsizing, you are being pragmatic. You finally understand that ‘carrying the company’ just leaves you with a broken back and shattered illusions about what’s “fair”.

    The Darkside? Well, they come in all shapes and sizes: Outright lazy bullshit artists, overzealous ‘fuck the company’ warriors, arrogant wankers who think they deserve special treatment and many more.

    Have fun plugging these characters into different combinations of the “not my job” versions. Or maybe not; that’s not your fucken job anyway!

  • WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE: Up in Smoke

    I find it astounding that anyone would take up smoking in this day and age. Based on the price alone it’s a foolish move. To pay extortionate prices for the privilege to inhale toxic smoke into your lungs for no clear benefit other than looking cool/grown-up/tough etc. is even stupider than paying ludicrous amounts for clothing you will replace very soon.

    Or is that it? Is a cigarette habit a new signal of excessive disposable income? Maybe there’s an added thrill from buying under-the-counter goods. It’s cheaper and it’s naughty; fun to break the rules. You can impress certain people with your flaunting of the rules and others by flaunting your wealth.

    Okay, cards on the table; when I was your age, I was a smoker. I have firsthand experience of ignoring the warnings about lung disease, cancer and addiction. I was young and dumb too. There was no TV sitcom style peer pressure. Nobody threatened to ostracize you for not lighting up. It just helped you feel more connected to a group; especially if you were underage or in school.

    A rebellion that didn’t harm anyone. Shit, it was less offensive than vandalism. There was no such thing as second hand smoke in the 80s and people smoked almost everywhere. The grownups just didn’t want us to do it, even though most of them did. So smoking was kind of a ‘fuck you, You hypocrites” protest. Of course, they might have actually been concerned about our wellbeing. Hindsight is always 20/20.

    Most of our parents smoked, so we didn’t have to go far to find a few to try and share. They would send us to the shop to buy them anyway; it wasn’t regulated like the sale of alcohol. You were supposed to be over 16 to purchase tobacco, but you were rarely hassled.

    So, when it did come time to buy your own, it was hardly a mission. They were cheap too. Around $3 when I remember starting in 1988. I remember because I always laugh when I tell the story. Like most Year 10 kids, I had mucked around with durries, but it didn’t become a regular thing until I did my work experience with the police.

    It was like a weeklong excursion. A few kids from my school, plus a bunch of kids from neighbouring schools riding around in a police minibus seeing all the various departments and jobs on the force. The cops taking us round had no problem with us smoking, so it became par for the course for some of us. At 15 years we were technically breaking the law on work experience with the police; my habit grew from there.

    Flashback a few years earlier. I’ll say around the age of 12. Any Generation Xers from Oz will remember that commercial with that fucken sponge representing a long-term smoker’s lung! YUK!!! “You’d have to be an idiot to smoke”. Apparently, I lectured a cousin about it when I saw him smoking. Danny was 2 years my senior and I gave him heaps about this suicidal habit he was taking on.

    I don’t recall that, but I do remember him telling me about it when he saw me smoking a few years later; short memories. I saw that lung tar ad at an impressionable age and had a visceral reaction to it. However, I also saw endless commercials and billboards showing me how cool, grown-up, tough etc. smokers were. Cigarette companies utilized the full persuasive power of the media marketing machine. Artists and psychological experts figuring out how to make smoking look as awesome as drinking Coco-Cola! It looked so cool on the big screen too. Characters smoking away while being heroic, bad or just badass. A battered and blood-soaked Bruce Willis puffing on a durrie was a sight to behold.

    By the time I finished year 12 I was a smoker. I was also a drinker and pot smoker. My first experience with all three was disgusting. Shit! We had to push through a lot of vile encounters just to get the tolerance to the point where we didn’t have to give an oscar performance to look unbothered by it.

    Cigarettes were everywhere when we were growing up, so pretty much every kid had taken their fair share of puffs to see what all the fuss was about; and it was fucking horrible! It was still horrible when I would join the stealthy smokers during recess and lunch at high school, but I had enough experience to look like I enjoyed it. What the fuck! I am pretending to be enjoying something I am not to impress other teens who are very probably doing the same!

    Marijuana and booze at least delivered a buzz once you got over the initial ick. Smokes were pure ritual and image. The paradox being that the calming effects are only noticeable to people who are already addicted (my theory). Only then do you need nicotine and that sensation of inhaling that familiar smoke to feel good. If you are stressed the ritual can help soothe you.  Up until then, it is just something you do.

    That was my personal experience, though and not all smokers were the same. Once the habit had set in you could see variations. I was a smoker and I smoked a lot when I was drinking, but I never needed to reach for one as soon as I woke up. When we would have a ‘smoko’ break at work I would be happy with just one, yet I would watch certain co-workers chain smoke as many as the time allowed – it made me feel dizzy watching them. Maybe they needed more, or maybe they got a ‘buzz’ I didn’t. Either way they seemed to require more than I did.

    At this stage it is a steady habit, but most of us think ‘we can quit anytime’. Which brings to mind another brilliant anti-smoking commercial from my youth. A young woman holds a durrie in her hand, oblivious to the steel shank that pops out of the butt and curls into a fishing hook. Watching the hook dig into her lip as she tries to remove the cigarette still has shock value today. Another brilliant ad that most of my generation remembers today due to its gross out effectiveness; yet we still managed to distance ourselves from the message every time we lit up.

    I must repeat the endless stream of advertising and social acceptance countering these campaigns. For comparison, just look at the incessant online gambling marketing we are bombarded with; big name celebrities insisting that they will provide endless fun and excitement! Also, picture the few and far between smoking areas of today. Now, imagine those spaces as ‘no smoking’ areas – getting the picture?

    I remember seeing my (different) cousin off in a bar at the international airport and we were bamboozled at the concept that we could not smoke there. As we grabbed our beers to walk outside, we were informed that we could not take them with us. What kind of madness is this!

    I have a clear recollection of my own rude awakening regarding that fucken hook. It was the night of State of Origin football many moons ago. The price of smokes was set to go up by something like 50c. An outrage! I decided then and there that I would stop – not quit – stop; I had no addiction to quit.

    I got up for work the next morning, tossed my packet of smokes on top of my VCR and went to work. Not halfway there did the thoughts kick in. You know the old one about “don’t think of an elephant” and now that’s all you can think of? Smoking, front and centre of my consciousness the whole time until I got home, grabbed that pack and lit one up. “Oh, right, that’s what they were on about”.

    I managed to quit in 1999. Wanna know how I remember? I was a fully-fledged pisshead by this stage, and my body was not coping too well with the abuse. After a big weekend away in Port Macquarie, I returned to work that seedy that I couldn’t even stomach a durrie. After a few days I thought of something I had heard about nicotine being out of your system after 48 hours (I do not know if that is true).

    I figured “let’s see how we go”. I did okay during the days by avoiding joining in the smoko sessions. The evenings in the pub were much tougher, but I made it through the first week okay. I was drinking every night by this stage if you were wondering why one week seemed like a stretch.

    Well, I made it through the week without a smoke. I also lost my shit in the middle of the store I was working in and stormed out hurling abuse along with my resignation. Whenever I give the summarised version of that story, I simply say “I quit smoking on Monday, and I quit my job on Friday”.

    I stayed off, although as I mentioned before, I was never a heavy smoker. Booze was my drug of choice, and it would prove to be a much tougher monkey to get off my back. The cigarettes for me were a long-term habit more than an addiction; you just automatically reached for the fucking things. I had mild flu-like symptoms for a couple of weeks, but that’s hard to isolate when you are hungover all the time.

    Those prices, well they kept steadily increasing. I have no idea how we got to these astronomical numbers they’re asking for today. When I smoked pot, people used to add tobacco (or spin) to bulk up the mix. Add too much and you would be labelled a tight ass. Nowadays you would be flaunting your wealth!

    The prices are absurd. On top of that, you have to go down the street, under the bridge, stand on one leg and smoke with your nondominant hand. There is zero advertising giving the bullshit ‘living your best life’ with ciggies anymore. The packets have no eye-catching designs; they have hideous visual reminders of the potential consequences of puffing their contents!

    Yet a generation born long after the propaganda machine was put to rest, is willing to part with obscene amounts of their hard-earned to partake of a toxic practice that offers no significant pleasant sensation. All this with the added bonus of an expensive addiction.

    I have vivid memories of oldies telling me that I would regret starting while they puffed away. Of snickering with my peers at the hypocrisy of it all. We genuinely felt that we were smart for noticing that, rather than seeing it for what it was; a trapped person trying to warn a foolish newcomer.

    One final commercial before I conclude. Celebrity actor Yul Brynar filmed a commercial just days before he died of lung cancer. He speaks to the camera in past tense, knowing he will be dead as we watch it. “Now that I’m gone…” he says. The key message: “Whatever you do, just don’t smoke”.

    Most of us didn’t even smoke when that ad was running. We all saw it. We all felt it. We would often repeat that line mimicking his accent. I’m sure a lot of us even did that years later while we were sucking on our own cancer sticks.

    There is so much I don’t understand.

  • WE NEED TO DIG A LITTLE DEEPER: When the Tool Becomes the Goal

    Where does it end when you measure your self-worth by your net-worth? What is enough for such a person? I reckon almost all human beings would appreciate financial security; a clean and safe place to live and enough money to afford decent food. I can already see a rift appearing between individuals and what they consider ‘enough’ and/or ‘decent’. People may have huge variations regarding what they consider the essentials.

    Leaving those who opt out of society for religious, spiritual or any other philosophical or moral conviction; along with the people who choose to live ‘off the grid”, I doubt anyone would consciously choose to live in poverty. To live in constant depravation and peril is not conducive to human life. Eliminating these abhorrent conditions should be considered a baseline if you genuinely see others as human beings. That is a whole other worm hole!

    Let’s assume you are fortunate enough to be living in a first world country AND have managed to keep your ass out of the gutter. Welcome to the ‘working poor’; things are far from comfortable and your position on this rung is perilous at best. You need to increase your net-worth if you want any semblance of economic security.

    What is enough in terms of net-worth?

    Own your own home? How big is that home? What neighbourhood is it in?

    Own your own car? Need I ask more on that one?

    ‘Decent’ food? Fresh meat, bread, water, milk, fruits and vegetables? Quality cuts of meat, gourmet cheeses and seafood? Good restaurant meals once a week? Twice? Every night? What constitutes good? How many Michelin stars?

    Moving on…

    So, you have played the game well and had some luck along the way. You succeeded in moving up a couple of rungs and you can probably cruise from here. So long as you don’t overspend and invest your money wisely you can retire in your own home and have a decent nest egg for your twilight years.

    That still feels a little shaky. Not enough of a buffer. Okay, so you hustle and strive and are one of the few who gain entry to the higher rungs (the very bottom of those of course). Now you own more than one house and have a diverse investment portfolio, plus stock options and a nice golden handshake if things go south at your company.

    Coasting at this altitude begins to feel rather foolish. You’ve got your fingers in the cookie jar now. Would be a terrible waste not to take advantage of such an opportunity. Of course, many don’t break through the ceiling and others crash and burn; we just don’t hear about those ‘losers’.

    The ones who do get a seat at the high roller table (maybe the kids table just next to the big shots for starters) have entered a game that operates in a very different manner than the lower forms of life are used to. Yes, the stakes are higher and your chances of winning big are greatly improved; paradoxically though, your chances of losing big are somewhat less. The honcho back slapping society take care of their own. They can’t allow themselves to be held to the same standards of accountability as the plebs. They’ve clawed their way to the top! They can’t be wiped off the board just because they fucked up; that’s how you treat peasants. You are in the realm of corporate cover-ups and golden parachutes now my friend. Stay out of the scapegoat pool and you’re home free.

    Again, many are more than happy here, and they enjoy their extravagant lifestyle, retiring in luxury and maintaining a healthy distance from the unwashed masses. They will never pass an opportunity to earn some more to stash away, but their quest for success and wealth has been satiated. There is an important proviso here though…

    Those who push on through that level are after the summit; nothing less will do! I’m sure many fail, but failing here almost never means slipping below the rung under you. You’re sitting at the final table, and everyone gets a share of the prize pool now. So, fuck it!

    You are now rubbing shoulders with billionaires, trillionaires and any other ludicrous number followed by “aires”. These people live so high above the toiling throng they don’t even register as the same species. Some of them were born into such obscene opulence and thus can never comprehend what it is to struggle against impoverishment daily.

    Your desire for financial freedom has introduced you to a whole new dimension of avarice. While the faceless slaves trudge away and fight over crumbs, desperately vying for any sliver of a safety net, the elites are pining for their own private island. The workers scrimp and save yearning for a way out of the rental rat race and actually own even the tiniest place for their old age. The people in your lofty circle are complaining about flying first class instead of owning their own jet.

    Loop back to the proviso I mentioned earlier. It would take something akin to sainthood to be able to avoid being sucked into this vortex of rapacity! You stand among the embodiment of the seven deadly sins. Here they are not just accepted, they are nourished, nurtured…they are fucking worshiped!

    Make no mistake, if you have busted your ass to get into this group there is no turning back. In one way or another, you have sold your soul. People born into it have a whole other perspective from the one who battled their way up. You have seen the lower depths, and you know what you have escaped; the high-born fear the unknown, but they have no connection to those bottom dwellers.

    The one thing those mega-rich have in common with a stooge like you is a pathological loathing of losing status and affluence. To keep those deflating demons at bay they will require more. These lofty heights have now become essential! The bare minimum. We cannot sink from here. We must shield ourselves from any possible loss. We deserve this.

    Look at my super-yacht. I fucken earned that! I must be a magnificent person to be surrounded by such grandeur. Gaze in awe at my brilliance!

    Are they looking away? Oi! Check out my prestige car collection. Who has a fucken rocket? Yeah, well going to space isn’t that special.

    This has become a vile arms race of fortune flaunting. These people will never have enough; the very word is meaningless to them. They are competing against themselves, and we simply do not register in the game. You need to be high up that ladder just to be considered a fucking pawn. Destitution for these people would be the lap of luxury for many working stiffs.

    Corporate rulers and gazillionaires are the embodiment of hungry ghosts. Those wretched creatures with huge mouths and no stomachs, relentlessly devouring what they desire with no way of utilizing its sustenance. Like a hopeless addict desperately trying to find that wonderful high that just gets further away the more you take. Your obsessive consumption only serves to increase your tolerance, thus providing a tortuous vicious circle. In the end you take in ruinous amounts just to not feel horrible.

    These people are running the world!

    To stop them you must compete with them; to be competitive you must think like them; think like them long enough and you become them.

    Thinking in terms of addiction: A partier who stops when they have had enough is going to have an impossible task trying to outlast an alcoholic who has yet to destroy their liver and gut in a week-long binge drinking session.

    The multi-millionaires are the ones who stopped. In this world you truly would need that kind of wealth to feel financially secure. It is still a vulgar amount of wealth for one person to control while others starve, but that just seems to be the way things turn out.

    Burn it all down (it has been done before) and hit restart. The masses will plod along with little ambition, while the go-getters live up to their name. Eventually we end up with an eerily similar wealth and power disparity – a tragic folly of large societies.

    The difference we are seeing nowadays is the wholesale destruction of anything that may slow the gluttonous marauding of insatiable appetites. Laws, rules and regulations are being watered down and circumnavigated at best; being eliminated or blatantly ignored at worst. Corporations and the ludicrously rich reach beyond borders and have unprecedented influence over any government or institution that may attempt to curb their never-ending need for more.

    People, we have unwillingly placed the passwords to our accounts in the hands of a bunch of degenerate gamblers!

  • POTENTIAL DEATH OR SERIOUS INJURY: True Stories #27

    There was a cacophony of noise and activity in the yard as usual. I was helping my father and his mate on the brewery truck again. We were in the depot at Clyde loading up with cartons of beer on pallets for the day. I was up on top of the pallets that were sitting on the truck. I was placing the corners on the edges of each pallet so that the ropes wouldn’t damage the cartons. There was no OH&S to speak of in those days and I was just carelessly walking around up there with no concern about my own personal safety. It was easily 1 story high up there, but I was totally mindless to any danger.

    Until it happened…

    With all the buzz and bustle going on down on ground level it was easy to get lost in the commotion. My dad was tossing the ropes up to me and Steve was I didn’t know where. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a puff of smoke blow out of the exhaust pipe at the front of the truck. In that split second my mind registered that something was about to go seriously wrong. I dove down onto the cartons of beer I was standing on just before the truck pulled away. The jolt would have easily been enough to knock me flying had I not hit the deck.

    It was purely by chance that I saw that puff of smoke. Obviously my dad was unaware that Steve was going to move the truck because he would have surely warned me. Man that was close!

    I cannot remember anything else about that incident. I don’t recall finding out what made Steve move the truck in such a rush without checking on me and my father’s whereabouts beforehand.

    Shit I was a long way up; a long way down to fall. I don’t remember feeling any sensations that alerted me to the fact that the truck had started up. I didn’t feel any vibrations and with all the racket going on around the busy yard I didn’t hear the motor kick in.

    It was sheer luck that I saw that puff of smoke; that glorious puff of smoke. Only for that puff of smoke did I avoid a massive drop; but like they say: “It’s not the fall that gets you; it’s the sudden stop at the end”. Glad I avoided that sudden stop.

    Another lucky day.

  • FIXING THE PROBLEM: Rise of the Tycoons #23

    “I won’t be coming home tonight

    My generation will put it right

    We’re not just making promises

    That we know we’ll never keep”

    “Land of Confusion” Genesis

    That song came out in 1986 and was a protest against the proliferation of greed and abuse of power while living under the threat of nuclear annihilation – happy days. I’m sure Mr Collins and his compadres influenced a huge number of Gen-Xers who then decided to fight back against the tyranny of Reagan, Thatcher and their corporate overlords. They didn’t go full batshit revolution, but they agitated, vandalised and made their grievances known.

    46 years later we seem to be in a worse mess, and the youth are as fired up as ever and swearing ‘they’ will sort things out. I hope they do better than the generations before them without having to burn everything down.

    The masses being repressed and exploited by the people who clawed their way or were born into the top spots is a story as old as ‘civilisation’. One I hope I don’t need to go into again at this point of this thread.

    Unrest, riots, insurrections and civil war are yet more common denominators of our glorious ‘civilisation’. The cause is usually a most righteous one. The powers-that-be have been pushing their luck and have stopped even feigning any interest in the suffering of the masses.

    It begins with protests and attempts at change through official channels. Failing that there will be worker strikes and a growing animosity on both sides. The authorities will try to crush the rebels and set a firm example. This may frighten the majority into submission, or it may just be the catalyst for riots, violence and destruction.

    At this crucial point comes the test of just how pissed off the population is. The leaders must put on the iron gloves here if they want to hold their positions. For the insurgents to continue means certain bloodshed and incarceration. This is going to get very ugly!

    This is not a choice that can be logically pondered and democratically decided. Angry voices will scream for war, drowning out any calls for moderation. If the people are that fed up with their treatment and conditions the fuse has been lit and nothing, short of retribution or defeat will stop them.

    The finer points no longer matter; the precise reasons listed in history books hold no weight at this moment. The resentment has reached its critical mass, and the furious mob has mobilised.

    I’ll use the French Revolution as the first example because it illustrates my earlier points most clearly. An overthrow of the aristocracy by an enraged peasant population, sick and tired of living in horrendous squalor while the aristocracy live in opulent splendour. Add to that the indignity of having little to no rights and being treated like shit in general and you have a seething hatred so overwhelming that aristocratic heads will literally roll.

    The contemptible elites were eliminated, and a new system was put in place to prevent such hoarding of power and wealth ever happening again. Limiting the overall authority of the monarchy and installing a parliament with members who represent the people, thus sharing the power and responsibility. Founded on the principles of “Liberty, Equality and Fraternity”.

    The concept being that all men are brothers (women’s rights being the first obvious blind spot) and leaders should serve the will of the people. A lot of flowery speech which boils down to “we want things to be fair!”. A very subjective statement indeed.

    With the continuation of the slave trade and French colonisation, it was pretty obvious that this ‘brotherhood’ was a selective one. “All men” just sounds so much more high-minded than “all Frenchmen”.

    Things need to be fair in the sense that any industrious Frenchman, regardless of his social status should be able to use his entrepreneurial skills and make his fortune. It is only fair that this go-getter should have access to slaves and stolen land to advance his quest for riches. The bottom line is so much easier to maintain without paying a fair price for land, environmental resources and labour. “Those rich bastards did it before the revolution! It’s only fair that we should get a crack at it now.”

    Next, Napolean decides it’s time to expand the empire and proceeds to invade his neighbours. Congratulations! You are now part of France whether you like it or not. Don’t worry we’ll be fair; didn’t you read our revolutionary slogan? Just don’t rock the boat. Remember you lost, so know your place. Don’t overextend our kindness.

    The hypocrisy is only exceeded in absurdity by the ignorance of itself. I genuinely reckon the ones profiting from the pillaging were so focused on their own enrichment that they were oblivious to the concept that they were now treating non-French people just as abhorrently as the aristocracy had treated them in the bad old days.

    Flash forward and you will undoubtedly find that many of the new elites who rose via such cruel exploitation now look down at the lower classes with contempt. Lower classes that were not supposed to exist mind you. Lower classes of ‘brothers’.

    The concept was a noble, albeit naïve, one: “equality etc.” Things should be fair. There should not exist such a huge gap between the haves and have nots. A democratically elected government certainly seems fairer than royal families and such; and it was undoubtably a good thing to spread the power across a larger group.

    Unfortunately, in my weary and cynical opinion, they merely succeeded in removing the current tyrants and then changing the rules. A victory for sure! Although without a cure for the many flaws in the human condition they had simply cleared the field and planted new flowers in the hope that the weeds would not return.

    The haves are not always born into their ‘haveness’. Many of them pursue that goal obsessively. Change the rules and they will adapt. They will find the loopholes; they will use everything at their disposal to thrive in the game; whatever it may be. They will HAVE again!

  • CORPORATE CONFUSION: You Gotta Start Somewhere #3

    I have made a conscious decision to avoid turning this hypothetical into a drama. I considered having disputes, sackings and walk-outs, but that would just deflect from the point of the exercise at this stage – maybe later.

    Things are getting hectic over at Joe’s chairs. He has secured contracts with two large furniture franchises on top of ‘Sitting Ducks’ and all his smaller clients. He cannot keep up with demand, and his 3 employees are stretched to the limit. They have even started declining overtime because they are becoming exhausted. Joe is running himself ragged trying to capitalise on the boom.

    #2 has transitioned to leadership well and #4 has almost completed his training; he is already turning out 5 chairs a week before overtime. Everyone is doing their best, but if they cannot supply the stores sufficiently, they may lose customers and/or contracts.

    Joe has been doing his homework on running his business and he knows that he has two main options when it comes to increasing production: more staff or smarter operations. He was planning on hiring a new trainee once #4 got his stripes. However, right now he needs a fully productive tradie or two just to keep up with demand. Hire some temps maybe?

    The available technological advances are not worth the investment at this juncture and Joe would end up wasting a lot of their potential while going into further debt. Smarter operations? What does that entail? One good word for it would be ‘streamlining’. Finding the optimum use of your resources; workers, equipment and time.

    This is where Henry Ford and McDonalds usually enter the conversation. Instead of having 10 men build 1 car each a week; what if you fixed it so they could work together in an onflow type system. Get it right and they could turn out maybe twice as many completed cars in the same amount of time.

    Joe knows how to make good chairs. At present Joe’s chairs only produce two styles of chairs. In theory that can easily translate into a hamburger or a cheeseburger if he can come up with is own “Speedee Service System”.

    Joe is too swamped to do any extensive research, so he outsources for advice. He pays an egghead to observe his operation and come up with a way of optimising the resources at his disposal to maximise output. Joe pays for this and asks for nothing from his employees; the chance that this ‘expert’ is a fool is all Joe’s risk.

    In this, my make-believe world, most things go to plan, so Joe ends up with a clever new system that will increase his team’s chair production by 50%. He will need to purchase a few new machines, but they will pay for themselves over time. If Joe hires another person, he can boost that increase even more. That person need not be a tradie so he can pay them minimum wage and not spend money on training and tools. This person will function as a juncture between the new specialised workstations.

    Rather than having three people making complete chairs from scratch, the team now take on separate segments of the manufacturing process. There are many teething problems, and Joe listens carefully to suggestions from the team. He also visits his customers to ease their concerns about supply and promote his new and improved production method (not all his secrets, mind you).

    Joe hires a couple of temporary tradies to help with the workload along with his new factory hand.

    After a couple of frustrating months, the team gets into the swing, and Joe lets his temps go. The new grunt is speeding things up even more and the orders are being filled at a much better rate. Profits are rising steadily and Joe is able to invest some of it after he makes his repayments to the bank.

    That Christmas Joe throws an extra-fancy party and gives everyone a nice bonus. Onwards and upwards for the new year! Everyone is happy???

    There are a few flies in the soup:

    • #2 reckons he deserves a pay-rise for all the extra pressure he went through. At the very least he should have gotten a larger bonus than the rest.
    • All three of the original team think they had way more to do with the creation of the new system than the minor modifications they implemented. They know Joe paid a lot of money to some ‘know-it-all to come in and fuck around’, but they genuinely believe they were the major orchestrators of the increased efficiency.
    • They also hold resentment for all the extra work they did during the hectic period and through the transition. The massive amount of overtime they were paid just doesn’t figure in that equation for them.
    • On the contrary, they are now bitter because the improved operations have significantly reduced the need for extensive overtime and their pay has dropped.
    • Joe’s relationship with the bank and his customers; the loans he must repay and the way he obtained such fruitful customers and managed to keep them during the unsteady times is not on his team’s radar at all.
    • While Joe is busy planning how to use the extra revenue for improvement and growth, his team are wondering why he isn’t sharing the spoils.
    • #5 hears all these grievances and can’t help but ponder the idea that he will never become a tradie and earn the good money the others are all on.

    Stay tuned folks.

  • YOU GO DEEP; I’LL STAY SIMPLE THIS TIME: Movie Musings #15

    The Truman Show (1998)

    ***SPOILER ALERT***

    I recently watched an awesome YouTube video by Chase Hughes that offered brilliant insights into possible meanings for this film. He covers most of the stuff I had already thought of myself or learned from various sources since its 1998 release and then proceeds to go deeper and further. The video also presents some great philosophical insights that relate to our everyday experiences. Thus, I don’t have anything to add, and I would thoroughly recommend you check it out if you love dissecting cinema like I do:

    What I will focus on is one question I have always had since first watching the film in the cinema and a new realisation that occurred to me while watching this video.

    To get the full effect of The Truman Show your suspension of disbelief will be required. If you give your inner sceptic some time off you will be rewarded with an amazing allegory on so many themes; such as reality, persona, freedom, free-will and many more. The film makers do a wonderful job creating a world where you can immerse yourself and just soak up the story, so it would be a stubborn sceptic/cynic indeed who refuses to take the ride.

    One thing always played on my mind though, from my very first viewing. Yes, Truman is stuck in this pretend reality. Yes, Christof uses many atrocious psychological tricks together with his control of almost every aspect of Truman’s world to keep him trapped. However, Truman is ultimately oblivious to it all. The pros and cons of that one idea deserve at least one post of its own.

    All the people who interact with Truman each day are professional actors who get to go home sometime. What bemused me was Truman’s wife and best friend. What kind of contract did these two fucking sign? Marlon, the best friend has to be on call at all times to put out any fires relating to Truman’s belief in his bullshit world. Marlon must be ready to pop up with a six pack of beer at a moment’s notice to gaslight his paycheck (I mean friend). That must come with some serious bonuses or stock options or something.

    What about Meryl? The wife? She is almost as trapped as Truman! I suppose she gets to slip away when he is at work or off doing something with other people, but that is one tortuous work schedule she has! What about shagging? Is that in the contract? It’s getting kind of icky now.

    Who gets the worst deal here? Truman is being royally duped, yet he is blissfully unaware to this trickery. So long as his suspicions are kept at bay, he will never discover the horrific betrayal he has suffered and by not knowing he will not suffer – that sounds about right – right?

    Meryl and Marlon on the other hand are conscious accomplices in this deception, and they do it for money. They probably convince themselves it is for art or some kind of bullshit though. Regardless, they are participating in this unethical entertainment for the sole purpose of gathering viewers and extracting money from product placement and advertising. The producers probably spin it as a psychological experiment or some kind of bullshit though.

    On that note, I wonder if the whole thing wasn’t a study and in the usual duplicity of the behavioural sciences, the actual subjects were the actors rather than (or maybe along with) Truman. The people responsible for maintaining the charade would potentially offer a treasure trove of unexpected reactions to such a bizarre situation. What happens to the deceivers after they play a continuous role for such a long time?

    They all know Truman is the dupe and the world is watching him in this large petri dish. They would all make fascinating subjects for anyone looking to study Human behaviour. Where does the role-playing end? Just a thought.

    The scene where Marlon gets sent with his trusty six-pack to help reaffirm Truman’s trust in his (false) worldview, is a great case in point. As Marlon’s appeals to Truman’s friendship reach their peak we, the audience, are presented with the unsettling fact that every poignant word is just Marlon repeating what Christof is telling him to say. Yet, Marlon seems genuinely emotional and sincere in his declaration of brotherhood with Truman – that’s a riddle wrapped in an enigma.

    It seems clear that Marlon really does love Truman, yet he is sitting there lying to his face – wow!!!

    Such a fantastic tale! A gift that keeps on giving. So much food for thought in just over 100 minutes.

    Now for the realisation that struck me after watching the YouTube video. I am rather perplexed that it never struck me before. Did someone else mention it and I forgot? It’s so obvious! Maybe that was it; hiding in plain sight. Maybe I was so wrapped up in the internal logic of the story I just accepted the ‘leap of faith’ as it was.

    The glorious finale. Truman has faced his deepest fears and conquered all of Christof’s attempts to foil his awakening. He stands on the border between his curated world and the ‘real’ world. He repeats his famous catch phrase and takes that courageous step into the unknown.

    Maybe our pre-Big Brother brains couldn’t make the connection, though decades have since passed and I only now just saw it.  No doubt for Truman this step across the threshold is filled with untold mystery and trepidation. For those of us who live on the other side of that dome however, we have a very good idea of what’s in store for our hero – celebrity!

    A man watched obsessively by so many for so long will not be walking into obscurity and destitution. Paparazzi, adoring fans, managers, offers and contracts. Hell! That sounds like an excellent sequel.

    How does Truman deal with fortune and fame?

    Do Christof and the producers launch a legal battle?

    Can Meryl and Marlon adjust to life outside the dome? I’m sure they’re financially fine, but psychologically???

  • MUSINGS ON THE JOB ABOUT THE JOB: I’ve Heard About Toxic, But This is Ridiculous!

    A long time ago in a workplace locker-room not that far away…

    This place had over a hundred employees, so the locker room was large. It was an L-shape that wrapped around the men’s toilets and showers. I only ever saw 5 or less women working on the floor at any time, plus I never ventured into the place where men dare not go. Needless to say, the female amenities were much smaller.

    The lockers ran along the entire wall space of the bent room, with long benches spaced along the middle of the floor. The lockers were smaller than you might expect. Imagine the six-footer you often see; now divide it in two. Two separate lockers stacked on top of each other. Each employee was provided with one locker. How? You brought in your own lock and locked it. No name, no record kept…sounds sensible; if you work with virtuous gentlemen – hahahaha!

    Who’s to say I don’t have four lockers? For the price of four locks, I can.

    The most common trend I saw (I never found out who the innovator was) was simple and effective. Two locks and a few zip ties. If you move fast and find two empty lockers on top of one another, you now have your own double bunger.

    “What do you need that for?” I hear you ask.

    “Need? I don’t need it, although I’ll surely fill it up with shit quick enough.”

    In a shitty job it seems people will do all kinds of odd things just to feel like they are getting one over on the company. Not to mention, a double locker is like a little status symbol; a little “yeah, I’m twice as clever than most”.

    Beside the issue of keeping track of locker real estate portfolios, there was another snag that would become apparent after some time had passed. After a while the churn changes the lineup and fresh new faces replace the sapped one’s that jumped the wall. Did those deserters bother to vacate their locker? Who can tell how many of those unmarked metal boxes are secured by a lock whose key-holder has nothing to do with the joint anymore?

    Which leads to the story I recently saw in a whole new light.

    A few years into the life of this locker-room a foul smell began to become a permanent resident. Being that it was beside the toilets for a large number of men who, on average, had far from healthy lifestyles, a nasty stink was not an uncommon visitor. Difference being that this fucker lingered like the unwanted guest it was.

    Everyone did their own inspecting, and the cleaners did all they could, but that offensive odour refused to vacate the premises. My theory was a spin on the old prawn head revenge prank where you hide those stinky suckers in your target’s car or residence and savour the idea of them going insane trying to find the source of the ever-worsening reek of decomposing crustacean noggins. I’m thinking “some disgruntled bastard has left a putrid little present behind for us to enjoy” – thanks cunt!

    I cannot recall who the gifted gumshoe was, but the discovery was far uncannier (and disgusting) than my suggestion. Whether it was sheer frustration or Sherlock Holmes level deduction, someone moved the lockers away from the walls (they were in sections of a dozen or so). What they found was something more than a pungent practical-joke or mere vandalism…

    Some poor tortured soul had taken the time to hatch this plan and then carry it out at the risk of getting caught fucking doing it!

    Behind one section of lockers there was shit smeared all over the wall and the remaining stool sample, which was apparently in a plastic bag, was on the ground nearby! That is the work of a very demented mind there my friends. I suppose we should all be happy they didn’t come in one day and shoot the place up!

    We will never know if it was human, dog or whatever excrement; no scientific testing was carried out. Was it one of the blokes, or maybe a stealthy female attack? Was the culprit long gone or still among us enjoying the fruits of their labour? Was it someone less obvious: a security guard or a cleaner? They would have plenty of opportunities to be alone in there uninterrupted.

    If anyone was trying to pull this off during a shift they could be walked in on at any moment. It would require a lot of luck to poop, fish it out, move the locker…you get the filthy picture. Maybe they brought the dung form home; a kind of “here’s one we prepared earlier” type scenario. That way they only have to achieve the second half of the sabotage. Which leads to the animal droppings theory; will any poo do? That’s all academic in the end because the mystery was never solved.

    I clearly remember my first reaction, once the repulsion wore off, was to think of an enraged prisoner with no other way to vent their loathing at the appalling conditions they are forced to endure. “How can I take this contempt inside me and inflict it on those bastards?”

    In both scenarios (work or prison) physical violence may not be a viable option for any number of reasons and words alone could never express such seething hatred. In both scenarios mental illness would be considered the likely cause, and it was for our mysterious turd troll. Beside the usual labels: “dickhead”, “asshole”, “idiot”.

    After many more years in similar employment and witnessing countless mini-meltdowns and adult tantrums, along with having a few of my own, I must admit that the prisoner metaphor rings much truer now. The feeling of being trapped with no way out; being treated unfairly and having your dignity slowly stripped away.

    In a workplace scenario you are probably safe from getting shanked and while a smack in the head or proper bashing is possible, most people cannot afford to lose their job over such actions. Even a schoolyard (at least when my generation was young) offered a lesser penalty for delivering a knuckle sandwich, and a lot of these guys are the very ones who would have been fighting and mucking around instead of studying; hence the shitty job they find themselves in.

    People do not use their words here. Not mindfully anyway. Abuse, profanity, insults and even threats are considered more effective. Yet you still have the same bully hierarchy with supervisors as the teachers or screws who can be just as bad and/or play favourites with subordinates of questionable character. All without a release valve.

    Sure, you get to go home each day, but resentments can be like barnacles. You don’t notice the weight of them until a whole bunch are dug into your sides. They go home with you too; they affect your sleep, your overall enjoyment of life. Before you know it, you’re bringing a plastic bag into the toilet with you…

    This is of course just my feeble attempt to understand the motive of our phantom faeces flinger. Which, to me at least, is about as close as you would like to get to a workplace shooter or suicide. On the other hand, it could actually be some sicko’s idea of a joke; which is also very worrying.

    It is an extreme example, but the degradation exists for everyone involved in such a toxic work environment. You may be a perpetrator or a victim; chances are you’re both – shit flows downhill you know. Someone disrespects you and you have no comeback, so (conscious or not) you find yourself an easy target.

    I have more to say on this conflicting idea. Every time I tell the locker poo story I get different reactions: some laugh hysterically, some recoil in disgust, others get very angry and every once in a while, a person will sit and think on it after one of those reactions subsides. If they do, the result is almost always sadness.

    “A Sense of Freedom” (1981)

  • WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE: Your Taste in Tunes on Trial

    It was a nerve-racking experience taking that cassette out of its case and slipping it into the tape deck. “You guys are gunna love this!” you would assert with a nervous smile. As soon as you pressed play your musical taste was on trial. That first song could make or break your reputation. The mob could be ruthless. If that song wasn’t on point, they wouldn’t hesitate to let it be known. The intro was usually enough to announce what YOU considered a good song; one that would be the opener for your mixtape.

    If you heard “awwww”, and not the ‘how cute’ kind, you were done. Laughter, unless it was a funny song, was also a huge thumbs down. A more brutal critic might slam you with: “turn that shit off!”, or “this sux!” and without a swift defence from someone with sway you were sacked. A silent assassin walking over, pressing stop, then eject and handing you back your tape was a cruel coup de grace.

    Silence without movement was an edge-of-your-seat affair. You scan the room looking at people’s faces. Maybe their eyes are staring upwards in contemplation, like a judge on MasterChef after taking the first bite from your offering. What next? Is that a smile forming? Hang on! I think it’s confusion. They’re looking around now; oh shit! They are gunna wait for another opinion. Torture!

    If you survive the first song ordeal without a direct rejection, your next test will be based on your compatibility competence. Not only is the song on trial, but also the way it compliments or clashes with its predecessor. A mismatch, unless it proves to be some kind of juxtapositional genius, will lose you points instantly. You’ll hear things like: “Yeah, this is a good song, but it doesn’t fit here”, or worse: “what the fuck is this doing here?”

    This would be an ongoing barometer for the duration of your tape. The more songs you nail the more forgiving the room becomes. Most of that criteria would be familiar even to the Spotify generation; except for the cassette and tape player part. Although the half-time ruling doesn’t exist in the digital realm. This is where you make it to the end of side 1 of your mix. A victory no doubt, but the ultimate tick of approval comes when you hear “turn it over!”. They want more! You’ve created something special.

    However, the major difference ‘when I was your age’ back in the 80s and early 90s was finding your material. It was much tougher to source the songs for your compilation before the internet and the technology for burning your own CDs. These mixtapes were actual cassette tapes; where the mixtape term came from if you didn’t already know.

    The easiest method was to buy the single (cassingle) from a record store. Not too expensive and you also get a bonus track or two that might provide a hidden gem. Problem there was that not every great song on an album was released as a single. Purchasing every album that has a small selection of tracks you want can get very pricey very fast!

    One way around this was exploring the collections of family and friends. Most people didn’t mind lending you an album for a while so you could record your chosen songs to a blank cassette using one of the wonders of our generation – the double tape deck stereo!

    One way around this was exploring the collections of family and friends. Most people didn’t mind lending you an album for a while so you could record your chosen songs to a blank cassette using one of the wonders of our generation – the double tape deck stereo!

    This could be a slow labour of love, but it was worth it to have your favourite tunes right there on a few tapes. I remember the joy of writing the song titles on that little piece of lined cardboard that sat inside the cassette case. That was your song list; the table of contents for your mixtape. The list of songs you have hunted down and copied for your personal collection.

    Now we hit a serious conundrum for the melody acquirer: making a copy from a copy decreases the sound quality every time it is done. You have exhausted all your sources trying to find that one song and the best you could find was your mates mixtape. You have a decision to make here my friend: how bad do you want that song on your tape?

    If this is the original copy you may not notice the little drop in audibility and if it is for your own personal use, why not. If you try and sneak it past on your mixtape for the gang, you’re taking a risk. Anyone who notices may call you out and that is a strike against your credibility.

    I must repeat our isolation in the land down under here. Finding non-mainstream music or just something older, but a bit obscure was a big ask. Even if you could afford to buy imported stuff, there wasn’t many stores that had it sitting on the shelves for you to sample. They might be able to order something for you if you knew the title and artist, which is another big ask if you heard it at a party or club, or even on the radio and missed the announcement.

    Even if you heard it, how good is your memory? Do you carry a pen and paper with you always? Did you even hear it correctly? How can you check?

    Basically, the opportunities to even hear foreign music that wasn’t mainstream were scarce. We simply didn’t have many radio stations playing unconventional music. It would usually be a community station that had specialised programs like: Reggae Wednesday, Heavy Metal Midnight, R&B Afternoons, Techno Tuesday.

    Now you have a small window where you get to hear songs form off the beaten tracks. Do not forget though there will be no advanced menu regarding what the playlist was going to be. This made it a veritable fishing expedition. Sitting in front of the tape recorder, listening to the radio with the play, record and pause buttons all pressed to allow speedy operation as soon as you heard the announcer say what the next song was going to be. This method meant you only had to remove the pause, and the recording would begin quickly and smoothly.

    You had to time it so that you didn’t capture the announcer’s voice but still got the maximum intro to the song; a fine balance. Radio DJs had a knack for shutting up just before the lyrics kicked in, but some of those assholes loved the sound of their own voices so much that they chattered away over too much of the song’s opening and fucked your shit up! Motherfuckers! You could never be sure when you would get another chance to capture that rare gem.

    The easiest version of this goldmining was when they played the top 40 (or whatever number) for the week. If the song you wanted was on there you at least had an idea of where it was going to be. Of course, if you fucked this task up and your audience heard that announcer’s voice your clout would take a big hit! No shame in taking the free option but using your failed attempt rather than trying again for a clean intro shows a distinct lack of effort and pride in your work.

    Oh! And never forget that DJ might decide to start yacking before the song ends too -asshole! At least you could cut that out, but it could leave you questioning if your edit ends too abruptly.

    It could certainly be forgiven if you managed to capture a hard-to-find masterpiece. You might even garner kudos if you unearthed something unique – EUREKA! Trying to pass-off a sloppy save from the weekly radio chart show is just laziness. You have no respect for the mixtape craft, and you should keep your clumsy and unambitious drivel for yourself and your Walkman. That’s not a mixtape my friend, that is just a tape with a bunch of songs recorded on it, and if I have to explain why, I am talking to a philistine.

    If you managed to prevent anyone from interrupting the flow of your selections, you are one of the good ones. It’s awesome to receive compliments on your knack for the art but just knowing that your friends enjoyed your creation is praise enough. Nothing needs to be said if it played till the end without interference, unless the group is stoned; that might give another explanation. If not, congratulations!

    Who’s next?

  • WE NEED TO DIG A LITTLE DEEPER: Two Sides (At Least) To Every Story

    “Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way, you’ll be a mile from them, and you’ll have their shoes”

    Jack Handy

    I remember one of my first philosophy lectures. A simple story about keeping your promise hit a raw nerve with me. It went something like this: You promised your boss you would come in early today. The alarm goes off and you emerge from slumber to hear that it’s pissing down outside. You know it’s cold too. It’s so warm in bed. That early start may well become a day off.

    The teacher told it so casually and sounded like he was perfectly fine with it. You bastard! As the Q&A progressed it became clear that whether he approved of such behaviour was beside the point. The reason he told the story that way was because it was from the point of view of the shirker.

    “I’m nice and cozy here, the place won’t collapse without me” was the justification that person made. So, it pissed you off? Explain why. Give logical and valid reasons. ‘It pissed you off’ is the emotion; what about the snoozer’s attitude caused that? A lack of integrity is a good start… and we had a very lively discussion based on one simple scenario.

    It can be very uncomfortable to step into someone else’s POV and genuinely try and see their experience; good and bad. You learn a hell of a lot. Obviously, you cannot work out another person’s motivations through a thought experiment. It is near impossible to figure out our own most of the time. What you do get, more often than not, is one or more unique perspectives on whatever situation you are contemplating.

    Not everyone’s cup of tea, I am sure. If it’s yours, you may well be a closet philosopher, if not you certainly have the temperament to be a writer. You enjoy trying on new personalities and creating hypothetical situations. So without further ado, I will begin with a corporate theme:

    “This company doesn’t reward loyalty!”

    Loyalty! You asshole! Dragging your miserable ass in here every other day and slowly decreasing your output throughout the years is hardly loyalty! You should be thanking us for keeping you and your decreasing performance on the payroll you fucking passenger! Lurking is not loyalty mate. Loyalty, as in true devotion would have seen you either improve or fuck off and make way for the next person. Fall on your sword like a samurai you selfish prick!

    Profits above all else! We all knew that was the true goal. All those other slogans were just for show:

    “Safety is our number 1 priority” – yeah right, we lose profits wrapping our employees in cotton wool while our competitors steal our market share.

    “Our people come first” – Only as long as they are useful. If we can do it cheaper or more efficiently it’s goodbye Charlie. You can’t maximise profits carrying dead weight! Fucken labour laws. Why isn’t ‘useless asshole’ good enough grounds for dismissal?”

    Wow! That was a little too easy to get into character. I think it even went into first-person there too. Was that empathy or wishful impersonation? You know what they say about power and corruption?

    On the point about loyalty, here’s something I wrote a while back:

    I had a stark realisation while joking about a coworker’s long service bonus recently. Clearly, we all see this as a well-earned reward, so the joke played on that idea. When he told me he was getting it I put on my best authoritarian voice and said: “You’ve been with us for 20 years and we did not sack you, no need to thank us. Get back to work.” No gift card, no extra leave. I thought it was pretty funny and people seemed to be amused.

    The realisation that struck me was from something I had said in all seriousness many years prior, when people were being relocated from government housing with Sydney Harbour views. Their common complaint was: “I’ve lived here for X number of years” (usually 20 or more!). “You’re welcome” was my sarcastic response to that. You won the Housing Commission lottery and got to live there, while others ended up in slums and you want to use the time you had there as a reason for exemption; entitlement anyone?

    Looking at the long service award through this lens I was struck by the similarity. This guy may or may not have been a hard worker when he started out with the company. I didn’t know him then. After years of monotony and disillusionment he slowly but surely started decreasing his effort. After 20 years of the relentless grind and all the aches and pains that accumulate with it, he is practically phoning in his performance; doing nothing but the bare minimum (and less if possible) each day.

    That joke and the Houso comment have an eerie connection. I often hear how loyalty is not rewarded in an angry tone from people. Well, they didn’t sack you despite your blatant decline in work ethic. They spared you the most grueling tasks and gave them to the new and younger blokes. What more do you want? I could be tarred and feathered for saying such things!

    Of course, it doesn’t help the situation when this guy has watched bludgers and idiots move up to supervisory and management positions. People who were just as slack, or more so, as he was. People who moved up the ladder to avoid doing physical work but are absolutely useless as leaders. It is so frustrating when a person who was a consummate deadshit when they worked beside you is now stalking you and trying to pressure you to work harder. The contempt such hypocrisy breeds is palpable! You must wonder if they really have that short of a memory? Asshole!

    I have no doubt in my mind that many managers and higher ups think of long-term employees in that derogatory way. I have also seen my fair share of long-term workers taking the piss and getting away with it. Although I have seen just as many new and young employees doing the same. Not to mention a host of imposters in leadership roles who “couldn’t run a fucken chook raffle!”

    I don’t know what happened to the hat analogy, but we’ll end here. Cheers.

    The Imagined Ideal