Gotta Do It
I am sooo tired, but I sooo don't like going to bed. I don't like the fact that the day is over, and I also don't like knowing I have to wake up in the morning. That's me-- just a little barrel of contradictions. One of the problems is that I like to wake up early, even on my day(s) off. I hate wasting my day.
But that's exactly what I'll be doing tomorrow. Whoops-- today, looking at the clock. I'll be wasting an entire day in the Zombie Zone, sitting with too many zombies who don't know that's what they are. Because zombies don't think-- they just exist. And they don't care about being happy or even content, because they're zombies. They do what they do, and that's all they do.
And our overseers want to make damn sure we DON'T think-- in fact, when I was actually using my brain to make a decision, I was told by one of the overseers that I'm not being paid to think. I'm supposed to key only what I see, and not spend time worrying about the customer-nonzombies.
Gotta get out of there! Gotta escape! Gotta DO IT!
I absolutely, positively MUST find someplace else before I get a smooth brain like the zombies I work with.
To be honest, not everyone is a zombie there. There are a few non-zombie, living people. A couple of them feel as trapped as I do, and want out as badly as I do. A couple more feel trapped, but they're also pretty much trapped by life, and choose to have a job where they can escape their baggage for a while. I respect them for that. They made a decision and are living with it, and not complaining.
But I gotta do it. I gotta get out. Yes, I am a complainer.
I'm waiting and watching for the Synchronicity to happen, that always happens, sometimes at the last second, but that always, always happens.
I have to do a little venting here:
There has been a bloodbath going on, for some of the most inane, insane reasons. True, some people got kicked out for a sort of reason, like being late every day. Like 15 minutes or a half hour, every, single day.
But a couple of people I used to talk to are outta there for being ONE unit late. Our work hours are divided into hundredths, not sixtieths, and these people got fired for being 1/100th of an hour late. That's not even a minute! They hit the time clock .6 minutes late, and lost their jobs.
When you clock in late, an overseer comes and makes you fill out a form in duplicate, which then goes into your record. That form is the equivalent of missing a day of work!!! You can be just over 1/2 a minute late, and it's counted with the same severity as an unauthorized absence.
Also, you CANNOT talk. You must look at your computer monitor, eyes front (one of them actually will come up behind you and say that), and you must not talk to anyone sitting by you. But that rule only applies to most people. There are a few favored zombies there who are allowed to chat happily away with no repercussions. The overseers don't care. I am not one of those favored zombies.
I have a friend who has been working the Zombie Zone since it opened, over 10 years ago. She's a lifer, has benefits, makes gooooood dinero, but she told me today that because she was talking, another lifer (who has no friends-- gee, I wonder why?) complained to an overseer, and my friend got a "verbal" warning. Plus she got her seat moved, like a child. She is a grandmother, definitely not a child. Next time, she'll get a written warning, then she'll be canned.
Gotta go! Gotta get outta there! Gotta do it!
And I get to spend tomorrow not thinking, smoothing my brain out, not talking, eyes front. All damned day long. Oh, yay. What fun.
But that's exactly what I'll be doing tomorrow. Whoops-- today, looking at the clock. I'll be wasting an entire day in the Zombie Zone, sitting with too many zombies who don't know that's what they are. Because zombies don't think-- they just exist. And they don't care about being happy or even content, because they're zombies. They do what they do, and that's all they do.
And our overseers want to make damn sure we DON'T think-- in fact, when I was actually using my brain to make a decision, I was told by one of the overseers that I'm not being paid to think. I'm supposed to key only what I see, and not spend time worrying about the customer-nonzombies.
Gotta get out of there! Gotta escape! Gotta DO IT!
I absolutely, positively MUST find someplace else before I get a smooth brain like the zombies I work with.
To be honest, not everyone is a zombie there. There are a few non-zombie, living people. A couple of them feel as trapped as I do, and want out as badly as I do. A couple more feel trapped, but they're also pretty much trapped by life, and choose to have a job where they can escape their baggage for a while. I respect them for that. They made a decision and are living with it, and not complaining.
But I gotta do it. I gotta get out. Yes, I am a complainer.
I'm waiting and watching for the Synchronicity to happen, that always happens, sometimes at the last second, but that always, always happens.
I have to do a little venting here:
There has been a bloodbath going on, for some of the most inane, insane reasons. True, some people got kicked out for a sort of reason, like being late every day. Like 15 minutes or a half hour, every, single day.
But a couple of people I used to talk to are outta there for being ONE unit late. Our work hours are divided into hundredths, not sixtieths, and these people got fired for being 1/100th of an hour late. That's not even a minute! They hit the time clock .6 minutes late, and lost their jobs.
When you clock in late, an overseer comes and makes you fill out a form in duplicate, which then goes into your record. That form is the equivalent of missing a day of work!!! You can be just over 1/2 a minute late, and it's counted with the same severity as an unauthorized absence.
Also, you CANNOT talk. You must look at your computer monitor, eyes front (one of them actually will come up behind you and say that), and you must not talk to anyone sitting by you. But that rule only applies to most people. There are a few favored zombies there who are allowed to chat happily away with no repercussions. The overseers don't care. I am not one of those favored zombies.
I have a friend who has been working the Zombie Zone since it opened, over 10 years ago. She's a lifer, has benefits, makes gooooood dinero, but she told me today that because she was talking, another lifer (who has no friends-- gee, I wonder why?) complained to an overseer, and my friend got a "verbal" warning. Plus she got her seat moved, like a child. She is a grandmother, definitely not a child. Next time, she'll get a written warning, then she'll be canned.
Gotta go! Gotta get outta there! Gotta do it!
And I get to spend tomorrow not thinking, smoothing my brain out, not talking, eyes front. All damned day long. Oh, yay. What fun.
Lori finally stopped procrastinating at 12:51 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home