There’s more on my mind about switching jobs. I guess you
can call it an improvement that I’m not in physical pain nor willing to have
the same argument for months before I leave the prison. I don’t know if it’s a
touch sadder that I’m leaving a population in which they truly do need all the
help they can get, or if that’s more of an annoying detail that, if I had
things my way, I’d still be able to work with in a proactive and consistent way
I try to afford to everyone. I’m thankful I have the memory of all the people
who seemed dismayed I was leaving the methadone clinic who never had the inclination
to reach out. I’m not saying anything you don’t already know.
People are often attracted to my “spirit” for lack of a
better word. They aren’t “convinced” of things by my words or logic. It’s
always “the way” I say something, or my mannerisms, or tone of voice or body
language. I’m confident, and people feel it. I’m smart and people pretend to
immediately understand everything I say. I work hard and can quickly bring to
mind how my values translate into my concept of living a meaningful life. This
is what I think about when I’m offered so many opinions, forlorn or otherwise
about my decisions regarding employment or worthwhile pursuits of time.
No matter what job I get, the fundamental truth is that I don’t want a job.
This isn’t lost on me. If I’m going to have a job, it at least needs to
maintain a kind of sense that doesn’t leave me tense and angry for, albeit
predictable, bad values-destroying reasons. There’s plenty of growing pains and
a messiness to many work environments. I’ve never had a problem with that as such.
I can’t abide gross negligent ignorance of the mess. The consequences are
tucked in every wasted minute a coworker needs to decompress and every mockery
of your time spent on something useless and wasteful.
It seems ridiculous when I think about it, but there was more coherence in working
for Showplace than anywhere I’ve worked since. You could count on about when
you were going to leave. You knew what your role was. You knew the theater had
to be clean, the popper not greasy, and the tickets torn. Plenty of people
sucked at their job, but the job was clear. I advanced through to become
management. It felt like a team. There was a palpable difference when our head
manager was molesty dickhead and many people quit. Had I the perspective about
jobs that I do now, I might have at the time as well.
It seems like a thing that shouldn’t be so regularly violated. Where’s the
leadership? It took how many years to find people on a genuine Left political
axis that weren’t Bernie Sanders? How, in social work, are there so few fucking
people with the grasp of what it means to be human and what we need to thrive?
I can’t really wrap my head around it. When I relayed my complaints to my buddy’s
mom, she said, “It’s the same thing at the post office,” where her leadership
sucks, and the people on the ground who do well or know the work get fucked by
shitty decisions and a total lack of awareness or care.
I don’t mind taking direction or orders. I think a lot of my complaints in work
environments suggest that I have some broad problem with authority or anyone
else’s opinion. That’s really missing what I’m speaking to if it’s where you’re
coming from. Juggling chaos is not the same thing as steering a ship through
the storm of life or business decisions. And you have to think, in a social
work context, you’re dealing with people who at some level are psychologically situated
to give as much of themselves as they can. Workers bleed themselves dry
constantly.
I don’t feel good about leaving. I’m not looking forward to readjusting to a
new work environment and work personalities. I’m upset that I have to do so at
all. Why can’t I just find a decent job that pays me what I’m worth and cares
to put people in charge who are capable? What kind of insane unfair ask is
that? Do I rail against capitalism? The irrational and insane human spirit?
What I’m not going to do is pretend it’s “mature” or acceptable to merely adopt
stupid fucking catchphrases of complacency and excuses because everyone’s too
dainty and a bitch to hear how they’re fucking up.
If I don’t get the counseling business going, I need to heavily consider just
getting into a trade. There’s a kind of liberation in moving shit around or building
shit. It doesn’t talk back. Now, I’m not so naïve as to think there aren’t
idiots and shitty bosses and whatever else, but perhaps I could make something
more of myself on my own when my preoccupation becomes about things instead of
people. I know it’s always, somehow, about people, but still, maybe I can just
fix your toilet and move on with my day.
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