Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Love Your Job?...God Doesn't Like Liars...

Four years ago, I have on some Express boot-cut black pants and I am standing on 10th Avenue and 58th Street, staring at this huge garage door, holding a VHS tape. I was supposed to deliver this tape to the address, but the address they gave me lead to a huge warehouse door and there was this doorbell, about 15 feet above me. Presumably only usable by drivers in large trucks. I stood there for a good fifteen minutes just staring at the doorbell, imaging that I need some kind of special bread like Alice in Wonderland to become tall enough to hit that bell. How the hell was I supposed to deliver this tape if I couldn’t even figure out how to go in the door? I had edited a tape that was supposed to be submitted for a News segment airing at 4pm. It was now 1pm and as I stood staring at the garage, I remember thinking I was going to have to quit work right then and there. I thought about just leaving the tape on the ground and not returning to the news station. Just running down 10th street screaming, "I hate work! And I hate the news!" But then I remembered I had left my sandwich at my desk. So that was a no-go.

Every job I ever had, I sat staring at my computer going, “Fuck..there has GOT to be something else better then this…” But truth be told. I am not so sure there is. If you are one of those people who claim to “love” their job, then you are what I like to call, “A Dirty Liar”.

Even people who seemingly have the coolest jobs hate their job. In my last job I hated my boss so much that whenever I would get her coffee I would put three extra Equal packets in it, in the hopes that she would become diabetic.

I wish that was a joke, but unfortunately, it's not.

One of my first internships ever I actually taught at a local junior high. Yes, me a teacher. I know. What was I thinking? I can’t stand children, mainly because they can’t drink and I have a problem with people who are not alcoholics. Regardless, I taught a writing class and in between classes I used to walk to the back lawn and pound my head against a tree hoping it might split open and I wouldn’t have to go back to that dirty Satan hole people called, “a school”.

In college I worked at a well known restaurant in midtown and one afternoon a mouse scurried across the floor and the manager actually yelled at me about the mouse. Yelled at me. “Kim how dare you let that mouse get out!” Let the mouse get out? Like , I was keeping him up fucking skirt or something?

Two years ago I worked editing radio contracts and one day some radio head called me absolutely frantic that the radio contest rules were not edited yet and how were they supposed to give away their, “FREE BEACH BALL IF YOU DON’T FINISH THESE FUCKING RULES BEFORE NOON?!”…Some people work on heart cavities..I make sure beach balls get raffled. Mother fucker.

Even now I find that no one I speak with enjoys their job and mainly those who have a “higher” education, including Law School and a PhD. Something about knowing more about the world makes you want to jump off a building apparently.

Every week I decide that I want to do something different. Write for more magazines. Write for less magazines. When I was 12 I wanted to be a veterinarian, whatever happened to that dream? What if we all had followed our dreams when we were 12? I would be married to Billy Organ, a Horse Veterinarian and I would own 10 unicorns.

This woman looks way too excited to be doing her job and that dog seems quite pissed
at Dr Lady Man-Hands here...
But hey, maybe I would have been happy?

Even if I could ‘Imagine” the perfect job I would probably get tired of it after awhile. I used to tell my dad I was going to quit everything and move to South Beach and become a towel-girl at the The Delano Hotel. My dad would lose it every time, as though I was really going to do it. He used to get so mad and say things like, “I paid for 4 years of college so that you could go hand towels to Puff Daddy?!” And then I would have to correct him about the whole , ‘P-Diddy’ thing and that would lead to a whole OTHER conversation.

Think of the coolest job you can think of. For example, - A sports editor, who gets to travel for free to sports games, he helps plan huge parties for big athletes then gets to go to all the parties and hang with celebrities…well guess what…I know him, I know a guy who does that very job, and he hates it. Yes fucking hates it. I know a girl who is top notch at Michael Kors and travels the world…some days she confesses she would rather have her eyes burned out by a hot poker.
My point is, if you hate your job, or sit at work thinking, “there MUST be something better.” I am here to tell you …there isn’t.

But if you find Billy Organ anywhere and he happens to have a farm with 10 unicorns and an extra vet let me know.