please weed me from your auxiliary workforce - i don't like the feeling of potential energy that could make me your electron, like you're their electron you poor automaton - people like you actually exist on this level that's been super-atomic since before we were single cells? there are actual sam walton quotes on blue backdrops in training rooms? like just maybe one of us peasants is gonna be the corporate diamond in the rough, discovered on stavanger drive?
after the first hour of that eight applicant group interview, i wanted to barf out of my tear ducts - i lasted til the end, maybe that counts for something, but so did everyone else - so i performed the service of the surplus, to make neighbors look better, almost presentable, so this regional outlet could say they didn't hire the defective fraction - there needed to be a defective fraction so they could say that, when the crop is tainted, some share will have to pass for cream, they can write on a form that they raked up the pliable ones they can train to do whatever - ouch, that stung, it was the only point of pride i had going in, that my character will show in the work i do, not realizing what they're looking for is lego bricks with pliable plastic pegs
sure, none of us was happy to be in that circus ring, but guess who retained the status of most reserved thespian in the role playing for selling products games? no i wasn't having "fun"!? and no, i wasn't the tenth time you asked either, but i tried not to seem negative - i wonder how well that worked, me being such a great actor and all? what agony, i'd rather starve than go through it again - character profiles, hmmm... that's when i knew i was fucked, wasting wasting wasting my time, dumping it by the mound on already piled mounds in vast wastelands of time, and how about some more temporal refuse for good measure? sure, pile it on, marone!
i had to think, i'm being this much of a circus animal for the mere possibility of that low a wage? cause they say it with a straight face, talking without shame in increments of forty cents like it's the seventies or something and what could an hour of your time possibly be worth? time is cheap but it's money anyway i'd bet they say, 24 hours a day, and given what a kick the human cattle drivers get out of their jobs, time must be bargain rate for them too, they've taken the lesson - well, there's employee discounts, maybe they'll take a loss on toilet paper for the lucky few that make the cut - "control your costs better than that of your competition", says sam walton, they wouldn't let a font of wisdom like that go unattributed, not in the training room - and what is with the yellow asterisks? blue hoopla from on high, the billionaire owners and their hoops - i held on though, once i got one of the managers to nail down the situation that it wasn't entirely a case of eight people being set in competition with each other, there was more than one position being filled... that's what she said, i just had to know it was slightly better than a roulette wheel before i kept jumping for the rest of the rounds - among some meander on policies i caught a scrap about dress code prohibiting bare midriffs, and was disappointed
oh so queasy walking back, like i'd already run a marathon - i'd dug my nails into knuckles leaving gouges - the worst part is how i know now it's just how things work, couldn't be any other way, given the state of me being maladjusted like i am - i know my character isn't great - can't channel skills and energy and soul in these conventional ways - and i also know how self-pity figures into it - that's not nice knowledge, even that consolation spoiled by self-awareness - well, not entirely spoiled, there's still writing, a sacred outcrop haven from shame, some place to be proud and howl, a ledge below the edge
spin cycles come out in the wash though, a certain layer of sickness could be rinsed off for a while, in a while