Sunday, August 29, 2010

Work (Part 2)

My name is Ronald. But for right now, let's just call me Ron.

I work at Office Depot.


Taking Care of Business.

It haunts my dreams at night and my inner eyelids during the day. I can hear it, see it, almost taste it even when I'm at home. In a sense, I AM my own worst enemy: A slave to the corporations I so dearly despise. Yet given my situation, I hardly have much of a choice.

"Where's your name badge?"

"Make sure to sell Protection Plans."

"Greet everyone within 20 seconds of your area."

All things I've also noticed some of the higher-ups not doing. But what can I argue? I'm only a stocker.

Sad that after a year of working here, I've learned essentially what it takes to run a store in a franchise yet I'm never given a chance to give full authority under the assumption that I still don't know what I'm doing. Gives me a reason to keep fighting the good fight and make my way back into school, honestly. I say if I make my way to manager, that's where my life goals end and settling for less begins. Why stop earning money to start spending immense amounts of money to possibly not make any more money?

It pains me sometimes to work there. I have a problem with not only lying to people (which I honestly don't advise, as some people may), but annoying people. Ironically out of the two, both are indirect requirements of the job.


Corporations tend to claim that so much research has gone into the processes of their business, from the way associates are instructed to present themselves to the customers to the layout of the store. How odd when customers enter with dumbfounded looks and when asked if they need help, some raise an attitude.


Did I honestly wake up at 5 in the morning to deal with this?


Looking at my bank account... yes.

Work (Part 1)

There are days when I wake up, look at the clock and wonder "how can I even motivate myself to wake up this early?"

Putting on the same black tattered slacks and stained wrinkled blue shirt, slipping my name badge into my pocket, I contemplate my current situation. Out of school, trying to save money to afford living in general along with saving to go to school. I always find it interesting that to go to school, you need money. And to get money from a well-paying job, you need to go to school. Very interesting indeed. But that's besides the point.

A fifteen-minute walk to the bus station, listening to an eclectic mix of rap, reggae, rock, drum and bass, etc. Dreaming of doing battle with all of these same songs as background music. Normal nerd stuff.

Ride on the train... doing pretty much the same thing. I happen to bring my rubik's cube this time and I notice some of the fellow commuters eying my hands, twitching with each jagged turn of the sides. It's an easy way to get popular.

Complain, complain, complain. That's all I do. I've noticed. Complain about walking. Complain about food. Complain about roommate. Complain about work. Complain about life. If complaining were a novel, I think I would be writing my own version of Crime and Punishment. Whoops, it's going to rain. Forgot my umbrella. Today's gonna be a long day.