By Tardsie
Not If I Can Help It I Won’t.
You may have noticed (or just as likely not) that I’ve been unusually slow in posting, as well as commenting, both here and on other sites. There are several reasons for that. Chief among them are work woes.
Despite signs that the economy might be improving, unemployment continues to be a major problem. Unemployed Americans of all stripes are pounding the pavement in a wearying search for honest work.
However, I am not one of those earnest individuals. In times of old, gentlemen of leisure like myself were labelled “work-shy” or deemed “parasitic layabouts.” Shunned by the upright townsfolk, these poor individuals had no more to look forward to than a life of being set upon by dogs and small children.
It’s How I Get My Exercise.
Thank goodness our modern sensibilities have allowed us to overcome this hurtful prejudice. I think that being a shiftless unemployable is sometimes the toughest job of all.
I told you recently about my nascent career in porn. As you may know, I started out doing the gay thing. Apparently, my performance was so impressive that the writer offered me another smut job. I was initially excited when he told me this one would be straight. However, perhaps we could all use a little reminder that while straight sex may be more comfortable to some people (e. g., me), some twisted individual can always find a way to make the act degenerate and disturbing. It made me long for a return to some wholesome gay sex. It left me feeling dirty. I’m not entirely sure I’ll ever have recreational sex again.
I Can’t Even Talk To My Wife About It.
But here’s where it gets really weird. I’m a trooper, so after the heterosexual project wrapped, I asked my new contact if he had more work for me.
He did!
“How do you feel about a Christian romance set in the days of the Oregon Trail?” he asks me. “They’re very popular right now.”
“Wait…What?”
Also, for the past three days I’ve been subject to the degradations and humiliation attendant with real work. That’s right–through no fault of my own, I’ve been riding a desk in an insurance office, where I’m expected to wear clean clothes and shoes with laces. My tribulations end today, thankfully.
I know, right? But wait, it gets worse! I’m expected to be there for FIVE hours every day. That’s over a fifth of the day! Then, if you consider that my drive to and from this hellish slave pit is a half-hour each way, making it a grueling six hours I sacrifice to the cause.
In fact, I have to get running. Those tyrants expect me to show up by 10-ish. In conclusion, it’s so very tough being me.
Have a great weekend, folks!
Pray For Me, Friends.
Promethean Times 
I always thought it would be nice to be a remittance man – sail from port to port to pick up a check for the next leg…
I’m with you on that, oh handsome one! I should clarify–when I say I don’t like having a job, it’s not the salary I mind, but the expectations that come with that salary. When will the world start paying me just for being me?
Well, look at it this way, you can use those shoelaces you’re forced to wear in your insurance-office job in your ‘other’ job. I’m sure you’ll find a clever way to incorporate them…
Auto-erotic asphyxiation! It takes my breath away…
You poor soul…
Thanks, Queen! Fortunately, my three days of suffering are over, and I can return once again to a meaningful life of inactivity. But the real tragedy is that there are people out there who, on Monday, will have to go through it all again. Despite what I’ve been put through, I consider myself one of the lucky ones.
Well, at least you’re in good spirits! 😉
Sure, I look at it this way. My fifteen hours in the workforce were tough, and I’m right to seek pity on the internet, but now I can look forward to a long 365-day weekend.
Just don’t use those new shoelaces to hang yourself, man. If you are at a cubicle, though, you can use those shoelaces as tiny, little whips that you can use to grab pencils or eyeglasses from your neighbor.
I can’t promise I won’t use it to hang myself, Mike (see my reply to Carrie), but I can assure you I won’t go full David Carradine.
No cublcles, fortunately. It’s actually a lovely place to go in and help out–I kid, but I really like the family, and I end up working for them 3-4 times a year (in fact, I’ve kept up my insurance license largely just for this) in one of their two offices (one is in your wife’s home town, the other in the larger town 10 miles north). I kid about hating it (although I’m serious about not wanting to do it full time–two or three weeks a year is more than enough insurance for this guy), because I actually have a good time for the five hours I’m there. The employees of this particular agent are fiercely loyal, because the agent (and his wife) know the secret to employee retention and satisfaction: they value and appreciate their people. It’s not lip-service–you can only fake it so long. When ever I work for them, they manage to make me feel like I’m performing some herculean service. I wish more bosses knew that.
This too, shall pass. And I mean that in the medieval Persian Sufi poetic sense. Or if it doesn’t consider some self-inflicted catastrophic injury which could be somehow be perceived as negligence in the workplace then just sit back and rake in the dough!
I like the way you think, Alex! The only fly in the ointment, is that any injury necessitates a pee-test. I gambled and won on that once, but dare I test the fates again?
And you’re right–it did pass! I’m an aimless layabout once again! Huzzah for indolence!
Six hours is a terribly long time. Do you get a chance to get some reading in? Is your chair at least comfy? All the best to you!
In fact, I do get some reading in–I listen to audiobooks to and from work. I don’t get much reading done on the job, sadly, except for the occasional news article, and of course, insurance documents. All the insurance documents I want to read. And really–who can get enough insurance documents? Give me an inland marine booklet or a lengthy discussion on covered perils and I’m happy as a clam.
And, as I’ve said in some of the other comments, I actually like working for these people. I do it a few times a year, usually for two or three days, sometimes as long as two weeks. It’s not something I want any longer for a career, but I adore the bosses and my co-workers, and really like the clients. So it’s a drag, but kind of a fun drag.
Make sure you demand a 2-hour lunch and (2) fifteen minute smoke breaks! (Don’t let them take advantage of you, Chew~ I mean, uh, Smak.) Seriously though, congrats on the job!
Ha ha! Thanks CB!
First of all, I think you KNOW I’m gonna take a smoke break.
This job is just an occasional thing. The folks at this agency really helped me out a lot when I first got into insurance back in 2003. I’ve been “out” of insurance since 2010, but do fill-in work for two agencies (owned by the guy who was so cool to me when I was starting out) a few times a year.
As far as breaks–these people are SO COOL. I don’t know what I’m entitled to for only working five hours (it might be as little as ten minutes in California–it was at one time), but they never hassle me about breaks, personal phone calls etc. As a consequence, I try to keep my breaks as short as possible, my phone calls to a minimum, etc. They treat me like an adult, and it makes me want to repay that treatment by giving them the full value (and maybe more if I can) of what they’re paying me.
I really don’t want to do this full time any more, or even part-time, but I’m always happy to work for these guys. Really cool people.
Required to wear shoes with laces and to endure a five hour shift! Oh, what physical and mental cruelty, Smak.
I know, I know. But I go on. I’m a survivor, and while I may be crying on the inside, my smile never fades.
Poor kid? We should give up this life of crime and turn to highway robbery. I’m in.
Commiserations, dear Smak..! Being one who, in times past, spent many grueling hours seated behind a desk after a horrific drive through torrid streets away from my pleasant life at home, I empathize… However, the weekly cheque ensured food, clothing and the occasional piece of chocolate found its way to my hips… for which I shall be forever trying to shed…. 😉
May you find the same enjoyment…. 😉