Every once in a while some sanctimonious sick son of a bitch will try to feed me this unpalatable line of disgusting crap:
“You gotta love what you do.”
Usually this this oh-so-useful piece of advice is offered by likes of playboy Hugh Hefner, eligible bachelor Derek Jeter, billionaire / airline owner / adventurer Richard Branson, etc. You know, the “make their own rules” sort of people.
Yeah, if my job title was “adventurer” then I might be a tad happier, too.
For most of us, the harsh realities of employment are, shall we say, a skosh less than “ideal.” In my case, the trip to dirty whore didn’t just happen overnight. It took a little bit of time, patience, good old fashioned luck and a healthy dose of deceit.
I’ll try not to bore you with the nitty gritty details, since you’d probably pass out and hit your head, and nobody wants that. I’m a webmaster by trade. I had a hard time finding work after moving to a small town. I ended up taking a job (on 09/11/2001 no less) that turned out to be heavy phones and heavy sales and just a little bit of technical duties thrown in to maintain the illusion that I was actually a “webmaster.” I wasn’t. It was my first exposure to the position of whore. But I was desperate for work and had no other choice.
I did some side work for a company and long story short, they needed a “webmaster.” (You’ll see the reason for the quotes soon enough.) I interviewed for the job of “webmaster.” The job of “webmaster” was offered. I accepted the offer and put in my two-week notice with my current employer. It was a very hopeful and exciting time for me.
At that point, I was pretty much committed to switching jobs. It would have been hard if not impossible to undo.
Before I started work at the new company I was brought in for a meeting. I was shown the operation, met the team, and then given some training. I quickly realized that something was seriously askew. I was being trained on the product line, how to answer phones, operation of the cash register, and retail floor operations. In other words, absolutely nothing to do with actual “webmastering.”
I’ll never forget that day as long as I live. I left the building, sat in my car in the parking lot and threw up. Good times to be sure. And it has been all downhill from there.
Now, five years later, I’m still here, still in this small town, and my hate and despair is palpable. I’m totally miserable being a phone bitch, talking to customers, and working as a salesperson. Yes, I do have some “webmaster” duties heaped on top of my regular bullshit, but it is nothing I “love.” It mearly represents additional stress and pressure on top of the daily secretarial things that have to get done.
There is no point to this post. I’m just having one of those days. Now you know why I always call myself a “whore.” My loose definition is getting paid to do that which you hate. I got that covered.
I guess my main beef with “you gotta love what you do” is that it implies that I choose this, that this is somehow what I want. I’ll bet millions and millions of workers would tend to disagree, even these days when a job, any job, is as valuable as a gold nugget.