Evidence for the truth of Groundhog Day

I found this in the “Internet Archive,” a collection of old web pages.  It was part of a blog I composed prior to this one.  It got me in lots of trouble, y’might say. I wish those pages were here because I’d repeat them. But they’re not. This is about a job I had back in April 2006. It was one of those nightmares. Nota bene:

“I’m not dead, I feel fine, I want to go for a walk!” 

A friend in Europe thinks this is a poem.  Maybe.  I thought it’s my life.  And I’m writing this from home.  If you don’t like it, why are wasting your precious business time reading my blog?  Ha.

I Took Another Job

  • I work in Brooklyn, at the former Brooklyn Army Terminal, a titanic white block building that looks like it was a set for Alphaville.
  • It was built during World War I.  There are railroad tracks inside the building and a fake train.
  • Supposedly there is a plaque in the front of the building to the fact that Elvis Presley stopped in the BAT on his way to Army service in Germany.  And this affects me how?
  • Only in New York could the Korean owner employ Latino cooks who make gyros to die for.
  • The company I work at (I am a contractor) is a very, very large financial services firm (the first part of its name is Citi) that owns everything but Dick Cheney and Adolph Coors.
  • My boss came on initially like a ballbusting prick but then said yesterday that he’s been there almost 25 years and everyone watches everyone else being a ballbusting prick.  He’s still a ballbusting prick but I got a look at what 25 years on your knees can do to you.
  • Theoretically I could take a train to Hoboken, ferry to Pier 11 in Manhattan, then take another ferry to the Brooklyn Army Terminal.
  • I would need to get on the train before it’s running.  If I took the boat I would have to swim until it picked me up or ran me over.
  • So I drive. Up the Garden State Parkway, head east to the Outerbridge Crossing, drive across Staten Island to the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge (actually it is truly gorgeous), then land in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn.  This trip is expensive too, and for someone who hates driving as much as I do, I have discovered why there is a car radio and stereo, and why you can’t easily get a carry permit for a pistol in Jersey or New York.
  • Where I work I cannot web-access my email at home.  There is no Gmail, Yahoo, Hotmail, Comcast, or much anything. It is not “business-related” and you might (God forbid) download a stroke book.  I would be happy to download a stroke book.  It would break up the monotony and scariness.
  • I will not sign onto this list or any other from work because people, even in other departments, watch you and there is reason to believe there are keystroke monitors.  “Gotta keep the young ones moral after school.”
  • I leave the house at 6:30 AM to arrive with a few minutes to spare before the 9:00 AM factory whistle blows.
  • I get 30 minutes for lunch, i.e., to stuff that gyro down my muzzle.
  • I leave at 5:30 PM.  It takes me 90 minutes at least to get home.  That’s assuming I’ve shot the other motorists with the pistol I don’t have.
  • I am interviewing for another job on Tuesday. God sends hope even to the chief of sinners.
  • Only under capitalism could not having a life be equated with productivity.
  • I just remembered a book I read many years ago: Zola’s Germinal. Debased life among the coal miners of 19th century France.  It scared the hell out of me.  Now I finally know why.

April 29, 2006: I Quit Another Job

I quit a couple of days later when I discovered the ageist memo about me, misdirected to my terminal. An idiot manager named Yukim Yee, 25 years with Citi, perhaps washing it down the drain. It was like working for Kim Jong Il.

How can anyone care about such a place? What is professionalism unless people act like professionals? It’s reciprocal. It’s not all about me.

It’s scary to see the country’s financial future in these hands.

(Addendum, December 2008. The future for Citigroup is effectively over. Bad karma brings the hell of Payback. Good.)

 

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