Stuck in Hell - ending it with a whimper...
I’d suggest you read one or more of my Stuck in Hell posts – this will lack a little continuity otherwise…
I blame Georgie. No, really, It’s your fault.
I had a moment of epiphany – I was sitting in a meeting, listening to my manager’s droning voice explaining something dull and repetitive with all the glee of the aging chubby wannabe off the Office (which for the record is not entertainment, it’s more like electric shock-therapy without the resultant sanity); and I realised that I could spend the rest of my life stuck in hell. Georgie and I had been discussing the meaning of life and work – it sounds trite when you write it like this, but stop and consider for a second – when was the last time you did something thrilling at work, when was the last time you really made a difference? Before there is any hand wringing, we need to exclude ambo’s and Zoolander, and perhaps even police people like ScumDog.
So, back to my moment – I was sitting there, trying to stay awake, and trying to write down the list of incredibly important stuff that I needed to update the team on (the word important was written with a sarcastic inflection), when I found my mind drifting. I’m a guy, so there’s a short list of things that my mind would drift to, as it happened I was thinking about running screaming from the building and jumping on scoot before Dilbert Cartoon insanity took over and middle age hit and I started to lose my boyish good looks. I got woken from this amusing reverie, and my manager made the mistake of asking what was so amusing as to put a smile on my face during a meeting – now, is it just me, but if people ask a question, why should they be annoyed at getting an honest answer. I mean, if she asks if her butt looks big, she deserves to know, right??
So point was, I hated my Dilbert Cartoon job, I hated turning up to work, punching the time clock, and watching my life spill away like sand within an hourglass while achieving fuck all.
I was trying to find some balance between sitting at home waiting for lotto, and working every hour under the sun and never seeing the house in daylight. The anti-career job I took was kind of fun, it gave me loads of time to write the Stuck in Hell series and get all introspective (whatever that means).
But I spent my time working with people who were afraid to think, and even more afraid to speak out about stuff that didn’t work. I never understood the Nuremburg defence until working for my current employers – during the Nuremburg trials, Nazi’s would offer the defence of “I was just following orders”. Applying this to my current job, it was totally okay to not do the correct thing because that was how it had always been done and the person was just following the “process”, corporate speak for orders… I really liked some of my customers, and I liked a lot of the bikers that I worked with; but being a little too outspoken, I was like a round peg in a square hole.
So, on Thursday, I quit my job.
I’m now on Garden Leave while I count down the days to starting my career again, I’m moving from one of the largest corporate in New Zealand, to a company with 15 people. I had beers with the owners of the new company the other day. I’ve never even seen the CEO in person of the other.
So, back to the point – when you get to the point where you cannot find anything thrilling about your job, and when you can’t make a difference because of the treacle like momentum of corporate life, is the rational action going postal, or is it removing yourself? I ask this because I can’t really write any more Stuck in Hell posts if I actually like my job…
I’ve just realised that I have written this entire post within mentioning wheelstands, speeding, or immoral behaviour. Hmm. A quick change of subject, I needed a new cage (handing the company car back), so I went shopping for a new car yesterday. I went to one car yard, and there was one of those stupid 650 Bergman’s sitting in the corner. Car dealer saw that I was looking at it, and started explaining how it was super-powerful, and how it would dust any other bike, and also how he was going to change his rear tire – and I swear I’m not making this up – for a car tire so he could get 30,000 km’s out of it instead of 10,000k’s.
Apparently, he’s going to ride 30,000k’s in a straight line. Dusting slow old Gixer’s, Hayabusa’s, and Blades.
So, in order to mention wheelstands, speeding, and immoral behaviour, I asked him if he’d be willing to put a little wager on his belief – I told him that my little scoot wasn’t all that quick, but it might be a fun match. I watched the mental process of him making the leap from scoot to scooter, and the mental picture in his mind of a Vespa, and the thought of his fat ass beating this young guy and winning some money...
I think he’s going to be somewhat disappointed when I turn up on a worked 1000cc gixer… I think that covers off the immoral behaviour, and I’m sure that there will be a little wheelstanding and speeding involved. 
Georgie, thanks for the ear, and you were right, life is too short to spend it unhappy at work.
It’s diametrically opposed to the sanitised existence of the Lemmings around me in the Dilbert Cartoon hell I live in; it’s life at full volume, perfect colour with high resolution and 10,000 watts of amplification.
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Originally Posted by madbikeboy
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