On the Job
Close by, the sawing, the electric drill, the dropping of metal bars where they’re building the new section where we’ll be working in November when everything is going to be better as in, Everything is going to be better. In reply to: I can’t stand this job, the conditions are ratshit. Better? Better than the music of the saw? Better than the quaint and unlovely faces of the customers? Better than their humiliating treatment of us? Better than having money thrown down in front of you? Better than when they catch you five minutes late coming back from lunch?
Is this subjective? Is this job better because others are worse? Do I hate this job because I haven’t learnt the necessary character traits? Does this mean my character is weak or lacking? Is it a good thing to get used to this job? Is it a good thing to keep hating this job and staying miserable? You’ve got to earn a living. Do you call less than the average wage a living? Do you call this living? Would it be better if we enjoyed ourselves and were paid less? Or if we enjoyed ourselves and were paid more? Or worked less hours. Or didn’t work at all. Would it be better if we were working for six months or working for a year to save enough to travel. What would happen when we got back? Would it be better if we didn’t have a mortgage to pay off and kids to support. Would it be better if we didn’t smoke so much. Or if we didn’t have arthritis. Arthritis is better than John’s father who’s got silicosis.
What would happen if there was a sudden coincidence of social relations with good social relations. What would happen if the male customers stopped throwing money at us as though we were shit or if the female customers stopped bitching at us when we made mistakes. Or if suddenly we had time to talk to each other if we didn’t have to suspect each other of stealing each other’s money. Or if suddenly our bosses smiled at us and told us we were good strong people to be able to put up with the public and this badly paid job. What if we didn’t have any bosses?