I meet the others every day. I mean here the "others in my workplace." They are like family: you quickly get to dislike them, but like family, you cannot change them for others. Unless you run away from your family, which is the equivalent of handing in your resignation and moving to another company. Where you will find another family that you will dislike in a matter of months.
Why do we get to dislike ourselves so much, we, the people who give one third of their lives to be together in this common space we call workplace? Maybe the reason is in what I just said: because we give away one third of our lives to be together in this common space called workplace. We could do way more interesting things with this one third of our daily existence than just getting crammed into tiny cubicles, sweating over our screens that shell our brains with a barrage of information, hearing our neighbours scratching, coughing, mumbling or plain swearing, sometimes annoyed by their body odours, and for sure feeling their frustrations hovering in the air like fumes escaped from old car engines. But this is what people need to do in order to earn the right to spend the other third of their lives alone, in the comfort of their own households, far away of their fellow co-workers. I said the "other third", and the math didn't quite add up: two thirds do not make the whole. Yes, they do: the remaining third is the one you sleep through, and it doesn't matter. It's only organic recharge. It's just the process of refuelling, and getting re-capacitated for the other two thirds of your existence.
Yesterday, today and tomorrow are the same: the same workplace, the same tiny cubicles, the same people packed in like sardines, having to get along, to be nice to each other: real team players. But then there's always my cubicle, where I stash a few personalities (some people say "hats" instead of personalities, to show the lightness of this concept), each one adjusted to the "job requirements", which is a nice way to define the art of compromise that takes you through the day. From the wardrobe of my personalities, that gets bigger as I advance through my career years, I will choose two items: "I" and "me." These are the two profiles I use the most during my day of work. These are the inner selves I expose the most to my co-workers, of course.
"I" is used sparingly. This is my full blown inner-self, the full myself, standing tall, walking high, without the inhibitions of the political, diluting agents that need to remove the acid from the pool of my "ego." I use "I" only sometimes, when I cannot take it anymore and I have to snap out, have my saying. "I do not think this is the right thing to do," I found myself pounding my fists on the invisible table of conversation with my boss. "What makes you say that?" my boss inquires with a frown, and he barely refrains himself from doing what he likes doing the most: having an access of rage, and shouting out like a hysterical man: "How do you dare say that, you meaningless, abominably-insignificant-failed clone of a warm?" The "I" is the one that doesn't agree to things and loves to say that. This guy is the deal braker, the dissonant note in the hard trained chorus of "yes-sirees", a lame combination of mediocre tunes. The "I" is the dissident."I" stands for trouble-maker.
But there is always "me." "Me" means participation without questioning that goes deep down, and maybe hits the reason. "Me" is the surrender to the norm, the worshiper of the common place. Me and Derek finished the work, sir! Good work, lads! Which means that Derek did something, and I was there to do the remaining of Derek's something, wich means that none of us know the whole thing, only bits of it that may not even fit together. That's for the "I" to accomplish.
While "I" is bold and thorough, "me" is accommodating, shy, superficial, careful to avoid the conflict from fear of breaking the forcefully imposed, hence short-lived, harmony that imbibes any workplace with the strong odour of mediocrity."Include me in that meeting, please!" Which means that I'll be there, attending, but not willing to contribute.
"I" is brazen, but can be stupid, because it takes chances without thinking too much of consequences. "Me" is more conservative, observes the norm, thinks in advance of the fallout. Therefore "me" is smarter. It has that kind of smartness that takes you through day after day until the final gong: the retirement party (for the lucky ones.)
I like "I" but I'd rather use "me." "I do not think that this is going to work, sir" sounds less safe, even riskier than "Me and Derek will look at it, make sure it will work." But it could carry the truth.
Because after all nobody wants to hear your "I" talking: everybody prefers your "me." It's more accommodating. It's team work what everybody is looking for, not excellency. The excellency is left for fools or visionaries. Which many times are the one and the same thing.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
A-Blog Nothing,eh?
This last spring we travelled to Romania, to visit places and see old friends and relatives. And for the first time in my life I had the chance to play the role of the uncle. Uncle Anton. Well, the reality is that my nephew wouldn’t ever call me uncle Anton, preferring the more casual, while youth infusing version of Anton.
So, asking my nephew how he's doing, he told me that he feels he had enough with his current job and was looking for a new one. He is 26 years old and hates to live in these uncertain times of an endless economic mess that nobody understands why is still called transition, instead of being labelled "disolution." But who asks him? At his age the life race is on and all you must do is run shoulder to shoulder with the other contenders, jumping from job to job till the end of it all, the big bang called retirement (from work, from life...) In the process you're buying the luxury to find yourself, to know a bit who you are and what you want, but only occasionally and always after hours or during the week-ends.
My nephew told me he wanted to change his current job for reasons that are common to ninety nine percent of us, and deserve no print space as they are so well known. Looking for a new job when you are young and inexperienced, sitting on the hot seat of the job seeker in front of a few empowered ignorants who are convinced their knowing of people is overpassed only by their fine understanding of the free economic market, trying to have them buy in, selling the "exquisite package of yourself" without having any clue about all those tricks and tips one has to use during an interview, well… That’s quite a task. And perhaps one doomed to failure.
One quiet afternoon, while listening to him going passionately through his routine stories about “he asked me that, then I said that, then he replied that” an idea popped up in my head: What if I start sharing with him a bit from my own experience going to many, many interviews? What if I open the protected safe of my learnings in a process where so many times I leaped from ecstasy to embarrassment in a matter of seconds? One led to another and in half an hour I was telling him how my work environment is organized, how we do things and what the people who hired me expect from me. And on and on the story goes. While progressing with my "on-fly" yarn I noticed on his face the increasing interest that my nephew displayed. In the end he confessed that what I told him was sooo cool, that nobody ever shared with him the "hiring tricks" I was so cognisant of (albeit not so highly successful in using them myself), and that our chat was an eye-opener for him. From the way he was talking I could feel that my nephew had already promoted me to the private rank of a job market guru.
In situations like that, my sense of fairness kicks in sharply, like the pain of a bee's sting: I didn't really find that what I told him was cool, and I couldn't shrug off the feeling that my nephew was overrating me. I never felt an expert in anything else than my allergies. All I had shared with him was based on my day by day experience accumulated, true, in many years of working out there, in the large confinements of the Canadian worko-sphere, how I like to call it. And apparently what was common sense for me, it was revelation for him.
On a second thought I realized that this is, after all, one of the advantages you get once you get older. You must have a few advantages too, beside the bunch of continuous annoyances coming from deteriorating health, lower physical strength, waning interest in the main stream excitement, and the list can continue in a highly personalized manner, of course. This is the advantage of seeing the simplicity in things and situations that are wrapped in a shred of made-up complexity and overpriced for those who can afford the least: the youth.
From that epiphany to this blog was only one step. Yeah, yeah, sure you’re tempted to use the overused clichés and say it (just say it, I want to hear it one more time!): “One small step for a man, a big step for blah-blah-blah…” This final twist is a sure sign that this blog is not going to be a totally serious and totally dry thing, like all those stiff books and academic articles covering the topics of job market dynamics, interviewing process, change management, structure of workplace, etc. Books and articles written by folks who seem to not have spent a single day in a real workplace. Authors who are fresh from school and try to convert their final year thesis into a successful blockbuster. No, this blog is going to be a collection of funny dissertations about nothing in special, about everything in general. That’s why I named it “a-blog nothing” using a homonym I found appealing, and then I restricted his area of ideological roaming to the "little workplace" which is exactly the space that most of us spend their lives in.
This blog is going to be more like an invitation to free up their frustrations, their revelations, their success stories sent to those who will have nothing better to do with their time than to read it. But regardless of who’s going to read it, comment it, or simply ignore it, this is my gift to my two boys and my two niblings. I do not have a fat financial cat to bestow on you, guys, I do not have fame to capitalize your lives on, I haven't even been a great role model to inspire and energize through his mere presence. All I have are a bunch of life-time experiences from the workplace, that I'm willing to share with you. Hoping that someday, somehow could be of help to someone, who knows... And because there is a slim chance that this could become reality, I need to record them somewhere. On this blog. This “a-blog nothing”…blog.
So, asking my nephew how he's doing, he told me that he feels he had enough with his current job and was looking for a new one. He is 26 years old and hates to live in these uncertain times of an endless economic mess that nobody understands why is still called transition, instead of being labelled "disolution." But who asks him? At his age the life race is on and all you must do is run shoulder to shoulder with the other contenders, jumping from job to job till the end of it all, the big bang called retirement (from work, from life...) In the process you're buying the luxury to find yourself, to know a bit who you are and what you want, but only occasionally and always after hours or during the week-ends.
My nephew told me he wanted to change his current job for reasons that are common to ninety nine percent of us, and deserve no print space as they are so well known. Looking for a new job when you are young and inexperienced, sitting on the hot seat of the job seeker in front of a few empowered ignorants who are convinced their knowing of people is overpassed only by their fine understanding of the free economic market, trying to have them buy in, selling the "exquisite package of yourself" without having any clue about all those tricks and tips one has to use during an interview, well… That’s quite a task. And perhaps one doomed to failure.
One quiet afternoon, while listening to him going passionately through his routine stories about “he asked me that, then I said that, then he replied that” an idea popped up in my head: What if I start sharing with him a bit from my own experience going to many, many interviews? What if I open the protected safe of my learnings in a process where so many times I leaped from ecstasy to embarrassment in a matter of seconds? One led to another and in half an hour I was telling him how my work environment is organized, how we do things and what the people who hired me expect from me. And on and on the story goes. While progressing with my "on-fly" yarn I noticed on his face the increasing interest that my nephew displayed. In the end he confessed that what I told him was sooo cool, that nobody ever shared with him the "hiring tricks" I was so cognisant of (albeit not so highly successful in using them myself), and that our chat was an eye-opener for him. From the way he was talking I could feel that my nephew had already promoted me to the private rank of a job market guru.
In situations like that, my sense of fairness kicks in sharply, like the pain of a bee's sting: I didn't really find that what I told him was cool, and I couldn't shrug off the feeling that my nephew was overrating me. I never felt an expert in anything else than my allergies. All I had shared with him was based on my day by day experience accumulated, true, in many years of working out there, in the large confinements of the Canadian worko-sphere, how I like to call it. And apparently what was common sense for me, it was revelation for him.
On a second thought I realized that this is, after all, one of the advantages you get once you get older. You must have a few advantages too, beside the bunch of continuous annoyances coming from deteriorating health, lower physical strength, waning interest in the main stream excitement, and the list can continue in a highly personalized manner, of course. This is the advantage of seeing the simplicity in things and situations that are wrapped in a shred of made-up complexity and overpriced for those who can afford the least: the youth.
From that epiphany to this blog was only one step. Yeah, yeah, sure you’re tempted to use the overused clichés and say it (just say it, I want to hear it one more time!): “One small step for a man, a big step for blah-blah-blah…” This final twist is a sure sign that this blog is not going to be a totally serious and totally dry thing, like all those stiff books and academic articles covering the topics of job market dynamics, interviewing process, change management, structure of workplace, etc. Books and articles written by folks who seem to not have spent a single day in a real workplace. Authors who are fresh from school and try to convert their final year thesis into a successful blockbuster. No, this blog is going to be a collection of funny dissertations about nothing in special, about everything in general. That’s why I named it “a-blog nothing” using a homonym I found appealing, and then I restricted his area of ideological roaming to the "little workplace" which is exactly the space that most of us spend their lives in.
This blog is going to be more like an invitation to free up their frustrations, their revelations, their success stories sent to those who will have nothing better to do with their time than to read it. But regardless of who’s going to read it, comment it, or simply ignore it, this is my gift to my two boys and my two niblings. I do not have a fat financial cat to bestow on you, guys, I do not have fame to capitalize your lives on, I haven't even been a great role model to inspire and energize through his mere presence. All I have are a bunch of life-time experiences from the workplace, that I'm willing to share with you. Hoping that someday, somehow could be of help to someone, who knows... And because there is a slim chance that this could become reality, I need to record them somewhere. On this blog. This “a-blog nothing”…blog.
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