I've bigger fish to fry

I've weakened to the point of despair over the minefield it has become. It came to me last week when I was standing yet again in one more reception of one more company waiting for one more interview. Those utterly joyous looks of integrated multi faceted families of interfaith, interracial, infernally happy couples in their mid thirties with air brushed hair, non-existent pores and 2 snot free, perfectly behaved children, one of whom is conveniently disabled but still Jon Bonnetish enough in appearance that you ignore the ever so inconspicuous wheelchair and for a fleeting moment believe in, nay, are comforted by, this reflection of an ever-changing world. I have succumbed on occasion and nearly convinced myself that the not so clever trickery of blase ad agency (in it's efforts to meet the all singing, all dancing demands of their government or charity client) portrays this tripe to the face of the public as a means of eluding to a positive and proactive message about all that ails society and/or our failing navigation through it. But for some reason my engagement with anything remotely that contrived was short-lived and I and my cynical self rapidly and inevitably resort to the ever "bubbling below the surface" contempt I have at the government et al's assumption that John Q Public is a mindless, pliable sub-urbanite, who if fed enough of this will in fact create a world of perpetuated confirmed non-conformity. I feel compelled, albeit slightly reticent to, voice an opinion.


Recently, as many of you know, I gave up a comfortable, albeit decently (and I use that term reluctantly) paid job. I was too comfortable with the daily discomfort it caused me, and resigned to being one of the many working professional, asset rich, yet cash poor slobs this country breeds by the thousands. Complacent with the unrelenting forced interaction with the head quarters for the truly incompetent, I found myself wondering if my work experience in the UK should be limited to: 1) my experience for six months with a group of occupational psychologists when I first arrived in the UK, (who in my own personal fantasy world were all committed to an insane asylum when I quit and tortured through unrelenting personality profiling) or 2) my three year experience with a not for profit organisation who blatantly operates more commercially then Coke ever could, and who wantonly did to it's employees the very opposite of what it preaches in its campaign of leadership and solidarity as the sole purpose of civil society through corporate social responsibility. In fact, oddly, my 2nd employer was not unlike my 1st employer, those psychotic psychologists who psychoanalysed themselves and their employees to death, so too has the purpose been beaten out of my leadership. A pattern emerges, I fear, and yes, of course, I will freely admit, I left because I realised I can be the only freak on my ship. All other freaks, get off or get your own.


But I digress. I gave four months notice to my employer back in October having come to the screeching personal realisation while on holiday and answering the third phone call from work about some inane issue, that I hate working for people who believe that because they pay you, they own you, and therefore have the almighty right to abuse you willy nilly. It never ceases to amaze me how some employers can muster up the balls to treat you like you are insignificant on one hand and at the same time leave you feeling like yours and their very existence is reliant upon your ability to mount the insurmountable workload they create. Uncannily, stinking like a means to justify their position, imposing upon us the shit one has to to do, half of which is utterly useless and unnecessary and without a doubt exists only to take up time and space in the capitalistic, wanton waste of most organisations these days regardless of what it is they do, or which public master they serve. But being the tireless, bloated, self righteous corporataphobe that I am, I thought I would seek to be more independent in the work that I do and set up my own company as a way of demonstrating to those very organisations that if one worked in partnership with others in a way that authentically seeks to reach the goals of an organisation without damaging those who work for it, or those that it serves, well then I was the person to help make that happen. So for months I spent time thinking and planning what this organisation would look like, how I would do it and what in fact I wished to accomplish by doing it. I thought of those I would ask to be part of my organisation as associates and started to nurture a few organisations who I was convinced would be good clients. However, like every self propelled prophecy, just when the cards got printed, and the letterhead designed, my first proposal written, my husband who is as fed up as I am and went freelance last year, got shafted by his client to the tune of £7000 right off the back of being shafted by his last contract for nearly £15000 and I am back resorting to looking for another job.

Now, before the violin strings break, I actually really don't mind. I am optimistic that the right thing is just around the corner and I will find where I am supposed to be next. It is the one thing that I always believe is karmic and cosmic. You are where you are in life because you are meant to be there. This from a card carrying atheist/freethinker I know, but it has just always, always surprised me how true it rings. Which is how I found myself in that reception for a regulating body for a particular group of service providers interviewing for a 18 month contract holding a brochure that portrayed to me the very epitome of political correctness I first starting ranting about at the beginning of this particular post. After sitting for two hours in this persons office listening to public speak and nonsensical justification for spending more public money on yet another restructuring (hence the need for a project manager) I politely shook her hand and walked out of her office thinking on one hand I need this poorly paying job that is 1 1/2 hours drive from home there and 1 1/2 hours back and on the other thinking I just waved my foot back over fire and was waiting to firmly have my ass plunked back down on the frying pan. I realise it's a numbers game, truly I do, and in order to get something one has to consistently be attempting anything that will make it work. The odds are stacked against all of us, and yet if played enough can work in our favour. It's the sheer contradiction that seems to make it all come together somehow, which is why I think it works.

It's a funny thing that. So this weekend, not only am I scrabbling and grasping at posts on all the job sites that I think I might be able to do, I've been following up on all the potential contractual opportunities that have been lurking under the surface of my discussions with people, I've also prepared a case for our lawyer to sue the clients from my husbands business who haven't paid him, (I'm North American and it is my given right to sue those who seek to screw me) I am also hoping that my business idea will get just the smallest leg up and this contract that I would like to do will miraculously get put under my nose. It is after all, a numbers game. For now at least my ranting about my quest for citizenship will have to wait. I've bigger fish to fry.