Tales from the Cubicles; My Life as a Corporate Whore

I am a corporate whore, it’s true.

It was an accident, I swear. It just kind of happened by default. Nobody says, “When I grow up I want to be a middle-management lackey trapped in a fabric-lined den of despair.”

No child aspires to a corporate casual lifestyle filled with team-spirit and ass kissing. I certainly didn’t. I never dreamt of sitting in a cubicle hunched over a computer writing bullet points for upscale luggage, while mumbling profanities under my breath.

When I was younger, I believed anything was possible with a little talent and a lot of dedication. I believed that ultimately the nice guy would win, and the higher ground would be rewarded. I believed honesty to be the best policy. These are all admirable qualities, a way of life we should all aspire to, but it won’t get you a job, nor help you ascend the corporate ladder.

I’m not a fan of buzz words and I can’t laugh at a joke that isn’t funny, just because the President of the company said it. Mine is a company full of false pride and fake cheer. Full of people whose life is their job. A world full of happy hours and softball leagues.

I mean, for the love of god. They do skits.

SKITS.

40 year old women from the customer service department mimicking a game show to teach us about the importance of productivity. They spend a half-hour conveying the importance of using our time wisely; a half-hour that could be spent working towards my unrealistic deadlines. Skits were barely relevant when I was 8 years old and spending my summer being eaten alive by mosquitos at the YMCA summer camp.

I’m not really throwing out the whole “woe is me” routine, it’s not really a bad racket. I can bitch all day long about the annoyances of false corporate cheer, but…

I did just take a week-long vacation spent sitting on a beach in mexico drinking frozen drinks that would bring my masculinity into question stateside, all while collecting a salary. I do have the option of seeing a doctor if I’m sick, a dentist when I have a tooth-ache and someday, a shrink when I finally go nuts.

The work I do neither saves the world nor damns it. We make luggage I can’t afford to purchase. I write about the wonderful features and benefits of having a 22-inch wheeled upright with a removable suitor. There’s no heavy lifting involved, and no animals were harmed. Sure, the luggage is probably made by 12 year old chinese kids working 16 hour days in a sweat shop, but that’s really far away, and they can’t blog, so I have no proof.

I never set out to be a corporate whore, but the service industry really, really sucks. coffee.jpg

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5 Responses to “Tales from the Cubicles; My Life as a Corporate Whore”

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