I’m just saying…

WARNING: RANT AHEAD! (Don’t worry, it has a webcomic-related point)

(Edit: Looking over this again, I realize this can easily be taken to heart by people and give them offense. I assure everyone that is not the goal. This is a personal piece, and an emotion based one. I’m keeping it as is because I think it captures an almost beautiful resentment. So, despite the scathing nature, no harm is intended. Truth is, I’m not even that resentful. But damn do I like the way this piece sounds. And I’m worrying too damned much about offending people with this. So, I’m taking a chance. Please enjoy.)

Having a job sucks. You go to this place, all out of your way, for hours on end, only to be tired, bored and bored and tired. Your co-workers are jackasses and your superiors doubly so. And the hourly wage does not match the pain you went through to get it. Now, I know I don’t have the toughest job in the world. I’m only part-time nights at Macy’s in Housewares. I’m not a coal miner. I’m not a judge. I’m not a fireman. My job is pretty low stress and low effort. Hell, I’ve only been at it for a few days so far. It is not hell on earth.

But oh, it is ever so lame.

First I was put through the god-awful CD-ROM instructional exercises. The first one was on “Diversity.” And by “Diversity,” they mean being the most politically correct, polite, sensitive person beyond the scope of human comprehension. My favorite line was this:

“Diversity means knowing the differences between us all, but most importantly, the things we have in common.”

I’m sorry? You’re saying diversity is about finding stuff in common with each other? That’s like saying “Fasting is about eating a big, hearty meal.”

I hate this wanton PC bullshit. I really do. It’s so very much beating around the bush. I wish sometimes they could instead of having a program on “Recognizing Diversity,” they’d just have a big sign on the wall that says “Don’t be a bigoted fuck.” To me, that gets the job done better. Or it would, in my perfect vision of the world.

The second CD-ROM craptacular display was on safety in the workplace. And I’ll admit that I did learn a lot of stuff I didn’t know. But please, is there any way they can make these things less boring? Please? Film Majors: One of us should be the pioneer of quality training videos. The one who makes “Sexual Harassment and You” win an Oscar for Best Cinematography. I’d do it.

So then they decided to stick me on the selling floor, fish out of water, because they’re shorthanded for the day. And I oblige. I mean hey, it’s my job isn’t it? This is where I mention the relevance of the dress code and how it pertains to folding towels. The store manager has decided that they’re going to be the only Macy’s with a Black Dress Code. That’s right, Black suit. And for the ladies, a black dress, suit, or whatever other billions of fashion styles that women have and men don’t. So they have this Black Dress code. And what do they do with me first?

Towels. They have me folding, sorting, and restocking towels. Fresh towels. The task of towel management is not that unpleasant, really. The one personable co-worker I had showed me the ropes, and I began folding like I was genetically engineered to do so. But after an hour of that, I looked like I just got back from being in a mosh pit at a concert for a Yeti Swedish death metal band. Furiously, I rub my suit jacket, desperate to un-lint myself. Failing, I scour the Housewares department for tape. Of some sort. Eventually, adhesive relief was obtained, and I managed to get all that shit off.

So, to recap: Black Dress Code in a department store that’s filled 80% with items that shed. Not terrible. Just really, really lame.

Lunch break. Sweet, blissful, uneventful lunch break. Then it’s time to report for Register Training.

Rather than be taught by a human being, through example how to work a register, I was given a “Multimedia Educational Experience.” A dummy register, with dummy receipts, dummy credit cards, dummy checks, dummy traveler’s checks, dummy gift registry, and dummy coupons. The training lasted for four hours. Four hours on a fucking computer, with only one topic of discussion. How to serve your customers, and push the Macy’s Charge Card. But… I concede that the session was necessary, as I in fact barely passed the course. My own ineptitude aside, I don’t understand how the expected me to focus that long.

Oh yeah… it’s my job.

So, now that I’ve finally gotten my first taste of wage-slavedom, I have one thing to say to each and every webcartoonist who gets to do their craft for a living. And I’m speaking to no one in particular here; this is a general guideline that I feel they should all adhere to if they don’t already.

You’re drawing webcomics for a living. You guys get to do what you love for an income. You are extremely fucking lucky. You’ve done everything right to get to where you are. So you better treat it like each and every one of us is your supervisor. Because we hand you your paycheck.

So Piro, there is no fucking excuse you have for not having a cast page. Not a goddamned one.

Ok, maybe there I was getting specific. I’ve got a point to make and I’m making it.

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 4th, 2005 at 10:59 pm and is filed under Webcomics, My Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.