When my death comes I don’t imagine having a prolonged opportunity to reflect. That’s for bed time, the moments just before sleep, where the actions of your person are reviewed by your mind, adding another layer, creating you.
Years ago I was offered this job. Something I found easy and meant very little. Task — create visually appealing listings for a tv guide. Lines and lines of text. Edit the kerning. Justify the daytime tv schedule. I was hardly there while I worked my trial day. The thrill came from the opportunity. Ditch my former job, the long hours, the awful pay, the small town. Big city, big opportunity, hard work, more money, better.
The job offer came my way and I quit my current employer. All I was waiting to hear was my start date. I fretted about it with my girlfriend at the time. We stayed in. No call after a week. My no money became minus money. I called the guy.
“I called a few guys at your former office.”
“Yeah”
“They said you caused a bit of trouble.”
“You were part of the Union. You complained a lot.”
“Well yeah. You were there.” Once after hanging up his phone this guy announced to an office of young people, most of whom earned 18k gross a year, that he was set to get 20k tax back. He even clapped and rubbed his hands together.
“People were getting screwed over.” Many of the new employees worked until 2am at the weekend in order to meet deadlines. They remained on the base 18k salary and received zero benefits.
“Anyway the Union was useless.” The Union did little to help. I was nominated Shop Steward for the office but the former holder of the title, an elderly man who was not too concerned about the concerns of those who were at work until 2am, refused to recognise the nomination.
“Well you know you’ll have to work at your desk through lunch here.”
I hung up the phone. My girlfriend said “Great!”. We talked for a while. She told me to do whatever I feel best doing.
“Hi. After that Union thing you were on about I don’t want the job now.”
“Absolutely. It’s hard for me to do this but I don’t want to work for you.”
I had no job. I was shaking. I felt ill. I did not feel good. What had I done? This guy knows people. I just cut myself off. I’m broke. My girlfriend gave me a hug.
Now when I imagine that guy hanging up the phone after our conversation he says “Fuck” out loud to himself.
I was young and had nothing to lose, yet some perceived pressure made the right choice nauseating. The idea is scary.
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