A Menace
One freezing cold winter’s day in Toronto during a total lockdown due to Covid-19, I dragged myself to the computer for a routine meeting. I struggled to sit at my workstation, let alone look at my computer. A mindless mini-cafe game sat open on my phone as I half-listened to my colleagues. None of their words were of any consequence, neither did this pointless project need so many watchers. My supervisor spoke up and I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. He usually went out of his way to make me look terrible in front of others.
“Maylene, how long will it take to build the interface?” he asked me.
I shouldn’t have agreed to build the interface in the first place, since I was no longer a software developer. I clarified “Do you mean after it’s gone through revisions and after accounting for wait time in talking to the original developers?”
“Yes” he replied, followed by a little scoff. Don’t ask questions if you don’t want to look stupid.
“A month” I told him. I already had the timeline planned out, knowing I can finish in one week and the revisions would be endless.
“Can you finish in two weeks?” he asked. This was only going to solidify the blame on me when delays out of my control will invariably extend the deadline. Nothing in this chatty, slow moving gets done in two weeks.
“No” I replied. I knew in the back of my mind that I was supposed to invent some corporate language to politely say no, but this would take a half day of emailing back and forth, involving the director. I simply felt this was the worst application of my time on earth.
A minute of silence ensued. Not a single person knew how to respond to a new joiner that didn’t kiss ass.
Unsurprisingly I was given a PIP citing a “rude attitude” as a category of improvement. Knowing that subjective categories are difficult to break down, I only further lost faith in the idea of an “organization” and the depersonalization of process.
In a word, I was a menace.
The idea only made me smile. I could either choose to live a real life, or I could sit behind the computer bullying colleagues the same age as my kids. I could either be challenged, or continue to repetitively build spreadsheets meant to be glanced at.
I had already begun a journey into spirituality, because my existence didn’t make any sense to me as a hardcore atheist. I repetitively saw flash-forwards of my life and my youth replaced by age and complacency, I saw myself parking in the same spot with the same car. I saw that a kleine freude, buying a nice pair of shoes or eating a healthier salad, pales in comparison to the reality that nobody would see me.
We didn’t walk to work downtown, glancing at cute boys and eating lunch at fashionable places. When lockdown finishes, we would drive in gridlock to enter a gray building in a gray suburb. Hidden away like we were a factory for food, but we were humans. We were like ants in a nest underground.
I was happy to be a menace if it meant I didn’t belong with people I didn’t like anyways. Being a menace, failing to accommodate, failing to compromise, was a compliment.
Ultimately, a menace is a reject of society: but so are most artists! Singers, comedians, actors, fashion designers, all fail to be “normal”. I see movies and art and realize these are the people who didn’t let the world wrestle them down, handcuffing them to the idea that they must earn their happiness.
Recently I had dinner at a table of strangers. I had already moved to Dubai, a total new start far away from naysayers. I made small talk with my neighbor, telling him I am an artist (wishful thinking) and telling him I have a degree in Engineering as well.
Unable to understand my approach to my life. He badgered me relentlessly about why I don’t just get a “good job” to make “good money” and just do art on the side? I answer these types of questions at least once a week.
There is no such thing as doing art on the side when you work in tech. My supervisor of assimilation in another old company of mine screamed at me over the phone when I refused to take an extra certification. The certification takes months to prepare and costs thousands of dollars out of pocket. There is no accommodation made for this sacrifice, you should happily spend your evenings studying.
I remember coming home from my job as a real estate agent, having been screamed at for hours. The expectations on me were nearly impossible: I had to make a site visit every day, for hours! I also had to make 300 calls. I also had to send a daily report. I also had to immediately stop what I was doing in order to listen to him admonish us for being utter failures, with an hours notice.
My boss repeatedly picked certain low performers out of the crowd and told them to walk out. I wondered why they didn’t just fire us, but I realized that we aren’t even paid a salary so there is nothing to lose in keeping us.
I would go home every day completely drained. I would be on the phone with friends in the industry for hours, asking them when things were supposed to get better. They would keep telling me that this is normal, that everybody goes through this, that I need to work even harder.
I would eventually break down crying nearly every day, as I physically could not work any harder. I had no income for months, I had depleted my savings, I was constantly ill.
I moved from my own apartment to living with roommates. I did everything I could possibly think of to survive. Just like with the other jobs I had, I became a menace.
One day it was all over. Once again, I smiled as I signed my documents releasing me from the company. I took a nap for a whole month — 16 hours a day — until I finally had the energy to stand up. Similary, after I left tech, I refused to look at a computer for 9 whole months.
As with Bernadette Fox in “Where did you go, Bernadette”, she was a menace without even realizing how far she had changed from who she used to be. She said, an artist who cannot create becomes a menace.
Now I am ready: ready to find my purpose in life.
