Work is a 4-letter word.

all quotes Bukowski

How in the world is there no video for Work is a Four-Letter Word?

“The nine-to-five is one of the greatest atrocities sprung upon mankind. You give your life away to a function that doesn’t interest you. This situation so repelled me that I was driven to drink, starvation, and mad females, simply as an alternative.”

My job is making me crazy. Not crazed. Mentally ill. Day after day, 8.5-9.5 straight hours of either mind-crushing boredom or anger, frustration, anxiety and ire.

 1. Are they emailing the information?

 No, here it is.

 This is a print out of an email.

 2. Is this cost with a photo?

 No, because you did not indicate either with the big box asking PHOTO YES/NO or verbally that there was one.

 3. Can you print this out for this gentleman?

 Uh, OK (because you don’t have a computer and a printer?). Here you go.

 You need to mail it, too. Because otherwise I will have to mail it.

 Because you don’t have YOUR OWN GD SECRETARY or the capacity to fold a piece of paper, put it into an envelope and leave it on a pile of other stuff.

 Why yes, please give me shit for not answering a phone call when my mouth is clearly full of food (I don’t get a lunch break).

 And that’s just one day.

 Daily topics of conversation I try to stay out of:

gossip about whoever isn’t here

talk incessantly about your teenage daughter’s sex life

complain about your job

complain about how your family is preventing you from lunch with your husband who already called five times this morning (if you are going to whine every day about how having to come into work and DO YOUR JOB is preventing you from other things then FUCKINg QuIT.)

complain some more about your job

gossip and complain some more about co-workers who aren’t here

Day. After Day. After Day.  And it has broken me down. I am worn out. I despise opening my eyes in the morning. I cringe when I step through the door. I try to breathe deep and not let other people’s drama affect me but I sit in a little room with it day. After day. After day.  I hate people. I go home emotionally exhausted (and in physical pain from sitting at a desk) and mentally frazzled. And that’s on days when someone isn’t sobbing and wailing for an hour outside my office and I manage to not think about how I’m compiling people’s entire existence into a paragraph or two.

“There’s nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don’t live up until their death. They don’t honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can’t hear it. Most people’s deaths are a sham. There’s nothing left to die.”

If there is a job quiz for clinically depressed people poisoned by non-stop ennui and existential crises, anything in the funeral business should be left off it.  It’s starting to seriously, seriously affect other areas of my life and I don’t know what to do. I’ve been commissioned for some projects, yay!! But I get home and I honestly can’t move off the couch. I AM WATCHING TWO HOURS OF TYLER PERRY PROGRAMMING IN A ROW. Something is very wrong with me. Quitting is simply not an option. Argh. Neither is the Xanax I tried.

“I could see the road ahead of me. I was poor and I was going to stay poor. But I didn’t particularly want money. I didn’t know what I wanted. Yes, I did. I wanted someplace to hide out, someplace where one didn’t have to do anything. The thought of being something didn’t only appall me, it sickened me . . . To do things, to be part of family picnics, Christmas, the 4th of July, Labor Day, Mother’s Day . . . was a man born just to endure those things and then die? I would rather be a dishwasher, return alone to a tiny room and drink myself to sleep.”

Ha ha ha, as I was posting that the phone rang (if any of you have been in charge of a 9-line phone system, you’ll know what it’s like to ANSWER IT ALL DAMN DAY. When there are four other people sitting around doing nothing who could pick up the GD phone). I had to go interrupt a meeting. Instead of picking up the line to talk to the person, I was sent back to the office to ask the caller a question. Then sent back to the room with the options. The room was now empty. So Picked up the line in there like a grown-up and got a snippy caller retort because of it and and and then I track down the people and give them the option they would have had in half a second, if they’d picked up the phone on their desk. Then I get to call snippy caller back with the information. That, again, would have been exchanged in less than five minutes if people around here would stop whining, grow up and do their jobs. To boot, this person only works three days a week (and by work I mean comes in a couple of hours late, takes 2 hour lunches and spends most of their time on their phone) while everybody else does her work and complains bitterly about having to do so.

My friend was all, “Oh, you’d be so bored if you didn’t have a job.” This is a sentiment I have NEVER in my LIFE understood. If I don’t have a job what do I have? Happiness. Freedom. Serenity. The two terms of unemployment I’ve experienced were bliss. To this day, some of the best times of my life.

“It was true that I didn’t have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?”

Anyways. I’ve been whinging to her for two days straight about the psychotic breakdown I’m in the middle of, and I’m tired of hearing myself talk.

“The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole god-damned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidates who reminded them most of themselves. I had no interests. I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn’t understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go.”


6 Responses to “Work is a 4-letter word.”

  1. Jet Says:

    It’s not much longer before you can go. The time can fly if you can focus outside of that box more so than the nonsense going on inside of it. Soon, when you are in a better place and all this has past, you can be sure that the next place will be so much better simply because this one is so awful right now.

    I wish I could do more than just type some words.

  2. N Says:

    sorry. absurd is infuriating and also amusing. Yesterday I had to say that I really like that at work the bathroom sinks automatic faucets put forth warm water. I had to say there was something at work I liked. They say life’s a banquet. Given such a capacity to appreciate it’s finer points, maybe we fast, but we will not starve.

    • J Says:

      Ha ha, our sinks don’t give warm water. I have to get hot water from the coffee machine to wash my lunch dishes. 😛

  3. Risky Says:

    I’m late.
    I’m sorry you’re having a bad day, and hope that was all it was.

    If I can help twist your perspective, I’ll try.
    Maybe it will just help unpollute your brain.
    Here in Nevada we have a 14% unemployment rate.

    Be happy when you look around at all the things your money buys you –
    A place to call home, the thrift shop treasures, fresh ingredients in the kitchen.
    Leave for work in the morning proud of your work and earning it.

    • J Says:

      Yay! It’s Risky! Oh, believe me Risky, I am VERY grateful for my job! It’s a huge thing that gets me through the day. I’m lucky to have a job (I was on unemployment for many months beforehand). I think about quitting all the time, but I know how hard it is to find one (much less one that pays someone with my shitty resume and lack of education well). I like being able to turn the heat on when it’s cold. I like not having to worry about having the power cut off for weeks at a time. I like going to Burning Man! I have perspective. I just don’t always include it when I’m whinging. 😉

      • Risky Says:

        Perspective –
        Spring is almost here and the damn sun is too bright.
        It’s so warm that the damn wasps have come out of hibernation.
        My beer is too cold.
        Sex is too fun.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: