So Professional (An Excerpt From A Secret Book...)
“This chapter actually should have been titled So Professional. The italics would have indicated the sarcasm right off the bat, and you would have known that what you are about to read might be the most unprofessional chapter in this whole book. But there were no italics – which I guess, when you think about it, is a little unprofessional. But guess what? That’s exactly what I was going for, so gfy for thinking your sooooooo smart. You know what also? I know I just spelled “you’re” wrong in the previous sentence. I was just fucking with you because you’re probably the kind of jerk that like to call people out on that sort of thing in everyday conversation. JK, JK, JK, so am I. But this is my book, and I do what I want. If there’s a lesson to be learned from this paragraph, it’s to stop thinking you’re smarter than this book. Back to business. Actual business. The kind of business you go to for 30 – 40 years of your life in order to make money, and then die. You know that business? You in da Murda bizne$$.
I used to wake up with work boners. You know, work boners – the ones you wake up with in the morning. They look like this:
Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Not everyone gets work boner anyways. Actually, most people don’t and are afraid to talk about their P.D. because they’re too embarrassed or afraid to deal with the actual issue. The issue is that no one actually likes work. Period. Work is terrible. I’ve created a pyramid chart to visually represent how Corporate America works:
PROFESSIONAL PYRAMID OF HAPPINESS
As you can see, most people are flat out miserable at their jobs. Of course they are. Corporate life is like religion. There’s an almighty leader that everyone tip-toes around for fear of being damned and demoted. You gather in groups that no one is actually paying attention at and often have to recite keywords at keynotes, until they lose their meaning to you and everyone else. If you recite them well enough, you could be promoted to your almighty leader’s right hand and then take the fall for him when shit gets real. Most of all, it’s really great if you believe in it, but most of us just show up to make our parents happy.
So, I have a mid-chapter confession. (I figure a confession is appropriate as we’re on the subject on religion. I originally started to write this book because I thought that if I wrote it, I could (like a boss) slam the book down on my boss’ desk sort of like a 100+ page resignation letter and bounce out of there to travel the world like a gypsy. I’ve since discovered that this is still the reason why I’m writing this book, but I’m not sure where the aggressive book slamming comes from – my bosses are actually very supportive of me and my dreams, so I’ll probably just place a signed copy on their desk and then wait another three years to resign. That’s a dead set lie – if I stay for another three years, someone should put me down. Just take me to the pound and put me to rest peacefully.
On the professional pyramid of happiness, I’m not in the solid zone of pure joy, nor am I in the wacky speckled squiggly zone of borderline murderous tendencies. I’m in the prison bar zone of purgatory. This is actually a fortunate place to be despite the lack of personal fulfillment. It means I like my day job but I recognize it for what it is. It’s something I do, but don’t live and breathe. It’s just a place I go to do some stuff at while I figure out, in true twenty-something style, what it actually is that I live and breathe for; it’s where I go to wait for the train home…”