A job is a job is a job.
At the end of the day, you know you need it to pay the bills.
Growing up, my parents never talked about being happy or fulfilled at their job. They only worked to feed us, to have a roof over our head, to have a car to drive us around. When I got to high school, there started to be guest speakers who talked about being happy at a job.
Find a job that you love passionately and you’ll be happy.
So over time, my idea of a job became an identity because it was the source of my happiness—or should be. You go out in the world and introduce yourself by your job title. I’m “So and so. I do design.” You take pride and joy in the content you produce. You love the race to the top. You dream of getting to the top.
Time and time again, various jobs promised you that elusive fruit. “If you stay, you’ll get that director position.” “If you come to us, we’ll groom you to be a director.”
So, it was with disappointment and anger and resentment that the role was given to an outsider. Worst, you know that he got the job because he played the game, he is cocky and arrogant, he is friends with the head of the company.
You know the saying, the straw that broke the camel’s back.
I had my doubts about the company when I first started. There were so many writings on the wall but I couldn’t stand being at my previous job, which is a whole other story, that I just took anything.
I’ve never worked at a company where a someone is half strip-teasing for a coworker’s birthday. The words “show me yours and I’ll show you mine” is used at a team meeting. Additional phrases include, “ride her like Seabiscuit” and “get deep down into her throat”, “you’re an old hag” (despite the fact, the person being addressed this is only 27 years old), and “you can’t have lunch with [insert person’s name]” (isn’t lunch break supposed to be a break from work and whoever you have lunch with is no one’s business?).
I assure you, I am not working in the porn industry.
Where is human resource in all this?
Well, there’s a sort of HR that deals with insurance and stuff. But it’s a small enough company that you can discuss problems with your executive. The problem is, it doesn’t become an anonymous topic and you learn to hold stuff back.
You don’t play the game of stroking egos and praising children. You don’t play the game by going out and getting wasted or being glamorous or be part of the “in” crowd. You just play it safe. You follow the rules. You do your work. You work off of best practices. You don’t break the rules when there are no rules. You have to set up the rules. And you become the Miss-Know-It-All-Follow-The-Rules-Boring-Kind-of-Girl.
You become that lukewarm girlfriend that a man dates out of habit. There’s no spontaneity. There’s no surprise. There’s no delight. So when a better girlfriend comes along—hotter, more glamorous, talk the talk, walk the walk—you are quickly replaced, shelved and set aside. Out of habit and respect, they ask for your inputs, playing tip toes around you.
The promise of happiness with doing a career you’re passionate about never talks about the ugly side, the executives and head of the company playing games. Company politics, company mission, and company vision clash with your own and even though you love what you do, you don’t love where you do it.
And that’s when you know it’s time to leave. And probably change profession.