January 9, 2002
Grudgingly Giving Credit
My Job Actually Did Something for Me: The Horror!

Happy New Year everyone, all of you possibly imaginary readers out there. If some of you came to my apartment last week, camped out under my window, and called me names all night long, then I guess you exist. If you didn’t...uh, maybe I was just imagining it. Enough of my fruitless soul-search, though, and let’s get back to the topic of this column, which is all the crap I have to do on a daily or weekly basis just to keep you jackals entertained. This time around, I’m going to mention one of the biggest, most horrifying time-suckers in my life - in all our lives, I’m sure - that I usually don’t talk about much in this space. I don’t know why. I am referring, of course, to my job.

Ah, the Day Job. I recall that day almost eight years ago when I landed this job; I was actually excited about it! Of course, I was out of college, money gone, and getting the stinkeye from dear old Mom, who was eyeing my old room for a Tea Room or something. Getting what was at the time a dreadfully low-paying job in New York City was a wondrous thing. It was more money than I’d ever had before, and I embarked on a period of reckless spending the like of which had never been seen! Plus of course I felt important, putting on my Big Boy clothes every day and straphanging with real, actual adults. This period of euphoria lasted about two months, until the curious juxtaposition of my first “Jeff, we’ve got to talk about your attitude and wardrobe” lecture from my boss and the arrival of my first credit card bill (brought via moving truck directly from the printing plant).

Since those early days, I have managed to carve out a fine Happy Place at my job, where I spend as little time as possible doing the job and the most time working on my little vanity rag and web site. Still, despite my best efforts the Day Job remains a huge waste of time, necessary, but deadly dull. I have come to regard it as the number one reason I get little done in my life, as a rock around my neck that prevents me from doing as much as I could be doing if only I were rich, spoiled, and corrupted by power.

Then, last year, something astonishing happened: I learned something directly because of my job.

The thing I learned is unimportant and dull: basic computer programming. Actually, sub-basic programming: Microsoft Visual Basic, to be exact. And when I say ‘learned’ I don’t mean that I am an expert, or even particularly knowledgeable. It isn’t my level of ability that amazes me, it’s that a) I learned it at all, and b) I learned it because of my job. For the first time in my life I can point to my job and say, I wouldn’t know how to do this if it weren’t for my employment.

It’s actually kind of chilling, because I always imagine my jobless existence, whenever I achieve it, as a paradise of learning, reading, writing, and drinking cheap, home-made beers. To suddenly realize that if I’d achieved this paradise two years ago, I would never have learned this new skill, is depressing. Of course, I could argue that if I wasn’t busy learning how to make boxes pop up on my coworkers’ screens I might have been learning a lot of other things, but part of me now realizes, with dumb horror, that this assumption may not be true, because having a project to do at work gave me a motivation I wouldn’t have in my At-Home Paradise.

You see, the At-Home Paradise has many wonders and advantages in my mind, but the plain fact is that I am a lazy motherfucker who almost always chooses lying around on the couch fondling the remote over actual work. This is a hard truth to admit about myself, because my life is dribbling away at a fantastic rate, and every moment spent replaying nude scenes on DVDs in slow motion is wasted time, which I abhor, yet cherish. In the At-Home Paradise, I’d lack the motivation to sit down and push myself to learn something like VB programming, simply because there wouldn’t be a practical, necessary project to accomplish. I’d probably get as far as satisfying my curiosity about making empty windows pop up on my machine and then forget about it. The At-Home Paradise would be great for employing skills and hobbies I already have, but it might not be so great for forcing myself to learn new things.

This flies in the face of years of assumption on my part - very depressing. One fact still remains unquestioned, though, and gives me heart: I will get three times as much writing in the At-Home Paradise, and thus it remains my number one goal. Donations toward this goal are happily accepted. Someday I will be able to put all of my efforts and resources towards writing stuff more interesting than this pathetic essay, and I just have to accept the fact that there will be some trade-off in the At-Home Paradise, and that maybe there is something to be said for having a challenge forced upon you, like at a job.

This also makes me realize that if I’m going to concentrate on writing, I might have to sacrifice all these other interests. If my written work is my only shot at real relevance, then maybe I ought to stop wasting my time on this other bullshit and just work at it, you know? So my job gives me an excuse to look into other stuff, because its my job. Without that excuse I’d probably have to just buckle down and write. Which, depending on whether you’re reading this and nodding thoughtfully or reading this and shaking your head in pissed-off derision, is either a good thing or a bad thing.

Either way, a new column in a few. Until then, drop your ramblings here.