Filed under: Work Slog
How could it be any less pretty? I’m employed.
At the old place. Worked there for 11 years. In the office. That was almost 15 years ago.
I’ve now worked there 1½ days, Fridays being a half-day. Most common question, from the stalwarts who have been there ever since I left?
“Has the place changed much?”, followed closely by “You doin’ okay?”
Well no, it hasn’t changed much. Not in that ethereal thing we call work mojo, not a bit. Physically changed, oh hell yes. They now have CNC machines that do every thing shy of running a hand across a fine bit of woodwork to pronounce it sound. And the place is bigger. Like two new buildings bigger. With the resultant couple dozen of busybees to swarm therein.
Why they ask me if I’m doin’ okay is a sort of balancing act for me. They ask as if inquiring after my mental health. “Sure, ‘course I’m doing okay, thanks got everything I need, yup”. Safe, sane answers.
I’ll get a free week or so to re-learn stuff. To reorient my brain to building woodwork of a commercial nature instead of just installing it, as if it were any other building product. I miss the field work, the freedom, the very outlaw nature of that. But finish carpenters are common, and nobody’s hiring them in any event.
No one at all.
Best to be cheerful, and puckered for the inevitable derrieres that will wander by. Where previously in this place, I had the derriere. I was the one to be feared or respected. Not quite the same, you can imagine.
Stories will abound. This place has never lacked a wellspring of drama, and smarmy woodbutcher goodness. Stay tuned.
