Back in the 1970s, pop stars sang songs about of the tedium and anomie of factory work. Today the sons of laid-off autoworkers would trade anything for that security and steady wage.
Yeah, I used to chuckle about that during my days of reading political blogs, seeing so much aching nostalgia for the post-WWII decades of upward mobility. Hell, a lot of progressives would have settled for a recurrence of the mini-boom of McJobs created under Clinton. Remembering how the factory and cubicle have always been seen as symbols of conformity and soul-killing ennui, I just took it as further proof that people are never happy with what they have.
One of the companies I work for lost their contract in this area due to repeatedly disorganized clusterfuckery, effective tomorrow. I found out about it last week, when the head of the new company called me and said I was one of the two guys he wanted to keep on through the transition. Yes, that’s just how I roll; I make myself indispensable wherever I go. Anyway, the rest of my co-workers weren’t informed until today. Our now-former boss sent us all texts, telling us to catch up with him sometime today and bring all our equipment to replace it with “new stuff”. That’s a nice touch, don’t you think? Like George telling Lenny about the rabbits. “Hey, got all that expensive gadgetry with you? All right, cool, lemme just put that right here, certainly wouldn’t want anything to happen to that…and, here’s your replacement HAHA PSYCHE it’s actually a pink slip, thanks much, good luck in your job hunt.”
I’ve made my peace with the insecurity of it all. I just keep my eggs stored in a variety of baskets and live within my means.