Job Satisfaction

I've been thinking lately that job satisfaction us something I rarely experience. Most days I'm happy to still have a job in this economy, but that's as far as that goes. But once in a while something happens that is almost as satisfying as watching the asshole who just passed you on the right get stopped and ticketed.

I'm told that I should be satisfied on a number of levels because at least I have a job. At least the checks they send me get cashed. And on those basic levels I am happy. I can pay my bills and order Chinese food once in a while. But when did it become OK to be simply "satisfied" with the jobs we hold. When did mediocre become acceptable?

I've been looking for another job for quite some time now because though I like the sort of work I do, I am increasingly unhappy with how I'm expected to do it. I see friends and long-time co-workers get laid off and those of us who remain are supposed to just happily pic kip the slack. We're expected to do more with less and in less time. So, really, our corporate masters are the ones who set the bar low for us. They expect mediocre work for mediocre pay.

But the problem with looking for a job right now is that there is such glut of out-of-work college grads. My experience and salary range have made me unhirable. These younglings are so starved for work that they'll take anything for almost any salary. Why hire me when someone can hire three 20-something's for the same amount of money?

As dissatisfied as I am, I know that I'm good at what I do. Dare I say that there are even days when I kick ass? I doubt I could ever teach anyone to edit effectively. I don't understand how I do what I do half the time, but I just know when something is right. And this past year I worked on a project in which I came, I saw, and I kicked ass. My accomplishments won't get me a promotion or a raise. They might not even mean anything when layoffs come around again. But I'm happy knowing I can do my job blindfolded and in half the time it takes most of my co-workers. 

AND I get to work home.

What My Evil Twin Was Thinking

It wasn't the hooker-tight skirt or the tube top, both three sizes too small for you that I noticed first. Nor was it the recent post-pregnancy belly that hung like a fifth appendage that neither article of clothing could hide. And it wasn't the ankle-high Uggs you were wearing on this 80+ degree, humid day.

Nope, the first thing I noticed about your classy self as you were standing at the bus stop was the big wad of chew you spit into the street as I drove by.

Trash isn't limited to trailer parks in rural areas. We have them right here, too, in the over-populated Northeast. You find them everywhere, but you see them mostly in Wal*Mart and local convenience stores.

I wonder what you thought as you dressed yourself this morning. I bet you thought you looked good. Do you have anyone to tell you otherwise? What were you up to? Where were you going as you waited for the bus? You know what? I really don't care.  You simply offered me comic relief as I drove to my destination, with you mismatched ensemble clearly designed to titillate and draw attention.

You gave my mean, little mind something to distract me from the constant barrage of crap I have to deal with on a daily basis.