My Job Is Murdering Me

     In an industrial society which confuses work and productivity, the necessity of producing has always been an enemy of the desire to create. ‘ What spark of humanity, of possible creativity, can remain alive in a being dragged out of sleep at six every morning, jolted about in suburban trains, deafened by the racket of machinery, bleached and steamed by meaningless sounds and gestures, spun dry by statistical controls, and tossed out at the end of the day into the entrance halls of railway stations, those cathedrals of departure for the hell of weekdays and the nugatory paradise of weekends, where the crowd communes in brutish weariness? From adolescence to retirement each twenty four hour cycle repeats the same shattering bombardment, like bullets hitting a window: mechanical repetition, time-which-is-money, submission to bosses, boredom, exhaustion. From the crushing of youth’s energy to the gaping wound of old age, life cracks in every direction under the blows of forced labor ….’ “

- Raoul Vaneigem -

     Wanna know my happiest time in life? 1996. I was working and living in Pennsylvania and my lease was about to be up. I didn’t know what my next move would be but I knew that I didn’t want to stay there. I had called my mom and let her know that I was thinking of coming out to L.A. to stay with her till I could find a job. I was all set to move to LaLa land when one day, as I was walking through the university field house, I saw a flier that said “ALASKA”. I heard something about jobs there before but never had much of a reason to pay attention. But now I was intrigued. I took one of the listings. It had several numbers on it for companies in Seattle hiring for “B Season” (cod fishing during the summer/early fall). When I called later that day the young lady who answered my questions told me that they were hiring but they did not do so over the phone; I would need to come and interview in person. So, with my last $300 I bought a $90 one way bus ticket to a place where I didn’t know anyone, I had never been, had no place to stay and no guarantee of a job. To this day I can’t tell you why I did it. I thought at the time I would save some money and go back to school. But I know now that that could not have been the real reason (I had had enough of school and sitting in class rooms). I was looking for “something”, feeling on some level that if I didn’t find “it” I never would.

      After staying with some friends for what were my last few days living in the Pittsburgh area, I got on a Greyhound headed West to what would be the greatest sense of freedom, accomplishment and joy I had ever experienced. All I took with me was a large bag of clothes (the lady at the seafood company I called said that there might not be a lot of room for storing personal items) a back pack full of tapes and, of course, my Walkman (anyone who didn’t know my name then who wanted to describe me would almost invariably say, “that kid with the Walkman”). To that point I had been privileged enough to make no fewer than five cross continental road trips. But this time I was on my own. How many people thought I was crazy I cannot count. But what is “crazy” anyway? Deciding to play your part in a production just because everyone else has memorized their lines so well ?

     I rationed what little money I had carefully, eating just one good meal a day and snacking on chips and soda the rest of the time. But I never wanted for a single thing. I was too excited to be hungry. And I never worried. I was just so focused on getting to Seattle and making it to Alaska that a complete “knowing” that it would happen created a strong hold around my thinking (a little prayer and faith never hurt either). I also met along the way some real cool people, drifting this way or that way for whatever reason,  who proved to be a great encouragement, including a nice girl from Germany who kept me laughing loud enough to wake half the bus just outside Star, Montana (or somewhere in Montana)…

     There’s a point when you know you have reached the Northwest. The air, yes, does smell different, cleaner, pure. The clouds seem to hover close enough to grab. And even on the greyest day the green of the landscape shines with it’s own self sustaining brightness (the mountains are a dead give away too) …. The first time I laid eyes on Seattle I couldn’t wait to get off the bus and walk around. The bridge we came into the city on seemed to float just a few feet off the water and, for some reason, I remember the sensation of feeling that the bridge was moving under us, like a kid running the wrong way on an escalator.

     When we got to the bus terminal I put my bag in one of the lockers and went looking for a telephone. I knew that there were “hostels” in Seattle but didn’t have a real good sense of what one was; I just knew I could stay there cheap. The first place I called was the Green Tortoise. Of all the time I was in Seattle and Alaska the only time I felt anything approaching fear was when I found out the Green Tortoise was not a cheap hostel but more like a hotel with hotel rates. At those prices I wouldn’t last more than 2 or 3 nights. What if all these “hostels” were like this one? I’m screwed. The next number I called was for American Youth Hostel. Success. $19 a night. I walked to 1st Ave and secured my room (actually a bed in a room with a couple from, I think, Vermont). For a reason that escapes me I left my bag at the bus station and had to go back for it (I think I was thinking that if I didn’t get a room at the hostel I didn’t want to be walking around town with my bag as I looked for a place to stay).

     After I got settled in I decided to go out and see the city. It was about 8pm and it had been raining earlier that day ; everything was new. It’s chilly. I go down to the pier and call my friend Grace who I hadn’t talked to in a long time. She had no idea I had left for Seattle. But when I told her she didn’t say anything but , “cool, I wish I was there”. I still love her for that. I felt like she was there with me. Like she could see Puget Sound and Mount Rainer with my own eyes. Of all my memories of that first night my fondest is sharing that moment with her (thanks, Grace). After a couple hours of walking and taking pictures I start to head back to the Hostel when I hear the sound of music coming from a restaurant nearby. I peek shyly into the front door and the waitress, with a big smile, waves me in. I just stood there for 20 or 30 minutes taking in some live, improv jazz. A perfect first day…..

     I often wonder what happened to the kid who got on that bus with such daring and how he came to now stare into a computer screen eight hours a day for a “living” ? I think I had (and still do) a rebels spirit but not a rebels intellect at the time. My passion had no intellectual form, so I had no real defense from the previous 20+ years of solid indoctrination. I still wanted to make lots of money. Have lots of things. Get shiny new credit cards (what sort of sick philosophy informs us that a license to incur debt is somehow a good thing to want?) and a shiny new car. And I certainly never questioned the slavery that is a mortgage, or the hiring out of my time at an hourly wage in order to finance these goodies of the spectacle. I can see that clearly now….

      I sit on my butt for eight hours a day. I’ve started to feel numbness in my extremities which I’m convinced is connected with poor circulation from the constant sitting (the headset and mic strapped onto my skull might tend to hinder blood flow as well). It could also be due to the fact that I don’t drink a lot of water during the day. If I drink water I might have to use the bathroom and I would not want to go beyond the already too generous 10 minutes a day (outside of my lunch hour) allotted by the company for such things. There is a girl at work whose vocal cords are so strained from talking to 100+ people a day that her doctor says that she is in danger of permanently damaging her ability to speak normally. She, after providing a note from her physician attesting to this fact, has graciously been allowed to only answer calls for 4hrs a day; ahhh, sweet justice.

     But I have learned several things over the years. I’ve learned that the key to well being is not things; it is not the satisfying of appetite. The greatest lie told to us is that because primitive man strived for food and shelter in order to achieve a sense of security and happiness that that means ten shelters or ten times as much food will make modern man ten times as happy. That’s the lie that gets us all. That’s the lie that wakes us up in the morning and that’s the lie that sings us to sleep at night.  But the question is: are we happy? Are we happy driving to work in tin cans while breathing in toxins produced by the other tin cans around us? Are we happy having the fear of starvation hung over us as an incentive to work (isn’t that what the threat of firing is)? And are we happy getting back into our tin cans, alone, speeding down the highway with the other ants in a rush to get home, sleep and start it all over again? Are we happy being machines plugged into other machines for the benefit of others (actually, when you think of the process, we’re more like appendages to THE machine)? Are we living, or just existing ? ….

     Forgive me for the babble… just some random thoughts. But I hope to get on that bus again, headed to wherever. And this time I’m not getting off.