Friday, July 28, 2006

Middle of Nowhere Calling

So mom sends me a job posting today, for a pharmaceutical company. The job is about 40 miles from where my parents and brother live--meaning it's way the hell out in the middle of nowhere, meaning I could live in the middle of nowhere or have a hellish commute by car every day from a very small city. I'd have to buy a car either way, because there ain't no public transportation in that part of the world. And I'd have to move, which would be a few grand, too.

I'm trying to see how this would be a good idea, especially since it's a job I'd hate (it would be similar to my previous position, and I've told my mother I'd rather slit my wrists than do that job any more). It would be moving away from all my friends and support networks (which my mother cannot seem to recognize, because they're not in the form of Husband and Children), moving from a large, active city to a small town, and incurring a bunch more debt (car payments) for an item I don't really want to own anyway. And I doubt it pays very much, though, because it's in marketing, it might.

The whole thing just depresses me, if you want to know. I realize that the situation is pretty much outside my mother's ability to comprehend, which makes it both more and less difficult. I'll just hope she doesn't mention it and fake my way through it if she does.

In other news, no pizza this week--because Brad has decided to roast a couple of chickens tomorrow, with lemon and garlic and rosemary. I don't know why, exactly, except that I think he was kind of inspired by my pizza escapades. It's interesting to see how the kitchen operates and to try to figure out how I'm influencing the dynamic (though I don't know that we can really figure that out).

5 Comments:

Blogger Larry Jones said...

When you do things at work like make pizza in the pastry ovens, when you feel comfortable enough with the place and the people to do something kooky like that, and something that sort of bonds you or expresses a bond with your coworkers, it feels great, to me, anyway. Magical and slightly dizzying.

In the eighties, I worked at a big music store. I was the assistant manager at first - no big deal, but I had the keys to the store, which was staffed mainly by - you guessed it - musicians. One night after closing I locked the doors and we didn't leave. We had about a million dollars worth of the best instruments in the world, and we set up and jammed for a couple of hours. It was exhilarating, and we ended up doing it weekly. We knew each other as business people, but those jams made us brothers, and the dynamic among us was completely changed for the better as a result of this behavior, which was later banned by the company when it went public.

The modern employer talks a lot of jive these days about being part of the team, people are our most valuable asset, do what you love, love what you do, empowerment, blah, blah, blah, but only the most constipated kind of fun is actually allowed, because, yeah, that talk is all jive.

1:28 AM  
Blogger Emma Goldman said...

And THAT is exactly why I tend to prefer small places. The owner gets to decide--Emma wants to make pizza? Larry wants to jam? Have at it. the weird thing about your situation is that it didn't cost them any money, AND it would make the employees better able to sell the equipment, given that they had actually used it. And my understanding is that instruments "want" to be played, rather than left to languish.

5:32 AM  
Blogger That Brazen Tart said...

Amen, sister. Although my corporate gig pays well, I miss the camaraderie of a small restaurant and actually being encouraged to - gasp! - taste the food we serve. I miss baking giant chocolate chip cookies to go with the kitchen staff's post-shift restaurant-funded beers on Saturday nights.

Apropos nothing, I finally purchased one of Emma's fabled croissants (almond) at the Farmers' Market this morning. $3 for pastry is a bit outside what I considerable reasonable...and then I ate it and all doubt disappeared. You've got a way with laminated dough, baby.

10:51 AM  
Blogger Emma Goldman said...

[blush] thank you! I'm glad you liked it!

4:27 PM  
Blogger landismom said...

Yeah, my dh is about to be unemployed, and his mother keeps suggesting that he goes to law school. Which a) he would hate, b) who would pay for it? and c) what would we do for money for that three years. Sometimes, it can be truly astonishing how well your own family doesn't know you.

6:47 PM  

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