Jobs To Nowhere: Your Questions Answered

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Seeing yourself discussed anywhere is a strange experience. That's certainly how I felt after scanning some of the Reddit links -- and reactions -- to my last post, "Jobs To Nowhere (Take I): The Post-College Comedown." The idea came from discussions that I had with The Squawker about how, and where, things went wrong for us, and what (if anything) we could have done to avoid getting burned so badly.

Or, as Hüsker Dü's Bob Mould aptly stated (on signing their major label deal with Warner Bros.): "To me, you think, 'Finally, we're changing things.' But you're being changed by things as much as you're changing things. It's a two-way street. I only know this years later. At the time you have no idea -- the tornado spins and if you can grab your shoes as they go by, you're doing well."

With that in mind, I'm simply describing how each particular job affected me, and how I'm looking back on it. This is a personal account, not a news story, so there's no equal time rule here. Don't look for me to ferret responses from any former bosses, because they wouldn't do it for me, if the roles were reversed. 

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Now, for the housekeeping bit, starting with this question from our friend, Top Hyena:

>I guess there will be more parts?<

Yes. I'm planning to write about three more jobs. I suspect that means three more posts -- maybe four or five, depending on where I break off the narrative. To simplify my task, I've emphasized some facts or aspects more than others, or else you'd end up writing a book, which isn't the goal here.

That brings up our points of clarification, starting with this SuaveMiltonWaddams nugget:

>It sounds like Dad was buoyed up to the middle class as a beneficiary of the Cold War, and raising his son as a "little gentleman" who can go on a Grand Tour of Europe, dabble in music and the arts, etc., was his way of reminding himself that he'd made it. Trophy son. :) <

Trophy son? Not really, because my dad and I weren't getting along then. Not all of it stemmed from wanting to go overseas, though. His business was falling off, so the resulting stress did a lot to stoke tension in our household, anyway, about how we were paying the bills. 

Nor was he a "beneficiary of the Cold War," because he was German, not American. That's why he came to America, as he and his family were barely surviving in a defeated, war-torn country whose "economic miracle" was a long way off. 

Even then, he spent about a decade working for others before starting his own business -- and, like most small business owners, waited at least a couple of years to reap any rewards from his new venture. We lived modestly in a small coastal resort town (population: 8,700). I don't recall seeing any Ferraris or Lamborghinis whizzing through my neighborhood. 

>"Unfortunately, most never realize Adams' corollary, "If you get the children of your enemies to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain, they will never study politics and war, and our own positions of power will never be threatened."<

Nobody slipped that memo to Robert Mugabe and his guerillas, who cited Bob Marley's music as a big part of their soundtrack while fighting in the bush. Their affinity for reggae music didn't stop them from toppling Ian Smith's regime, and forcing his government to step down by 1980, did it? I think not.

How about George Orwell, one of many, many artists who picked up a rifle and fought for the Republic against Francisco Franco's Fascist cohorts during the Spanish Civil War, in the '30s? I don't recall him saying that his day job (columnist, journalist, novelist) handicapped his military service there. 

For similar examples, please go here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_authors_in_war.  In short: nice try, but no cigar. 

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Now, let's move on, to this little tidbit from CakeBoxTwo:

>Wah! I had to cut my post college Europe trip short to get a real job! So relatable...his privilege is showing.<

During my six-month stay in London, I held two clerking jobs. The high cost of living wouldn't have allowed anything else. The first job paid £125 a week (or $200 US then). After three months, I transferred to one that paid  £150 ($240 US) a week. With rent set at £28 ($44) per week, not to mention food and transport, I still had to watch every pence and pound coin carefully.

I took two trips to Europe during Christmas and Easter breaks, just like my co-workers. My musical activities usually happened on Saturdays and Sundays, which were my days off -- just like my co-workers. My bandmates all had day jobs, as well. So, no special breaks there, I'm afraid.

Going to the UK meant joining a program that handled all the paperwork, so you could work there legally. I paid an $850 fee, which didn't include the airfare ($450, nor the initial cash I brought to tide me over ($500, I believe). After all, the program only allowed you to apply for the jobs. You had to take it from there, which I did.

To raise the money, I worked every weekend for my dad in the last six months of college -- plus another four months after graduation. We worked Monday to Friday, depending what needed doing, but I remember pulling quite a few Saturdays, too. 

>Yeah working real jobs instead of playing Guitar Hero in Europe sucks>

I've never been a Guitar Hero, then or now. 

As a bass player, I didn't figure in that competition. The band was a psych-punk-garage ensemble, so the traditional weedly-weedly merchant wasn't relevant to the songwriting or the stage presentation.

<...but that's what adults do.<

Not according to a Gallup poll from October 2017, where 85 percent admitted hating their jobs and hating their bosses (when surveyed anonymously). Most other polls that I've seen consistently peg the amount of unhappy workers at one-third to two-third, at any given time, so I assume they're not skipping in the air and singing, "Hi ho, hi ho."

Changing the future means confronting little items like hostile work environments, and the psychopaths who run them. That goes for the other themes I've tackled, whether it's food insecurity, health insurance woes, or the digital sweatshops that would make a 19th century robber baron swoon with delight. This blog is a small, but needed, step in that direction.

We owe it to ourselves to challenge these things, instead of marching about like zombies, muttering, "That's the way it is...that's the way it is....that's the way it is." 

Imagine if the East Germans in November 1989 had gone that route, instead of hitting the streets, and speeding their horrible regime's collapse. I remember that image, too, like yesterday, and it's one of many reasons why I refuse to give up. So...on with the series. --The Reckoner