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I just spent the last six hours atop a 92-foot platform in the rain, caring for three 20,000-watt spotlights while trying to keep a sheet of plastic from losing its precarious rig to the handrail. I'm used to high work; I started rigging in small theatres when was thirteen. I'm 38 now. Lately I've been thinking that work as a set lighting tech is not so bad. The money isn't what it was, but it's not bad. Jobs are scarce these days in Hollywood, but I work, and I have time to have a life, too. I and the other lift operators broke early for lunch so we could get the lifts ready while the rest of the company was eating. My lift was a Night Sun, a truck-mounted arm controlled from the base. I'm just a passenger. The only trouble was, it wasn't ready. In addition, I didn't know I'd be flying tonight, so I hadn't brought my full complement of weather gear. We were still rigging by the time the company was back from lunch. Of course, the Night Sun was the last to be ready...and the first light they wanted to see on. And so I'm rigging the cable and the dimmers on the way up, my furniture blankets (for the warmth) and my plastic (for the dry) safely folded across the handrail. And that's the rain hit. A nice, fat Southern California shower, brief but thorough. I was soaked to the skin in minutes, frantically cabling in the dark. My furniture pads were soaked, too. I got the plastic up. I put my slicker jacket and pants on, over my swamped clothes. I knew I wouldn't dry out; I was just hoping for wet and warm. Right. I had the next six hours to hope. To reflect. Which was good. I reflected that sometimes my job can really suck. I reflected that I haven't made a short film or done anything of my own in over a year and a half, which also sucks. Tonight was a swift kick in the ass, and I hope it leaves a bruise. And that doesn't suck. Dylan Rush 3 Feb 2004 |
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Once, I took on as a favor management of a product development program that needed some help. It launched, close to being on time. And it was successful, though not overwhelmingly so. But simply being good and successful don't seem to matter much. At a divisional communications meeting, the VP stood up in front of all of us and told a story about his telling one of the program managers to go with an internal group for driver software and how well it had worked out. It was inspiring, even though the manager who he said that to was me, not the one he mentioned in his story. So much for being successful. Being successful now doesn't mean much for the future, either. Despite getting a product to market I had to scramble to find work afterwards. I wasn't allowed to manage a bigger program since I didn't have "big program experience." I ended up begging an old boss to take me into his organization even though it wasn't a good fit for my skills. Almost five years later, I'm still scrambling, moving from one thing to another. Of course, now my most successful work is so old, it's irrelevant (and so, I suspect, am I). The next layoff will probably get me. It's been tough to realize that no matter what you do at work, short of illegal activity (or at least I hope), it doesn't really matter. What matters is all inside yourself. Only you can define success, and that definition is yours alone. Tom 3 Feb 2004 |
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I just retired in August, 2003. I stayed as long as I did because I didn't think I could afford to retire. Being going-hungry-kind-of poor as a young woman made an indelible impression, generating fear of not having enough money to live. Through the years of my employment (19), I watched Global Mega Company transition from a safe, quality product producing, caring-about-employees organization to one whose management only cares for bottom-line profit. To Global Mega Company's scant credit, it wasn't the only one. I tried to retire in 1997 and again in 1998, when I was not in debt to anyone for anything and my 401K was sweet. I was "persuaded" to stay in 1997, by promises; one of which was kept and the rest, not. In 1998, I was persuaded to stay by a co-worker who took advantage of my workaholism and company loyalty. Later, 9/11, money losses, and the purchase of a house persuaded me to continue working... but I was so tired. I was tired of the corporate bullying, the site specific politics, the long commute to work each day. No matter how much I truly loved my job, I was so tired of giving my all to Global Mega Company; setting aside my other interests in life. My grown children and grandson, my arts and my crafts, and the home projects I so enjoyed. Much changed; first because of a very bad wreck when I thought I was going to die right before losing consciousness. Obviously I didn't die and when I regained consciousness, my outlook on life changed within the time of 2 or 3 seconds. So much that I had previously thought so important immediately became mundane. But still... The memory of being hungry as a young woman and the fear, persisted, overriding any strong desire to use the time and good health I had left in getting back to my art and what I wanted to do for me and not for Global Mega Company. That is; until I watched my beloved cousin, only three years older than I, become ill and die within a two month period. When I visited her in the hospital, standing at the foot of the hospital bed, I saw her 6 foot frame in 129 lb. My full-of-life, intelligent, so witty cousin was dying at the age of 63. The next day I gave my notice of retirement and didn't do any real research into what my options were before doing so. They didn't want me to go but I had made up my mind. Fortunately, I had saved enough, had done without enough such that I could add to my monthly pension payment and have found that my fears were pointless. I'm very comfortable in my life style. All of the above really doesn't answer the question posed by this site. All of the above, I guess, are just my feelings and thoughts. So I will answer the question now. I learned that being loyal to a company is not reciprocated. What counts is hard work and doing the best that one can for oneself. Donnie 3 Feb 2004 |
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I was in High School. Having completed most of my courses I only had 3 classes in the morning. Saving for college was a high priority, so I got a job printing envelopes in a factory from 4:00 PM to 12:30 AM Monday through Friday. A T-shirt, Levi 501's and engineer boots were my uniform 40 hours / week. I did my homework between 1:00 and 3:30 PM. It was a repetitive job, the machine dictated when to feed the envelopes in and when to take them out. I remember my first night on the press: 100,000 envelopes printed which was 12 stacks of envelopes 7 feet high. It was for a brokerage firm in NYC, a plain #10 envelope, black return address with no inside security tint. One night the drain backed up ink into the men's john and our boss told me to go in there and clean it up using some solvent known as "KLEANER" which was used to clean up print rollers. I went in for 3 minutes and got out as the fumes were totally too much. I told him he should find someone else to do it. It was the first time I had said "NO" to a boss. It was pretty hard at the time but I was really glad I did. That Kleaner would have fried my brain. I worked there for eight months and I vowed to never work in a factory again.
Bruce 4 Feb 2004 |
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I moved to San Diego, in with Dad, tail-betwixt-legs, with all sorts of awful epiphanies caroming through my skull. I made the move because I knew that if I tried to stay in Missouri, I probably wouldn't live to see my next birthday. Six months later I had a bread and butter account that paid fer s--t, but it was a sitebuilding gig, it paid, and that was good enough. I was told to build something ass-backwards. There were all sorts of communication problems, and in the thick of it I managed to convince myself that the end client wanted it built the same way I did. Oops. If I hadn't already established the practice of religiously archiving client communications, I would to this day be convinced that the end client wanted it built the same way I did. Instead, I learned that at heart, I want to be right more than I want to be honest. Of course, that pales in comparison to what I've learned since then, in the course of learning how to approach life with a better attitude... ben 6 Feb 2004 |
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I worked in a McD restaurant for three and a half years. My job taught me two things. I learned fast food is not the worst thing that you could do. There's many worse. Starving, prostitution, selling drugs, all are worse than fast food. There's really no such thing as a job which is beneath you. Especially if you can't get anything better. I learned that I'm lazy, and I need a good reason to commit myself to work. I made it through college and into grad school based on the reason that I didn't want to see myself there at thirty. stoneegg21 7 Feb 2004 |
