for 8 hours every day - monday to friday - i shuffle papers, calculate things like how much tax one owes and act as a go-between for the more-often-than-not shamelessly and disgustingly cashed-up client and various governing bodies who are, almost always, trying to bleed the "poor souls" (nb - no, i'm no communist either) of more money by slugging them with extortionate tax bills. in technical terms, i'm an accountant.
this title bothers me greatly. oh sure, there's a modicum of kudos to be enjoyed when a certain type of social bore gracelessly enquires of my profession. this type of person is usually aged over 50, is shackled to some equally soul-blackening occupation and probably thinks slaving over a hot calculator 9 to 5 is actually something worth being proud of. but mostly, when i tell people what i do, there's a moment or so of awkward silence, and then we either move onto more colourful topics of conversation, or they ask me if i enjoy it.
do i enjoy it? well, the short answer is no. it dawned on me recently (ok, i can't grab the credit here, i actually saw it in a book i'm currently reading), that i don't DO anything that amounts to much at all. i don't consider my job to require any great intellect (surely pressing the "on" button on the calculator or throwing up a few quick spreadsheets do not qualify as rocket science), it's certainly not in any way, shape or form exciting and the people i work with are mostly trolls who've succumbed to some absurd notion that what we do actually matters or makes much of a difference (this brainwashing probably took place back at business school, which i made a point of avoiding as far was humanly possible whilst maintaining a distinction grade average, hence i most likely missed absorbing this nugget of cosmic wisdom).
my days are broken down into 6 minute increments. for the most part, i do not adhere to this ridiculous requirement, as it's nothing more than an insult to my sheer awesomeness. instead i prefer more of a cowboy approach; as long as the end result is good, and everyone's happy, then as far as i'm concerned, my job is done. i mean, why waste precious time with daily minutiae like 6 minutes of billable time when i could be, and invariably am, busy purchasing high-end cosmetics online, checking how the market's doing or tweeting. the mind boggles.
most horrifying of all, is that whilst we're stuck with the task of drowning in paperwork, it's the demanding, pedantic and highly annoying people we call clients who are actually having all the fun. while they get to build empires, make obscene amounts of money and probably enjoy 3 hour liquid lunches daily, i'm stuck cleaning up the back-end of their money-spinning brainchild. not exactly anyone's answer to the childhood question of "what do you want to do when you grow up" is it?
to be fair though, a job's a job. one could reason any repetitive activity in the same place will eventually be enough to put you in a straitjacket. which brings me to my next point - your place of work is usually only as good as the people you're working beside. my work, of course, is filled with some absolute corkers. i should say now, not that i suppose in any politically correct context is it really relevant (but who is striving for political correctness, really?), that i belong to a striking minority in my particular department at work. most hail from a particular continent that shall remain nameless (*cough* asia *cough*) and have a tendency to inflict their peculiar ways onto everyone else. a few pet hates (in no particular order):
- speaking in a foreign tongue during work hours (excuse me, this is australia. moreover - i can't fucking understand you so how do i know you aren't bitching about my new choice of nail polish colour/high heels/new haircut)
- a tendency to brown-nose to superiors in order to give the impression they actually live and breathe their work (probably where the extra language comes in handy, how liberating to be able to openly exclaim "i'm so fucking bored right now, shoot me in the face please" in front of a partner and not have them understand!)
- inability to engage in anything that even remotely resembles a cool or fun activity (badminton/table tennis on a friday night after work? erm, no thanks, i think i can feel that diarrohea kicking in after one too many cheap dumplings at lunch, must dash, ciao darlings!)
i suppose though, that this is all very nice and self indulgent, and it's all well and good for me to play the woe-is-me card, but anyone could turn around and say "well, it was your choice". and they'd be right. nobody forced me to do this, and the only thing that's forcing me to stay is necessity. which brings me back to my original point. where the hell is the "fix my life" application on my iphone.
