Introspection: Day Four

I've just quit a horrible job.

It didn't start horrible. It was a seasonal gig. I re-upped for several years because it was a lot of fun, and I got to work with artsy weirdos. But I've spent the past few months having an extended conversation with them that can be summarized, from my point of view, thusly:
Me: So, you keep asking me to do things that are physically impossible, like cover the job duties for 2-3 separate positions by myself. You also keep asking me to do things that I am sincerely not comfortable with, like asking me to give additional on-the-job training and directions to my own brand-new supervisor. You would never ask this of any of my coworkers. Please quit asking me.
Them: You're right, we would never ask your coworkers to do this. Because of turnover, you have been here many years longer than any of them, a situation which we have chosen not to reflect upon in the slightest. You can look forward to more of the same, indefinitely.
Me: If you want me to do substantially more and substantially different things than the other people here, then this is no longer the same job I was contracted for. You will need to give me a new contract, which reflects a promotion and a higher pay rate.
Them: Eh, that sounds like effort. We do still expect you to shepherd around the new hires, though, because we've decided to throw them directly onto the floor after orientation, without bothering to schedule them for any shadow shifts.
Me: I speak five languages and I lack the words to express how very much that is not going to happen.
Them: We are incredibly grateful for your contribution to our team.
Me: I quit.
This is on top of a number of puzzlingly bullshit decisions in the past year, like moving a lot of our necessary materials to an office four floors away from our actual work space. In a building with no elevators. Knowing that at least two of their contracted workers had congenital joint issues, and one of them walked with a cane. Even though building management has offered, repeatedly, to put a locked cabinet in the actual work space for things that needed to be secured.

The managers of a few connected departments have been upset on my behalf when I explained what was going on -- apparently they didn't know. (I'm re-training with one of them to transfer to her team, so I'm not unemployed.)The supervisor they asked me to "help out" probably won't be there long enough to get the whole picture; that position has proved so hard to fill and keep filled that the front-line staff have taken to referring to it as "Defense Against the Dark Arts". I think they might last longer at Hogwarts. We've had at least three people handling that bit over the past two years, and only one of them managed to work a season from beginning to end.

I promised myself when I picked up and moved across the country that I would never again work a job that made me cry, panic, or throw up at the prospect of going in, or made me spoil for a fight every time I walked in the door. I'd rather starve. I have literally starved at a few points in my life, so this is an informed decision.

The past couple of blog entries went missing because on one of my last shifts there, they managed to run over time and kept me late. I developed a good case of the fuckits. I cleaned up my mess, didn't touch anyone else's mess, finished off some of the Prosecco left over from someone else's end-of-project party, and fucked off downtown to go dancing with the Eccentric. Nie mój cyrk, nie moje małpy.


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