Nightmares Of The Dream Job

Why does a perfectly sane and happy teenager grow up into a prematurely senile 25 year old? Is it because human life is so tiring? Or more accurately, professional human life? Does a normal day in the office leave one so enervated, that you don't have the energy to do anything sensible with your life? Like sleeping more than three hours at night?

When I say life tires you out, I do not, repeat do not, refer to the inescapable tragedy of human existence: the fact that the world is a tiresome stage, and that we must all play the parts of ignoble buffoons. What I do refer to is the tiredness of body, not of spirit. You know, the kind that infects every member of the human workforce, per se. Thanks to cranky bosses, nitwit colleagues and moronic subordinates. And most of all, the loooooooooong work hours.

The dotcom world has brought in its wake higher salaries, bigger ulcers and longer work hours. Not because there is more to do, but because there are too many distractions. And no, single-track minds, I am not talking about pretty young colleagues. I am referring to the master of all distractions, the ubiquitous web. The typical workday (as opposed to working day!) starts off with the mother of all duties: the inbox.

By the time one has finished checking all the official and unofficial e-mails, read all the non-jokes, sob stories and meaningless newsletters that form 95% of the incoming mail, it is generally one hour too far gone. And then, of course, one has certain moral obligations, like forwarding all of B's jokes to C and D, and then forwarding all the weepy stories sent by C to B and D, and then forwarding all the chain letters of D to F, G, H, I, J, K, Y, and ZZZZZZZ. After all, if one is responsible for breaking a thousand-year-old chain of letters, one is liable to fall into a manhole or have a Newtonian brick fall onto one's head, as so many chain letters direly predict.

By the time these moral obligations are met, one is too dazed to begin working. One has to go off for a coffee break to clear the mental cobwebs. Once the coffee has taken effect, one is mentally aware again. Aware enough to know that he is feeling hungry, and that its only 15 minutes to lunch break. Too less a time to finish any single task, and hence no point beginning anything.

After stuffing one's face for one hour at lunchtime, the next hour of course goes in recovering from the brutally stupefying assault on one's brain cells. What follows after that is the most terrifying hour of the day: the meeting hour, when everyone in the team tries their darnedest best to justify their places in the team.

When the zombied self has recovered from the terrors of the meeting hour, it's time to hit the panic button. The whole day's work, and only an hour left to do it. And hence the need for the long furious hours, well into the night. And the bleary eyes the next morning, when the brain cells can start working only after it is refreshed by silly jokes in the mail. And so the cruel cycle of life goes on.

Aah... what sublime expressions of frustration! That too at the tender age of 25! Sigh...such a long time ago...