Diminishing Returns II: Unleashed

If you can read this, you're on my preferred list. And I trust you.

This is what I didn't put in the public part of the blog.

I'm fucking fed up with busting my ass, having the best fucking team in my part of the project and it not being good enough. I understand how we make money. I understand that when we don't have agents on the phone, we send them home. And if we send agents home, we need to send sup hours too.

Why should I work my ass off to motivate my team if you're going to quibble over a few hours of overtime? Why should I stay with a company that gives FIVE PAID DAYS OFF a year with shitty benefits? Why wouldn't I want to work some place that values its employees and has, say, a benefits package that's worth a shit? Who wouldn't want that?

I'm more resigned than angry at this point. I've got Plan B. I've got a way out. But I'm biding my time. I've got a $300 recruiting bonus coming, and I want that.

Resignation comes from the fact that I've been down this road before. At the paper in Monterey, we were so close to greatness. We had the brass ring and we fucking dropped it. Because of one person, the man in charge. But the scary thing is, he's not the worst boss I've worked for. He talked to me. Granted, we had some confrontations, but you could talk to him; he'd look you in the eye. He wasn't passive aggressive. The Thunder Yeti... she wouldn't look you in the eye all the time. She'd sit there, bouncing her leg when things got uncomfortable and avert your gaze. Very, very passive aggressive. Liked to micromanage via email. Good shit, Maynard. Greatness... not as close as Monterey, but it was within reach.

Now, at Corporation X, we're poised to be the best site in North America. And yet we're on the verge of colossal failure. Most people can see it, but not the guy on top. Things are going to change. It will be slowly, but they'll change.

I want my own place. I want my shit out of storage. I want to be able to have company over, to have friends come and hang out at my place. I'm tired of having my shit crammed into one room, sleeping on a crappy futon. I can't do that with what I make now. I can't get into position to buy a house. I can't attempt to be an adult making $17k a year. Fuck it.

One thing for sure: None of what I want can happen if I stay where I am. So this rat is getting off the fucking ship. Not for a bit. But it's coming.

And it won't be goodbye. You have my word.