I was sitting at the bar a couple of weeks ago with a friend of mine I hadn’t seen in a while. He asked me how my new job was going. I started to whine a bit like a little bitch before catching myself.
I had to bite my tongue. At a time when so many people are out of work, I realized I have it pretty good. I get paid to be a writer and marketer, and I knew going in that, unfortunately, writers / marketers don’t get paid a whole hell of a lot.
So I shouldn’t complain. But it’s more than that. I, honestly, should feel like one of the luckiest guys ever. My grandfather dug ditches and worked construction when he came over from Italy. Oh, and that was after he worked in the Pennsylvania coal mines, leading to Black Lung later in life.
My grandfather is dead, but I couldn’t help but think if he were alive today.
“Hey, Tony, how are you?”
“Oh, gee, grandpa, I’m a little tired out from work today. I had to type little 140-character messages into Twitter all day.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Exactly. What the fuck AM I doing at work? Look, I’d like to think I’m a decent writer, but social media posts aren’t really scholarly works (I do, however, write some white papers that I’m somewhat proud of).
People tell me I’m a good writer. I’d like to think that there is some talent inside me that people would want to hire. But what if I’m not that great of a writer? What if most people are too stupid to write a coherent thought without making 15 grammatical errors?
It’s entirely possible. In fact, I’d bet on it. We could be heading toward the future portrayed in “Idiocracy” (Luke Wilson rules) where I’m the last one who knows the difference between “you’re” and “your.”
My job isn’t that taxing. Most jobs aren’t that taxing. We have no room to bitch. Soldiers have it hard. Police have it hard. I’m not going to call out professions, but trust me, you probably don’t have it that bad.
You know how hard my job is? When I get home from work, I go to the gym to work out in order to burn calories. You know why? Because I sit on my ass all day.
And money? I get paid enough to where I can go play golf 4 days a week if I wanted. Sure, what I write will ultimately evaporate into the ether, and, yeah, my only real satisfaction involving the written word comes from this site, but I guess my new job isn’t that bad.