Sirop de Vanille

Every year many, many management books are sold; a million trainings/ conferences/ seminars/ webcasts/ podcasts/ presentations are created/ delivered to a gazillion Managers/ Managers-in-training/ Manager-hopefuls. All of these are trying very hard to become Corporate Whores or reap the benefits while they claim not to be Corporate Bitches. What do these books and trainings do? Nothing really, they give you hope or turn you into a bigger cynic. They make you realise how much more jargon you need to pick up and also, reiterate the importance of your network over your errr talent. Heh.

The Whores rule over the Bitches, for they tickle Big Daddy. The Bitches clobber the Slaves, for they provide support to the Bosses. The Slaves in turn will, if needed, gouge your eye out for some attention. That’s what it’s all about, attention. Who gets some, who gives some, how someone reaches a position where just your designation ensures you get some, and allows you to give some. Some people might disagree with me and claim that attention giving and taking is very unprofessional. I would like to tell them to retrieve their heads from their asses and then breathe. Ah, you smell that? Doesn’t smell like your head is full of shit eh? Take some time off, de-stress and tomorrow, you may try communicating.

Obviously, all this Corporate Whoring has a lot to do with the money. They say, if you’re good at what you do, you can always earn enough. Alright then, let’s assume, you may be able to earn enough by free lancing. Then what? Where is the office cab? Where are the air-conditioned interiors? What about ‘em perks? Medical and HRA and all that jazz that can be charged as Expenses to the company. What about the steady monthly income? What about the yearly humiliation called the Performance Appraisal or some such. What about the beautiful and much-awaited bonus? They turn you into dependent leeches! They do.

Some accept it, some except it. Some sell their soul and declare it to the world. Some claim their soul is intact. Yeah right! When you do this 5-6 days a week, ignore every other committment in your life if something urgent comes up and consider 40 hour weeks a luxury, then how is this not about your soul? You sold it. Yes, for that annual vacation or for your kids or your siblings or even your parents for they did so much for you. Didn’t they? Or just to repay the education loan or the rent on your close-to-office-apartment or the EMIs on your car, which you had to buy because of your work. The irony? of it all. Sigh.

The Bid Daddy, the Big Boss, the Boss’ Boss, the Boss, the Gods, the Friends, the Backstabbers, the Whores, the Bitches, the Bastards, the rich brats, the idiots, the Hardworkers, the Aggressors, the Politickers, the Ass lickers, the Ball ticklers. Baby, who says you need to be busting your ass in Advertising or Movies to have an “interesting” job. You see people bending over here too! You see favouritism, you see immature choots, you see it all. You are promised transparency and growth and the sun and the moon. What you get is material, for jokes, for cussing sessions, for torture plans that remain in your head. And the saddest thing, is that the Hardworkers who end up being sincere and not the Aggressors, are usually the Doormats. The doormats.

Maybe not, but my job has only taught me how I need to exaggerate and at times exacerbate.

PS. It’s still pouring here. If only transportation wasn’t an issue.