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Good news! According to a recent theory, all your workplace complaints are now void. In fact, you being happy at work is no longer the concern of your employers.
“Shut up, get back to work.” A more perfect workplace mantra there could not be. This might be a sobering piece to abuse your senses en route to the three square feet of space awarded you to carve out your anonymous grating ascent into mediocrity, each paycheque compounding the disappointment you feel when management decides to avoid eye contact instead of returning your cheerful “good morning” when you cross paths with them, but I’m not good enough to sugarcoat it: your happiness does not matter.
In fact, if we’re not at a constant state of war with our colleagues, apparently we’re nothing. We smile, we lose. Hooray for capitalism.
Central to the above theory is the idea of creative tension. If everyone supports every idea, then that idea is rubbish. In fact, those who can barely agree with everyone else in their team are the most valuable. Rivalry, it seems, is the new black – as long as it doesn’t project itself onto a coworkers eye.
The entirety of this though is highly contradictory, for how can a toxic culture of neg vibes manufacture something positive? After all, as we all know, we’re all unique, and have our own particular skills sets, and empathy, and the coffee shop down the road knows my order, so I’m supporting smaller business and therefore I – no, what matters is the company that keeps you. You are expendable. In order to get ahead, it seems you must accept the fact that you’re already fired. The only thing keeping you here is the laborious paperwork that must be filled in order to release you. That number on your headset, your workstation, your computer login is you. An interchangeable binary switch. You’re either at work, or not.
So before you throw off the yoke of oppression and set sail for our new Jerusalem, a cradle that will nurture our shattered confidence and rebuild us, so we step towering over the cityscape, talent-filled, ambition realised, where we control our own destiny, bade good morning by the full vista of middle-managers, returning to our spacious desk, one that feels more home than home, treasuring the silent symphony of a leathered desk chair that tilts backwards without complaint, before a widening crack of comfort winds its way across our now faultless marbled faces; know that this is fantasy, a fable which we were promised and which we indeed tell ourselves so we can endure the pointlessness of our working lives – the fiction of how hard work is recognised, and how those who work hardest within the team will be heralded one orange morning.
Start an argument, and do it today.