The Carrot
“All right, well, I think you’ve got some potential,” my new boss said, rising. I stood as well and shook his hand. “I think you’ve got a good skillset here that we can really work with.”
“Thank you,” I said. “This certainly beats the retail and fast food circuit.”
He laughed. “We’ll see what you say after you’ve been making the drive for a year.”
“Well, Andy said you guys were going to implement telecommuting in the near future, so that should help.”
“No, we’re talking about that. We have some things to work out, so don’t plan on that.”
“Oh.”
—
I leaned my head back and focused on the license plate of the car in front of me. When it moved, I moved. When it stopped, I stopped. This was traffic jam 526, guaranteed at 7:30am and 5:30pm, five days a week, without fail. Always within a few miles of work, always worse when I was trying to get home. Once an open-ended Elder Scrolls experience, my life had become a neverending game of Pong.
It had been a year, and the drive was killing me. I brought up telecommuting every few months, but it always got lost as the people at the top shuffled it back and forth across each other’s desks. Policy, they would say. Precedent. We have to make sure it’s fair. We have to make sure the rest of the people here understand why they can’t have it, too.
They live ten miles away. Or less. I live fifty.
I had prepared my resume a dozen times, but always buried it again. No matter how long they delayed, I wanted to believe their promises. They were doing their best. They actually cared about my general well-being. Didn’t they?
—
Traffic jam 1052. My heart is pounding from all the caffeine and sugar I’ve been pounding into my system lately. I’m jittery — again, caffeine and sugar, but also because with each day that I haven’t been in an accident, the likelihood of getting hit today goes up. The other drivers don’t help.
I prepared my resume today. But then one of the high-ups came by and said he wanted to talk about telecommuting. Was tomorrow morning good? Yeah, yeah it is. I didn’t send it. I have a good feeling this time.
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Paranoid thoughts running through my head…don’t bury it again, they sensed your feelings and may still be stringing you along. Keep that resume handy until after the talk…….
I’m sending positive energy to go with your good feeling. Can’t hurt. Keep posting.
The drive to work is much more fun in a spaceship!
This theme seems to tie in with the “class distinctions” storyline a bit – just seperated by about 100 years.
This story makes me sad. It’s so … true.
While inspired by reality, this is actually quite fictitious…. no one EVER approaches me about the telecommuting thing
(Well, that, and I don’t really hit traffic jams because the company DID let me work different hours)
Well, now. I’m withdrawing my positive energy. It might have been fictitious… just like The Carrot. LOL
I wish I could go to work in a spaceship…
If we all went to work in spaceships, fuel prices would skyrocket!
Spaceship! skyrocket!
I pity the fuel!