scrubjayspeaks

I sat on the couch during my break, as I often do, and a coworker eventually came and sat down next to me. We had several feet between us, because it's a large couch, not a goddamn armchair we've decided to cram ourselves into. Within a minute, one of the people from HR, who had been wandering through, told us we needed to move "to practice social distancing."

And I would be fine with that, in and of itself. Sure, six feet is a long way, more than the couch, okay, cool. I think it's officious, pompous, and the sort of tedious rules-lawyering that HR seems to specialize in. But whatever. Also, since I was there first, I'm sort of just meh about the whole thing. I practically teleport to another planet whenever I'm on break, I socialize so little. I ain't taking responsibility for someone else deciding to exist in my orbit.

But the reason I'm still wound up about it is that these rules are only being enforced while we're on break. As soon as we hit the production floor, we may be told to train with someone (me last week, someone else at the machine next to me yesterday), which means sitting shoulder to shoulder to see the parts and the machine. Or we might be assigned to a job that requires a two-person team, either seated side by side or across from each other at a table about two feet wide. There has been ZERO talk of stopping these practices or doing anything to mitigate our exposure to each other when working this way.

Because, of course, that would cut into our productivity. It would limit which jobs could be run and how quickly. And while we are an "infrastructure critical industry," I still call bullshit on that.

If the jobs running matter that much, get us masks. Arrange the work spaces differently. Defer training right now, even if that means you can't throw any new bodies at a job to free up someone else. None of those things are happening.

But by god, I can't sit on opposite ends of a couch with someone and talk gardening for three minutes until my break ends. That will put me at an unacceptable risk of illness. What I do on my personal time will be policed. Production time, though, will continue as usual.

What a steaming pile of crap. And an excellent reminder that, while my employer is a pretty good one in the context of our current economic system, it is still a company that cares exclusively about its own profits. Anything else is negotiable.

Goddamn, plague brings out the radical in me.

Well, it's official: I made it through to my last official days at my current job, and now I am free. Huzzah!

I mean, I am therefore unemployed (or will be soon, allowing for processing and whatnot) and on a ticking clock for what meager insurance I do have. So it's not like it's a great situation, but hey! I officially didn't die due to any of the chronic bullshit at that job!

Now I just need my mum to survive the pacemaker installation tomorrow, and then I will feel like I have some hope in hell of coping with life, the universe, and everything.

There was a post on tumblr at some point (please don't make me track it down right now) that talked about how the internet, and relationships with people on it, is a bit like fairies and fairy tales. The dangers of giving out your true name, mostly. The arcane rules. How you can seem to get trapped and lose time there. Which, yes, absolutely legit. That being said, I have a vague idea about a variation: customer service.

Only I'm not sure if we're the fae creatures, or if the customers are.

Having a customer ask for your name is one of the most terrifying experiences. Sure, every now and then they want to leave a nice review that mentions you by name. This has even happened--more than once!--to someone I know. Usually, though, it is the beginning of A Complaint To Your Manager. Alternatively, I have a pair of customers who have just...straight up given me a new name. I remind them of a young relative (these are, of course, older white people of a certain temperament), so they just started calling me by this other person's name. The mind boggles. That's not exactly a know fairy tale event, as far as I know, but it sure seems like it should be.

Arcane rituals of politeness must be observed, or you will end up cursed. Certain phrases hold mystical power. People often appear to be in a trance and will behave strangely; sometimes you can trick them into things just by planting suggestions at the right time.

Time moves strangely in most customer service workplaces. It stretches and compresses according to the needs of narrative, rather than by any physical laws or, hah!, the needs of the people working there. An eight-hour shift has the ability to consume approximately three months of your lifespan, while half-hour manager meetings will absolutely spit you out into a different decade than the one you left behind. It is always both ALREADY two o'clock and ONLY JUST two o'clock.

I don't know, it's a work in progress. I'm convinced that most workplaces are, if nothing else, liminal spaces to one extent or another. Customer service is a very shitty adventure story.

[ETA: never mind, of course I went and found it, what is time anyway?]