Everything I Learnt From My First 9 to 5 Job
My somewhat short-lived corporate stint started sometime in the September of this year. I am not sure to what extent am I breaking or bending the rules by talking about it, but let’s just say it wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.
When you think ‘9 to 5’, you think rigorous, back-breaking work that is not just physically tiresome but also drains you mentally. At least, that is what I thought. I knew that the people saying it is exhausting were not exaggerating. What I didn’t expect, however, was just how exhausting it would be. And not just physically, but also mentally. Which is, not to say that I don’t love the work. I do. I even enjoy it, on the days where it does not guiltily seep into my academic life, deterring me from attending lectures and forcing me to skip classes.
‘Skip’ — another word that I use exaggeratingly, here. In this post-COVID’19 world, or rather mid-COVID’19 world (as COVID’19 is still all the rage where I’m from), there is no physical university. All we do is connect to the Zoom class and zone out. Log in, zone out. That’s the new norm, even though not many of us whose whole life revolved around getting the best grades would admit it.
Anyway, my dip into the corporate world wasn’t horrible because of the work. Like I said, it was quite enjoyable oftentimes. I was learning a lot, I enjoyed going to the place, climbing seven floors, sitting in an air-conditioned ‘office’. (I say it in quote marks because it was more of a computer lab than an office, but everyone starts somewhere.) I was grateful, initially. I wasn’t here to make friends and it became clear that that would never happen anyway, when throughout my first week, my ‘team lead’ (read: evil boss) would order tons of food with the rest of the coworkers, without even asking me. Now this might seem like a weird thing to complain or notice, but I considered it human decency to have at the very least, asked. Instead, one of them once offered me a single fry. Just one. As in, she really pushed a McDonalds’ French fries paper holder towards me and asked, “Fry?”
Faced with a situation where I had to immediately use my cognitive abilities, I was absolutely stumped, and flat-out instinctively went like, “No.” But even if I had had a warning or a sign that someone was about to ask me something and I had to be mentally prepared for it (CAUTION: QUESTIONS THAT REQUIRE PROMPT ANSWERS AHEAD), I probably would have refused anyway. It was quite weird, the fact that I was spending 9 hours in a workplace without eating anything substantial while my co-workers all ordered. I get that I should have asked, but I didn’t want to impose. My social anxiety and lack of ordering experience also deterred me from personally ordering food for myself. So, that didn’t happen. I only survived on packets of chips and Nescafe Chilled Mochas or Lattes.
Not getting enough to eat wasn’t the reason why the corporate experience turned sour for me, however. It was that, and a lot of things. The contract alone sounded like I was signing my life away to the workplace. Essentially, they owned me. Of course, like a good and attentive first-time employee, I read the full nine-paged contract. They made me sign each page and then some. I did it quite dutifully, so to speak. The one good thing about the job was that at first, in the ‘trial’ period I could quit at any time. While I wasn’t working just to quit, I knew at some point I would have to leave to focus on academia and my passion projects.
It was all fine and dandy until the next week. The workload did not just double — it tripled. The Evil Boss gave me a ton of work to complete at the beginning of the week and expected it finished by the end. Without divulging any more details, let me tell you, dear readers… it was the very definition of impossible for one person. And that is how it went. That week delivered to me my very first work-related dilemma: Should I quit? I took the advice of a dear friend and decided to mull it over and think about it.
Coincidentally, the moment I submitted that gargantuan, mammoth-sized document of work at the end of the week, I got a disturbing call from the HR which resulted in him being a misogynistic prick and going back on a prior commitment he had made with me. Of course this played a significant part in my decision to quit, and I decided that week that this was the end of it for me. No more corporate slavery! It was over.
I went through a series of emotions; being upset, disturbed, feeling worthless, unproductive, blaming myself for not being able to stick it out at my very first job, and then ultimately drowning myself in a swirling tornado of confusion and self-pity. Some told me not to quit, because leaving things done half-way would weigh on me forever. Some, like my mother, told me it’s okay to quit because ultimately a man would take care of me forever. Some reassured me that it wasn’t quite ‘quitting’ as it was something I could do, yet chose not to, in order to focus on academics and my mental and physical health. I liked the latter. It seemed mostly true.
Anyway, that was not the end of it. Wouldn’t that be great, though? I’d have gotten paid the same amount. Shade intended. And so, after what could only be called a demeaning and rather weird heart-to-heart with the boss, I decided to not leave after all. That week went on smoothly. The week after that, in the midst of a family tragedy, only on the final day of the week I requested for a) less workload, and b) the work to be delivered the night before, instead of the morning of. I didn’t expect the latter to happen, but I did expect my boss to lower the workload. Instead, she sent two tasks, one of which was absolutely new for me. Yay! And so I spent the third day of the mourning a close family member drowned in work. To others, it may seem like it was out of choice, but in all truthfulness, I just didn’t feel like taking on the emotional burden of my boss expressing disappointment in more ways. Oh well.
On it went! More weeks of being drowned in work. And when the time came to reap the rewards of capitalistic labor, it also fizzled out because yet again, my corporate owners could not have bothered to tell me about the days of the payroll. It was like slaving away for free. It still is.
I don’t want to say something stupid like “Never again!”, even though the situation definitely calls for it, because I recognize that it is a privilege to be working at all in the middle of a pandemic. The only lesson I take from it is to ask about literally EVERYTHING. No matter how stupid it may seem, make a list of questions, and ask anyone. If your boss seems hesitant, ask their boss. Ask until everything is ascertained. Read the contract, ask about the days the payroll will be made. Ask about the resigning process, and whether you will get paid for working as many days as you did. Be sure and then ultra-sure if you really want someone else to own you. It’s called ‘corporate slavery’ for a reason. They quite literally own you.
Anyway, to those of you who are looking for a job, happy hunting! And to those of you who have retired — in my early 20s, I want what you have. The ladder of success may be long but it is also filled with the people above you stepping on your fingertips the moment you try to climb.
Well, in the words of the Gen Z, we move.