Duppies: Tales of the downwardly mobile

. . . for downward mobility - forced, or adapted to.

Just after I quit teaching a bunch of years ago, I applied for (among other jobs) one that required me to clean and wash busses. (yeah, those big jobby-doos you pay a little bit to ride . . . )

They wouldn't give me the $%###@&*(@@!!! job. (You'd be bored . . . You're so much more capable . . .ad naseum.)

The fact was, I wanted the damned job so that a.) I'd be doing something mindless and physical for 8 hours, and b.) I could come home and create (whatever!) afterward, without being mentally wrung out.

If it covers the bills and leaves you free not to even consider it before the alarm goes off in the morning, it's a good job. I routinely answer questions from my (so-called) supervisors having to do with how I would handle 'thus and so' for maximum efficiency, or whatever. My answer is always that "I don't give the benefit of my thinking at the rate you're paying."

The hardest part of what I do is to remember that calling it "idiot work" may hurt somebody's feelings. Even so, I have no guilt about it. I'm here to do the mindless thing and get on with my life . . .

Marye
P.S. Gr-r-r-r-! I'm setting up my own email server, and "the devil don't want me to do dat cause he's makin' it harder than it is!"
(one of the things I save my thinking for . . .)