You know you’re in a bad job when you don’t have meetings. Or rather, Meetings. Don’t get me wrong, just because you have meetings doesn’t mean you have a good job, but it does mean you’re further up the employment totem pole.
I used to work in jobs where we had meetings. Sometimes about important stuff like projects that were six months behind schedule and twenty-two thousand over budget. Sometimes about unimportant stuff like whether we should change who we buy our paper towels from because they were crumbly and left green bobbly bits everywhere. Sometimes we even had meetings about when we were going to have another meeting. “I need to check my diary, but the thirteenth definitely sounds doable.” Then we’d check our diaries and find the thirteenth definitely wasn’t doable, but no matter, we’d just have another meeting to decide when to have another meeting.
Sometimes meetings would be in somebody’s office, but if we were lucky it’d be in a boardroom. Look at us, we’d think with our chests puffed out like pompous pigeons, we’re having an important meeting in a posh boardroom. Wow! Is that tinted glass? We should see if we can get this boardroom again for the thirteenth, which isn’t doable but let’s pencil it in anyway. Literally, pencil. In fact, let’s discuss pencils at the next meeting. Run down some lead hardness data and HB stats.
Sometimes meetings came with refreshments. Croissants. Sandwiches. Cinnamon buns. Donuts. Once, ginger biscuits that had quite a kick. And even if there weren’t any store bought refreshments, you’d at least have a jug of water and a glass. I miss pouring water from a jug.
Now I just do my shift. At my automated shape-sorting desk. For eight hours a day, minus breaks. I miss the sheer pointless time-wasting genius of meetings. I might arrange one with the cat when I get home. See if the thirteenth is doable for him.