Through the Looking Glass: 36. Working in Hell

Friday, December 7, 2012

36. Working in Hell

At some point in every individuals career there comes a time of doubt as to whether or not the choices that have been made are the best ones. The stresses and strains, the demands and obligations we experience make us wonder if the job is really worth the effort. Such times tend to draw us into speculation about work in other areas.

A recent bout of career angst left me pondering the idea that Hell might be a better place to work than where I was presently at. My musing came to a point where the pros and cons of such a career move were seriously considered.

On an entirely selfish note I recognized a number of pluses that working in Hell might include. Certainly I would never have to worry about my coffee getting cold ever again. As well I could cook a pizza, bake a cake or pop popcorn ... all without leaving my office.

On a more serious note office politics would no longer be a problem. Working in Hell would leave no doubt as to whether or not my boss hates me. In fact cultivating a 'devil may care' attitude might very handy in this particular work environment. If attitude doesn't loosen up the boss then perhaps surfing for porn sites on the Net all day might score some 'major' points. Even with total failure in this area I am certain that the daily immersions in the molten lava are, in fact, quite invigorating.

Convenience is not to be overlooked in such a career move. After all 'going to Hell in a hand basket' is probably simpler than my daily commute. The fact that the legal department would never be far away and always overstaffed is not to be overlooked. Another plus about working in Hell is that I would get more time to spend with my spouse. The large number of perks make the idea of a career move seem more appealing each day. The memo from my present boss about the daily body cavity search for missing paper clips is just about enough to help me decide.

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Introduction

Having moved at least twenty-five times in fifteen years has opened a world of learning to me. In six decades, an education ranging from the coldness of large cities to the isolation of remote rural locations to the busybody gossip of small towns and the wonder of the prairie and it's ocean of grass have all left their impressions on me.

Recently I relocated to a small city in British Columbia. It touted itself as a historical, cultural, educational and, over-all wonderful, place to live. Once I was past the trees and the rocks, the heights and the hills, the water and the wind, I calmed down and was ready to look at the people I was sharing that space with.

Every location I have ever squatted has had it's share of characters. Players in the cities along with the wide range of tinfoil hat wearers and baggy pants skaters were a given. Pop up strangers at odd hours surprised me with their appearance in the middle of nowhere. Rumours of my serial killer past from neighbours I had never met never swayed me. The wonder of gazing on the effects of wind on the grass ocean interrupted by a landowner enquiring why I was leaning on his fence was oft forgiven.

In this new locale a variety of characters as I had experienced elsewhere was a given. The density and variety of them however gave me more surprise than I would have expected.

I had heard comments about this place being a time warp to the sixties. However I only saw few that , by their appearance, I could say lived through the sixties. What apparitions appeared were younger and more colourful than I remember from that vague decade.

Purple haired strong armed accordionists, heavy head shaved violinists clutching tiny instruments, winter coated scarf wrapped individuals in shorts and oddly calm people with large coffees wandered the streets.

They wandered in and out of new age crystal shops, expressed opinions on local radio, bought nothing but organic food. They played jazz on squeeze boxes, made strings and wood sing in ways not intended, talked to themselves as they tightened their scarves and became more serene with each sip of coffee.

Characters here are more concentrated than in any other locale I have ever lived. It is a point of interest as well as point of concern.

It remains to be seen whether I will be mugged with organic carrots, side swiped by hooligan mountain bikers, be harangued with advice on dressing warmly or kept awake nights by jazzy sounds from an errant squeeze box. Whatever the outcome I am certain I could find it in no other place on earth to explore these particular uncertainties.

Until I am transplanted again, I extend every new-ager and boarder, every subculture economist and spiritualist, every would-be and wanna-be my deep thanks for extending me the opportunity of educating myself one measure more.