Ever-Grabbing Hands


Each day I care less about my job than the day before. It’s not that the work is hard, or bad, or demeaning. It just feels pointless. They always want us to conform to a corporate identity that implies that the job—the coworkers, the bosses, the soulless, gray office—are your family. When they interviewed some of the people after me they asked if they would be committed to the company family. One of my bosses has a tattoo of our logo. It’s just bizarre to me. I come to work to work. I come to work to get paid so I don’t die a needless, avoidable death at the cruel, ever-grabbing hands of capitalism. I don’t come to work to worship the people who only pay me a fraction of what I’m worth so they can go fucking deep sea fishing in San Diego during a pandemic.


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