As I’m quite prone to do, I begin thinking about work in the weekday morning hours leading up to my normal shift.
I find myself sorting through all facets of my daily job, what has been and what is (expected) to come. I think about the people, the tasks, the system, the cannibalistic procedures, etc. All this races through my mind as I eat breakfast, iron, brush my teeth, even blog.
I was thinking about an ancillary department at work that is staffed by low-wage grunts who are essentially asked only to push buttons and mass produce clerical regurgitation. Still, they occasionally try to kick it up a notch and do a little extra. With this level of employee, I find this over-extension of abilities “cute” and “charming,” sort of like a monkey wearing a sweater. There is one person who takes it on herself to run random reports/follow-ups but she does it in a scorched Earth broad-brushed manner that lacks all nuance and detail.
It’s as if she sits at her desk and spits out rote shit without bothering to examine what she is trying to elicit. The act is more important than the practice seems to be her professional outlook. It comes part and parcel with the low-paid clerical pencil-pushing class. She sent something out yesterday which irritated me, because in its typical over-generalized manner, implied I had not exercised a sense of thoroughness. Fuck that. You can be as stupid as you want, I don’t care. It’s your right to be a dumbass. But once your stupidity and moronic myopia intrudes upon my reputation and diligence, all bets are off. That’s how I roll. Leave my work be; and if you question or raise a flag concerning the quality of my work, I’ll squash you, motherfucker!
Anyways, I was thinking of this grunt and how she sent this report out mindlessly and I pictured her sitting in front of her monitor, pushing buttons absently, like a robot. I thought of her doing this in a robotic fugue.
I love that word. It is so passe and no one uses it any more, but it is a grand word for our times, really, as it describes us quite well. The word, owing to its seeming obsolescence, seems to have lost its power. Or maybe, because of this, it has gained power.
We live in a technological fugue. That is the 21st Century for you.
Disconnected from the reality of the moment, easily accessing the collective externalized global hive, losing ourselves, melding external opinions and existences, we become absorbed in the morass of humanity and our individualistic barriers are blurred, undifferentiated.
Techno-capitalism asks us to enjoy our robotic fugue, cogs, a standard unison of working parts. Push buttons, don’t question; your role is sharply delineated.
You can be nothing more and nothing less.