Pretty much since my first job, each time I’ve left an employer I’ve played the “Well, can’t get much worse.” card.
And almost every time, it has.
When I worked at The Hospital, I was union (which irked me beyond reason) and I was unhappy with union structure; particularly the fact that my co-worker did 25% of the work and got 75% more pay.
Then I temped. Nine bucks an hour to stuff envelopes with canceled checked. Can do.
Temping landed me on Titanic (as coined by Melissa). Things on Titanic were pretty good for a few years; they were very accommodating to my indecisiveness regarding what to do with my career. Then, The Iceberg hit and Titanic sunk. We were commanded to dress “professionally” and our PTO and Vacations were reduced. Lucky me got to spend two weeks in pre-Katrina New Orleans, training nutria to answer phones and enter work orders. Then The Iceberg fired everyone in Buffalo. In front of me. I left because I was pretty sure that I was going to get fired. Plus, The Iceberg was interested in everything except running the company and I certainly wasn’t willing to get a head, if you pick up what I’m putting down.
Jumping ship, I ended up at The Institute.
Even less time-off, even worse co-workers (including one who referred to bodily functions as “releasing the demons”. True story.) and a boss who told me what I couldn’t do rather than giving me the chance to prove them wrong. So I figure, “How much worse can it get?”
Next, I end up thisclose to being institutionalized, working with the most physoitic woman I have ever met. Delusional doesn’t even come close. Thanks to some riotous mismanaging, that company went down in a hot hot mess and landed me here (though a merger). I thought to myself that things were on the up-and-up, but here I have sat for over a year. Without a raise. Without a decent conversation with a boss who seems annoyed by my mere presence.
I think this could be the most frustrated I could be. At least on Titanic, they kept me busy. At The Institute, I kept myself busy. Now, I have reached the ends of the internets and spend my days thinking of all the things I could do if I wasn’t here typing away, looking “busy”.
How much worse can it get?
I have the unquietable voice that says I am making too much of a big deal out of this. How will I feel when my basket is full of eggs and I trip over the invisible lump under the carpet? I am afraid of disappointing myself… thinking that maybe The New Job is THE JOB… and I end up even more in the fire than when I started. I am trying to be optimistic, thinking back to how I totally nailed the interview and how I thought I that I could work with these people.
Sure, the first couple of days (maybe even weeks) are going to be painful, but maybe I’ll be able to sleep at night. Maybe it will help me take better care of myself. Maybe I will finally be content.