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My job is a far cry from where I would like to be, but never once have I tried to justify my employment for more than it actually was. Yes, I’m in sales, and yes, I pretty much am a glorified telemarketer at this point. It’s a shitty, honest day’s work for a shitty honest day’s pay, and as long as I am able to keep a bottle of Evan Williams on top of my fridge, who cares? That being said, every now and again via the wonder and majesty that is Facebook, trolls of days past will surface trying to pitch to the world that their back alley, non-existent industry is akin to that of Wall Street. You know who I’m talking about. These are usually the same people who will use the phrases “my hustle” or “can’t stop the grind” to describe any form of non-masturbatory, quasi job related activity they did that day. I haven’t “hustled” since varsity basketball practice senior year of high school, and don’t plan on picking up that habit again anytime soon. If you are reading this article at work, make sure that you keep the rage building up inside of you to acceptable work rage levels.
The Club Promoter
This one is my favorite. You went from handing out flyers to managing kids who hand out flyers. Thank God your vast array of computer skills has allowed you to master the copy and paste function or how else would my name arrive on the list for the door man? And your social media game? Top tier my friend. You tweet and Instagram with the best of them. You know who else does that? Everyone with a phone. I actually have had someone brag to me about getting their “client” to sign an NDA and how tough it was. An NDA? You’re talking about a non-disclosure agreement? One of the most basic of all contracts, second only to maybe singing the check at the end of a meal? Needless to say, the conversation was put to an abrupt end after that. The overall lack of any learned skill or tradecraft needed to “perform” this “job” (and I’m using that term as loosely as Mr. Webster will allow me to) make it completely and totally not a real profession.
The Online Poker Player
I imagine in my mind that their day goes something like this: Wake up around 11:30-12, scratch balls, eat cereal, watch reruns of Maury Povich and SpongeBob, break open the ole laptop and play poker whenever you get around to it. The worst part is they will always talk to you about as if you should be on the edge of your seat. “Dude, then the guy caught the last ace in the deck on the river! Can you believe that?!” Yes, yes I can in fact. The argument for playing what is essentially a computer game for a living baffles me. “So you’re saying anyone who plays a game professionally doesn’t have a real job? What about professional athletes?” Don’t you dare compare yourself to some of the most finely tuned athletic machines in the world. I’m sure that you have over developed muscles in your ‘clicking finger’ but that’s nothing even someone washed up like Dennis Rodman couldn’t put to shame. The guy is single-handedly talking North Korea off a nuclear cliff, there is nothing he CAN’T do. In all honestly, there about 100 people in the world with the mathematical skill level required to be consistently successful with this. This is not Good Will Hunting and you are not that kid from 21, so unless you’re BFF’s with Ben Affleck, I find hard to believe that I’m standing next to the next online poker sensation.
The DJ
This one might be met with some controversy, and I am 100% comfortable with that. I would like to point out that The DJ and The Club Promoter most likely work hand in hand and might even be one-in-the-same sometimes, which will allow me to call double bullshit. Years ago when DJ’ing was an art form I would have agreed with this. Now anyone with 500 bucks, a Macbook, and access to the internet can be a “DJ”. Since the days of old when scratching and mixing required talent and an ear for music the task has been boiled down pretty much to just pressing buttons. Don’t get me wrong, I love pressing buttons. Remember that time you got in the elevator and all buttons for all the floors were pressed? Yeah, my bad. I digress, so not only has it been dumbed down to the point of absurdity, but DJ’s, as a whole, tend to be incredibly pretentious. By that I mean they feel as though everyone in the room’s taste of music is totally and completely inferior to theirs. Yes, Mr. DJ, I want to hear Kendrick Lamar’s “F**kin’ Problems” followed by “Wagon Wheel.” What’s the problem with that? Let’s get this straight; you are here for my entertainment, like porn or cat videos, not to fulfill some deep-seated issue you have to be the center of attention. Lest you not forget how replaceable you are. I’m pretty sure my iPhone can do everything you are doing and Siri takes requests.
The “I Have No Idea What You Do”
We all know this guy. There is one at every party, usually a friend of a friend so no one is really quite sure how he got there or knows anything really about his background. Inevitably the question comes up throughout your half awkward, heavily unbalanced conversation of occupation, “so what do you do?” That’s when you are taken on a ride of epic proportions. It probably similar to the first time you watched Trainspotting. All your new friends swear its best movie they have ever seen, then you finally sit down to watch it and you leave asking yourself, “What the fuck did I just witness?” Then you friends turn around and tell you that you just don’t get it. This guy is not all that dissimilar to Barney on How I Met Your Mother. He will explain it to you, in all its vague, boring detail, but none of it makes any sense. So you’re in real estate? But it’s more financial wealth management? With a venture capitalist element, as well? You lost me, bud. Just call yourself an “entrepreneur” and we’ll call it a day, but even then I still won’t understand what you do. When you ask them for a business card he conveniently doesn’t have any on him. Either that or, there was a misprint and they had to be sent back to the printing company. Probably because they don’t know what the fuck you do either. They most likely were sent to him reading: [Name] Professional Bullshit Artist. More often than not, this guy usually ends up being a club promoter, online poker player, or DJ.
Respond
cmckeon
New England transplant to Atlanta by way of Tallahassee, Florida. An FSU grad, he has been known to drink several cold Natural Lights on school days and enjoys well timed ginger jokes.
@cmckeon15
Vanessa,
Curious as to which of these above noted jobs you chose as a profession?
She’s the woman in the picture with the club promoter.
no, i work in advertising. i really liked this article though.
hmmm… seems YOU had one job here, which was to write..and you can’t even spell check, you idiot.
vanessaterrell,
I think you need to be careful throwing around the word “idiot” when you, obviously, can’t seem to string together a coherent thought with proper punctuation and grammar.
Besides, that, +1 for Atlanta! I moved to midtown from Knoxville (UT grad).