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It’s that time of year at my company when invitations to sit at the high table are extended to select members of the rabble. In other words: promotions.
Or, in my case: crickets chirping.
This is hardly surprising if you consider my poor people skills and mutant ability to annoy members of management at fifty paces, but I still have mixed feelings about it. When I joined Hell Inc. all those years ago, I had high hopes of being Peter Principled into a senior position where I could truly serve the gods of chaos. Sadly, it seems that it was nothing more than a pipe dream. Engineers often dream about pipes, so the irony is not entirely lost on me.
The part that troubles me the most is that I haven’t actually been “passed over” for advancement. That would imply that the promotees were somehow less deserving than I. Unlike me, most of them are driven, dynamic A-types who like to face the unknown head-on. My mother always said that people like that should be beaten with a stick. I suspect that my mother wouldn’t be a good fit for the modern corporate environment. Anyway, to return to the point, the situation underscores what I’ve known for quite some time: I’ve become institutionalised.
I suppose I could always rustle up a poster of Raquel Welch and crawl through a sewer, but that isn’t vastly different to an average day at the office.
Wait, I know – I’ll complain about it on the internet!
