SKIRMISHER

That’s why I hate working. I hate working with a group. The results are painful. I don’t like camaraderie in the workplace. Like everything else, including all shitty diamonds on earth, nothing lasts forever.

I’m a loner. For life? Perhaps. But growing up with a family of my own, I learned the ropes of socialization. Well, I think I had to. My brain cells haven’t fully developed yet when I first learned how to fuck. And although I turned 27 years of age a few days ago, I still find it cool to join the Club of 27 — the “elite” corp(se) group of Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, and Jimi Hendrix, who all died at the age of 27 — meaning to say, I still have the mindset of a 17-year-old grungie. To most adults my age, that’s quite disturbing. Now that’s cool.

As a kid, I’ve always admired working professionals: how they dress the corporate way, talk the corporate the talk, and strut their corporate stuff. Well, my concept of a handsomely paid professional is mostly limited to characters I saw on TV and in Pinoy 80s/90s movies.

Fast forward to 1999. My fuck bud got preggy. Then she became my wifey. And so I was compelled to take care of her and the baby. But enough of this shitty rhymey already before I turn crazy. I was just a kid back then when I first experienced the rigors of being included in the labor force (too bad I didn’t listen to my mom’s advice for me to get a part-time job instead of just locking myself inside my room when I’m not at school, gobbling tomes of lore while whacking off inside my short pants). When I got my first paycheck, it felt like it sucked more than getting grades of 3s, 4s, or even 5s back in college.

I was initiated into the corporate slavery soon after graduation. All the stuff that I learned about office workers (particularly those in Makati City) from not a few goofy and cheesy Regal and Viva movies were all to surreal. Although sometimes the characters portrayed in those films were less respectable, the real thing made me want to puke and scream “bring me back to my time-honored diploma mill university!” The realm of corporate slavery was too much for me, a dad who still enjoys playing with colored pens, imagining them as toy soldiers, or characters of an imagined “Ula, Batang Gubat” sequel in my head.

Anyway, to make a long story short, more than 99% of my previous jobs were disaster movies like Superman Returns. All of which were the results of my immaturity. Why blame a man who doesn’t want to grow up?

And how does not wanting to grow up differ from the yearning of not wanting to grow old?

Who cares? I do. But I have to go back to what I was yelping about. One jobless period in my life, I was thinking about past experiences and mistakes. I evaluated the errors I’ve committed, geared up for some battleplan, gathered up the pieces, and I put a mask on.

The reason for the mask is that I had to blend with the crowd in order for me to survive — I had to appreciate their nonsensical conversations about routine stuff and the like. I had to laugh at their jokes inspite of themselves. Fuck, I had to be a cow in a mindless herd just to excel in a money-oriented world in order for me not to lose my beloved family.

As time progressed, I gained many friends. Some of them true, most of them are wusses in terms of interpersonal relationships and camaraderie. But I have to be honest: in time, I was able to enjoy their company, to the point that it already felt boring to read!

Of all the places and industries I’ve worked with, working in a call center is “funner” and has a lively environment that a person would usually encounter in a Kindergarten class. You get to train with a batch with which you’ll be able to relate yourself with. You’d even feel that you’re back in school. And you’d be hobnobbing with some oldies, fit enough to be your folks, who were discards from other industries. Thus, there’s no generation gap. In a relaxing manner, you’d be relating stories and gossips to someone whose age you just disregard like candy wrapper. In a call center, one is incorporated into a small team of around 15. In the workplace, you work hand in hand, enduring every corporate bullshit you encounter. In such hardships, we bonded. The workplace became our second home. I felt like I was just in school. The atmosphere was fun. It was fun interacting with people.

In the workplace, friendships are broken and renewed. Controversial relationships blossom. Intrigues, rumors, triumphs, betrayal, love, and despair roam freely on the production floor. In the mad climb towards the top of the corporate ladder, one man’s construction is another man’s destruction. The office adventure is exhilirating, exciting. Despite all the happy crappy, we endured, we bonded. And the mask I wore became a part of my countenance. I never even bothered to take it off. Right then and there, I knew I had melted into the crowd. All I cared about is my job, my family. The heck with my “obsessions.” In mediocrity, I found peace. Yes, IF IGNORANCE IS BLISS, THEN WHY THE FUCK SHOULD WE SEEK KNOWLEDGE?

But one day, a careless business move on the part of our company’s management spurred many call center agents to resign and move on to other companies. All of a sudden, the familiar faces that I used to see everyday for the past year and a half started disappearing one by one by the day. There’s a pang in the heart whenever I see a resigned officemate’s seat either used by a new employee or is unoccupied. The place has totally changed. I long for what was then. The nostalgia in me feels more like a fever, I could not even speak well for days.

No one, not even management, could put a stop to the bloodshed they had caused because of their stupid greed. Although me and my officemates who became my friends didn’t want to part ways, we still had to. The workplace is no longer the same. And it’s not really our life; it’s only a part of us that we have to shed off like dried skin.

For the past few months, I’ve been losing those very few who considered me as their friend. And it pains me to see them walk away to choose their own path. They may not consider me as an important part of their lives, but I will surely treasure the memories. They made me feel human, normal. At least, I am able to say that it’s actually OK to be a chickenshit citizen, after all. And those chickenshit individuals prompted this cheesy, chickenshit write-up that should’ve been sent instead to Lovingly Yours, Helen if only that show was still alive.

As for me, I couldn’t get away from the company — not yet. It has already been my comfort zone that I won’t dare let go of it at the moment since I have other priorities in mind. Don’t we losers consider jobs simply as our milking cows to satiate ourselves in order for us to attend to our other duties, those which we really love doing?

Yes, those seats in the office where my friends used to sit are either used by another employee or is unoccupied. There’s a lividity inside to see a whole new production floor (only the music of a previous era will haunt me with images, sights and sounds of the past, whenever I hear it). And the thought that I’ll be the only one left out of the original group of agents in that company scares me. I’m now chickenshit PEPE, no longer the usual WEIRDKATT that I used to be.

But reverting back is easy. Once a loner, always a loner.

Shit. This is one aspect which I don’t like in a job. It creates friendships which never last (it pains me when a happy era has to disintegrate). Otherwise, it forces you to become an introvert loser. Now that’s cool.

Y’know what? I suddenly find the Web fascinating: you can have Cyberfriends without even meeting him/her in person. And when the Cyberpal dies? No, there’s no pang in the heart. All that remains is emptiness of the Cyber kind.

Damn, I hate being in pain.

Stumble it!