For a little over three years I worked for a telephone fundraising company in the Boston area, the Share Group. The job started off as fun but quickly became like something out of a horror movie. Okay, perhaps I’m overstating. The place wasn’t exactly “Texas Chainsaw Massacre”, more like “Sean of the Dead”, but I think you get my meaning. Intense and viscous office politics, both among management and employees, abusive supervisors, interspersed with mind numbing boredom. Its a story which includes a SWAT team raid, political assassination, heroin addiction, dill pickles, Trotskyist politics, and the films of Goddard, Bertulluci, and Tarkovsky. Not to mention of course half each workday day spent having people tell me to “not fucking call me again”? Good times.
Anyway, this is a novella of sorts of some of my experiences there. Its a work in progress, part of a larger semi-autobiographical project I’m working on. Most but not all of the names are real.
I remember a late 80s punk rock song. There’s a heavy, eerie bass in the background. A guy is shouting, over and over, “Dad, I’m in jail!”, “I’m in jail !, Dad!, jail”,. Then, assertively ” I’m in jaaaaiiil Dad, jaaaiiillll! and you know, I LIKE IT HERE !” I’m in JAIL and they’re throwing away the key!!”
A guy trying to assert himself against an overbearing father. An oedipal complex played out though self destruction. Anyway, that’s not what I’ll be writing about here, but still, I GOT FIRED!