Dead-End Job Blues
September 20, 2016
Ever feel like a chameleon with no working camouflage
Whose skin can never simply turn the right shade?
Ever feel like you’ve been gambling every day in your adult life,
Risking it all to finally have everything made?
Well, that’s the way I’ve been for years, and needless to say,
Every deal I’ve made ended with me getting fleeced,
For I’ve followed each new walk of life like a lamb to the slaughter,
And this latest path’s rewarded me the least.
The empty praise is just that: no substance, only style—
Just words I hear from folks just being polite,
For all I really do is what I’m told, which isn’t much,
And I feel so dumb even when I get things right.
It’s not even work that requires logic or creativity,
Which is why my brain hurts every time I come home,
And I can do even better, I bet, if I’d only be left on my own,
But my lords and their protocols won’t leave me alone.
I constantly catch wind, too, of their daily disapproval,
Should I make so much as one small mistake,
And even when something’s not my fault, yet I’m somehow at the scene,
I get blamed and know not how much more I can take.
I should’ve thought twice before I’d signed up for all this,
But I guess at this moment, it’s too little, too late,
And I suppose I need to suck it up and screw my heels in,
No matter how much this situation I hate.
After all, I’m making money from now ‘til I make it big,
Whenever in the future that’ll be.
Wasn’t that the plan I made when I signed that dotted line
Not fully knowing the kind of crap that awaited me?
Maybe it’s just better, then, to keep cool and play it safe
Before my anxiety sends me out the door.
Besides, this work’s for teenagers. How can it be so hard for me—
A man who used to walk college classroom floors?
Then again, this work’s monotonous and not rewarding at all.
The only challenge is preserving my sanity.
Still, I know I must persevere if I wish to see my next check,
No matter how small that final amount might be—
Especially for the countless hours my superiors make me slave
In my designated workspace day after day,
Barely seeing anyone outside of the usual suspects,
Not seeing the sun at all, lest they have their say.
So be it, then! Let them have their way, no matter just how many years
They have me sailing the doldrums of my life.
Let them make me break my back for little dough to compensate
For all my mental and physical pain and strife.
My bullies shan’t have the last laugh once my number’s finally drawn,
And when it is, it’ll all come to an end.
Nothing lasts forever, after all—not even earthly torment,
And when things change, it’ll be for the better, friend.