Thursday, August 24, 2006
Women and children first: marketing from a wageslaves perspective
mydaysasawageslave.com
Thursday morning and already the testosterone was flying. A number of the alpha females were fighting to sit next to our Godboss (No. 1).
As usual, Trixiebelle, a particularly vicious little marketing droid, had managed to claim the seat immediately to the right of Number 1. She was laughing harder and louder than anyone else at nothing in particular.
Igor, the deformed yet deadly, stone cold henchman was the undisputed owner of the seat to the left of Number 1's throne. The remaining seats were anybodies.
I usually stood at these type of things due to the fact I was mostly late and always eager to be in a position to run should I have to.
At this stage the turnover was so high that there were nearly always a few faces I didn't know at the table. There were also a few notable absences.
Bren had taken to drinking before breakfast so he wasn't due to arrive in for a couple of hours yet. He had recently replaced kelvin, who had gone off to pursue a career in cocaine and East European teenage prostitutes.
The meeting crawled on in the usual boring manner for about 45 minutes. I counted to 200 and then backwards before trying to sleep with both eyes open. I tried to meditate and wondered if I could make myself come without touching myself. I mean if those old Indian bhramins could walk on fire and fly...
And then came the unusual bit. Igor took over the meeting and number 1 left the room. This was an untried formula. Maybe they were trying to catch us out. See if we'd notice, the way my Granny used to ask who said Mass to see if I 'd gone, when I hadn't.
"Well, I... WE. Have some news" Igor stammered. "I'm sure you've noticed Carol isn't here today. Well, we've had to let her go. She won't be coming back... er, any questions?"
We were kind of stunned by this. It came out of the blue as they hadn't culled anyone in a month.
"But she was pregnant. She was due to go out on maternity leave in a couple of months." one of the shocked marketing girls blurted out.
"I know that. But that had nothing to do with it. We made the decision fairly, based on purely financial and professional reasons". he countered.
"Yeah. Right!". The previously docile but now quite openly disgusted marketing wageslave responded.
"Look, if any of you think that we would get rid of someone, just because they were due to go out on maternity leave, well there's just no place for you here because you're calling us liars. And worse still you're calling our boss a liar". piped up Pip, a mid level marketing wageslave who obviously fancied himself a few rungs higher up the ladder.
And in a classic case of badly gauging the mood of his audience, Igor finished us off with... "But don't worry, Carol's replacement starts tomorrow".
We were given permission to leave.
Everyone was quit numb and down about this latest culling.
We all knew it was a ruthless place. More Boston than Berlin but this just seemed a bit too close to the bone. A Macjob. Next thing we'd be made wear numbered tags.
I made for the kitchen where a few other work refugees were hanging out bitching. They held their breath as the door opened but continued on once they saw it was me.
"What a fuckin' cunt though eh?" continued John19, one of the lower ranking design droids. "They'll be giving women monthly pregnancy tests next. You know he used to say he'd never hire a woman with kids 'cause they'd always put the kids before the job. Now he's getting rid of them before they even have the kids."
"Ah, he'll never get rid of them all though. Just the ones who won't flirt with him." added Peter, wageslave No. 5. " He always says that he only hires women with a first class degree and big tits. He wouldn't hire anyone who didn't have cleavage."
"Unless they were a guy." I said.
"...yeah, I suppose."
"What a shit! I'm definitely getting out of here." May, one of the sweeter but less successful, generic marketing girls blurted out when suddenly the door burst open and Number 1 bounced in full of mock laddish good humour.
In an effort to fill the silence and not look like we were bitching about him I went into a line of spiel.. "..so yea, anyway, I can never find my clothes in the morning. The pile for laundry just seemed to grow into the pile of clean stuff and become one big pile. It's a real mess. I think it's getting the better of me..."
Number 1 stopped to join in eager to be seen as 'one of the lads', "You should just do what we're going to do. Get in a Filipino!"
It's great. My mate has one. They'll like, do all your cooking and cleaning and stuff. And look after the kids too. They're made for that kind of shit. They love it. And they're really cheap too.
And then I was thinking, that if you ever come home drunk and the wife is off at her mother's with the sprogs, or whatever, you could go, Hey Svetlana! Come here and give me my dinner. And give me a blow job while I'm waiting! Ha! Ha!"
There was an uncomfortable silence, as we all looked to avoid eye contact. Hoping the floor would swallow us or the sky would fall in on his head or something, when May looked up with a sweet smile.
"Svetlana?"
"Huh?" he murmered.
"Svetlana? I thought you said she was going to be a 'Filipino'. You won't get many Filipino's called Svetlana. You'd want to get her name right."
"Filipinos, Poles, whatever. You know what I mean."
We did. And that was the scary part.
Thursday morning and already the testosterone was flying. A number of the alpha females were fighting to sit next to our Godboss (No. 1).
As usual, Trixiebelle, a particularly vicious little marketing droid, had managed to claim the seat immediately to the right of Number 1. She was laughing harder and louder than anyone else at nothing in particular.
Igor, the deformed yet deadly, stone cold henchman was the undisputed owner of the seat to the left of Number 1's throne. The remaining seats were anybodies.
I usually stood at these type of things due to the fact I was mostly late and always eager to be in a position to run should I have to.
At this stage the turnover was so high that there were nearly always a few faces I didn't know at the table. There were also a few notable absences.
Bren had taken to drinking before breakfast so he wasn't due to arrive in for a couple of hours yet. He had recently replaced kelvin, who had gone off to pursue a career in cocaine and East European teenage prostitutes.
The meeting crawled on in the usual boring manner for about 45 minutes. I counted to 200 and then backwards before trying to sleep with both eyes open. I tried to meditate and wondered if I could make myself come without touching myself. I mean if those old Indian bhramins could walk on fire and fly...
And then came the unusual bit. Igor took over the meeting and number 1 left the room. This was an untried formula. Maybe they were trying to catch us out. See if we'd notice, the way my Granny used to ask who said Mass to see if I 'd gone, when I hadn't.
"Well, I... WE. Have some news" Igor stammered. "I'm sure you've noticed Carol isn't here today. Well, we've had to let her go. She won't be coming back... er, any questions?"
We were kind of stunned by this. It came out of the blue as they hadn't culled anyone in a month.
"But she was pregnant. She was due to go out on maternity leave in a couple of months." one of the shocked marketing girls blurted out.
"I know that. But that had nothing to do with it. We made the decision fairly, based on purely financial and professional reasons". he countered.
"Yeah. Right!". The previously docile but now quite openly disgusted marketing wageslave responded.
"Look, if any of you think that we would get rid of someone, just because they were due to go out on maternity leave, well there's just no place for you here because you're calling us liars. And worse still you're calling our boss a liar". piped up Pip, a mid level marketing wageslave who obviously fancied himself a few rungs higher up the ladder.
And in a classic case of badly gauging the mood of his audience, Igor finished us off with... "But don't worry, Carol's replacement starts tomorrow".
We were given permission to leave.
Everyone was quit numb and down about this latest culling.
We all knew it was a ruthless place. More Boston than Berlin but this just seemed a bit too close to the bone. A Macjob. Next thing we'd be made wear numbered tags.
I made for the kitchen where a few other work refugees were hanging out bitching. They held their breath as the door opened but continued on once they saw it was me.
"What a fuckin' cunt though eh?" continued John19, one of the lower ranking design droids. "They'll be giving women monthly pregnancy tests next. You know he used to say he'd never hire a woman with kids 'cause they'd always put the kids before the job. Now he's getting rid of them before they even have the kids."
"Ah, he'll never get rid of them all though. Just the ones who won't flirt with him." added Peter, wageslave No. 5. " He always says that he only hires women with a first class degree and big tits. He wouldn't hire anyone who didn't have cleavage."
"Unless they were a guy." I said.
"...yeah, I suppose."
"What a shit! I'm definitely getting out of here." May, one of the sweeter but less successful, generic marketing girls blurted out when suddenly the door burst open and Number 1 bounced in full of mock laddish good humour.
In an effort to fill the silence and not look like we were bitching about him I went into a line of spiel.. "..so yea, anyway, I can never find my clothes in the morning. The pile for laundry just seemed to grow into the pile of clean stuff and become one big pile. It's a real mess. I think it's getting the better of me..."
Number 1 stopped to join in eager to be seen as 'one of the lads', "You should just do what we're going to do. Get in a Filipino!"
It's great. My mate has one. They'll like, do all your cooking and cleaning and stuff. And look after the kids too. They're made for that kind of shit. They love it. And they're really cheap too.
And then I was thinking, that if you ever come home drunk and the wife is off at her mother's with the sprogs, or whatever, you could go, Hey Svetlana! Come here and give me my dinner. And give me a blow job while I'm waiting! Ha! Ha!"
There was an uncomfortable silence, as we all looked to avoid eye contact. Hoping the floor would swallow us or the sky would fall in on his head or something, when May looked up with a sweet smile.
"Svetlana?"
"Huh?" he murmered.
"Svetlana? I thought you said she was going to be a 'Filipino'. You won't get many Filipino's called Svetlana. You'd want to get her name right."
"Filipinos, Poles, whatever. You know what I mean."
We did. And that was the scary part.
# posted by mydaysasawageslave @ 9:13 AM 
