You Betta Work
I got to work kinda early this morning, so I was all alone in the office for a while as workmen swarmed around on the fire escape outside the windows, doing something to the facade or whatevs. At first it felt weird, like I was some sort of fish floating placidly behind glass while the world was doing real work on the other side. Then I got all caught up in what I think it means to do “real work” and became even further enmeshed imagining how much more money the construction dudes surely make than I do, considering they are probably in a sweet NYC trade union while I labor in the money-free trenches of feminist journalism. Is it worth it just to get a cozy desk and plus ones? Is my work more impressive because I can point to my name on a page? Besides probably making more than I do, those dudes can cruise all over the city and point to countless exteriors and tell their friends what they did. How they fixed things up. How they repaired countless cornices and edifices and moldings on concrete canyons all over the island. My work has most likely ended up lining a hamster cage or two, or perhaps provided the material for a lovely pinata. I guess as long as its important to me, I shouldn’t worry abut what’s happening outside my window. Besides, I definitely couldn’t hack it as a construction worker - too afraid of heights. I guess as Labor Day approaches, I’m one of those nerds who actually thinks about different kinds of work, and how fragile and arbitrary even having a job can be.
September 6th, 2006 at 11:24 am
This picture made me feel a pang of nostalgia for my time in the Busty trenches with you! I also spent labor day thinking about the nature of work. My conclusion is that maybe I will quit publishing and get a job at Whole Foods, because I’d make more money and never have to (physically or mentally) take any work home with me.