Working Man's Blues

A week ago, there were little cards on a table, and they said "What is your occupation? How do you describe what you do? Can you draw a picture of it?" Or something like that.

"I am a high-tech mechanic. I make it possible for other people to do their jobs, play, etc." Then I drew a little series of boxes connected by lines, that anyone in my profession would understand: a basic network diagram. Backbone, WAN, LAN, servers and workstations.

That's what I am. A blue collar man. I may have a college degree and all sorts of knowledge, but what I am is an old fashioned mechanic. A very old fashioned one, since I usually go to where the broken system is, instead of making it come to me.

I work in a very nice place. Really. I like my coworkers, I like my boss, I like my boss's boss. They are nice people. We chat, they accomodate requests for odd schedules, give me lots of leeway in what I do and how I do it. I even like my customers, or at least most of them. They know what it's like to be the mechanic, I know what it's like to be the first line of contact. We try to take it easy on each other.

After my run in with Mr. Executive Guy on Friday, I came back to finish up some work. It was late, about 6pm, and most of the folks in that office had left by 4:30. One person was left, though, which was odd. She was there and hour and a half late on Friday night? I made a joke and asked what had her there so late, and she just dumped. Her boss, her co-workers, the cutomers... she was tying up loose ends, and leaving. She was taking a medical leave, for stress. Maybe she'd come back, maybe she wouldn't. She didn't sound "all right," but I don't know her very well, so I let her talk. She said something about a therapist, so I know she's getting help, or at least, I hope that's true. She has a very sharp sense of humor, and I'll miss that while she's gone. She seemed very sad, stuck in an empty office after 6pm on a Friday. I certainly know that feeling.

Somewhere out there, Mr. Executive Guy goes home, to his big house in his insulated community. I know, I know... He doesn't know she's there, or that something's wrong. He barely knows I'm there when we pass within feet of each other, how could he know she's there?

And that's my point.

Tell me it's not about the money, and that we can all be anything we want. Tell me that if the poor can't raise themselves up, then that's just the market, it's not an injustice. Accuse me of promoting "class warfare."

Tell me whatever you want. I don't believe it any more. It's all about the money. It's easy to say, "Don't worry about the future," when your retirement's secured. It's easy to say "forgive" when you're the winner, and "team work," when you're in control. It's easy to preach when the rules don't apply to you. It's a lot harder to listen to it, when you're working late on Friday night, and watching someone fall apart.