I sigh with angst. Another day in my desolate office lies ahead and I cringe with anticipation. My weary body aches from immobility and my parched mouth pains from the unreasonable smiling pretence that I am forced to withhold every day.
Some days I don’t want to be cheerful. What is there to be happy about in this profession? It’s not that I hate what my job entails, but for some unbeknownst reason, my forged grin is an invitation to take advantage of me on a daily basis. I’m a like a public punching bag; hung out to solve the world’s problems with an apparent resilience that is unbreakable. I don’t want to be that person any more.
I don’t know how I ended up here; a stagnant, unappreciated mound of hardy flesh for others to release their frustrations on. I was destined for big things once; a liberated actor, following his hopes and dreams. But I let money steer my path. I made a financial deal with the dream-sucking devil and chose finance and career over passion. I will wilt away in this mundane role as I watch the world pass me by.
‘Stay positive’, they say. Well, I hate to be the bearer of doom and gloom, but my future is bleak. I work seven days a week and many hours a day for this place. The office is practically my home and is about as stimulating as watching grass grow. What sort of life is that for anyone?
Do they realise I drive sales? My uniqueness and dedication to my position make me irreplaceable. I am the friendly face at the forefront of local tourism, but grossly underappreciated. When people are lost, bored or new in town I am often their first port of call, yet I have suffered more physical and verbal abuse than anyone in Swan Hill. I feel like the town’s complimentary counsellor, void of any real voice or feeling.
My cynical co-workers constantly remind me that ‘the grass is always greener on the other side.’ I know the bloody grass is greener. It is rubbed in my face every single day of my dreary existence. Trust me; the grass is growing its own vegie patch on the other side and I’m hungry. I am forced to contemplate that hopeful green stuff every day of my life and wish that I could jump the fence and indulge myself. Unfortunately, some things will never happen.
I relentlessly receive well-meaning advice such as, ‘do something else…find a new job…try something you love.’ Well, I hate to break it to you people, but when you are an enlarged fibre glass Murray Cod named ‘Arnold’ who is permanently cemented into the dry Mallee landscape in a train station car park with your mouth pried open for the remainder of your life, there aint no other job…
Next time you think you are doing it tough, spare a thought for Arnold.
Photo credit (featured image): http://www.huffingtonpost.com