Jerry’s Marginalia — Use a Boundary, Not a Cover Story
There are many ways to protect your privacy.
Apparently I selected espionage.
For six months, I maintained an entirely unnecessary alternate employment identity.
This required wardrobe continuity.
Scheduling continuity.
Lore continuity.
And, most importantly, remembering which corporation the supporting cast believed was currently paying Jerry Silverhand.
This was considerably more work than simply saying:
“I don't really want to discuss my job or finances.”
I have recently discovered this sentence.
It is revolutionary.
You see, I had confused privacy with secrecy.
Privacy says:
“That's personal, and I'd rather keep it to myself.”
Secrecy says:
“Quick. Somebody get me a uniform and six months of supporting lore.”
One of these requires a boundary.
The other apparently requires a costume department.
The stupid part is that boundaries are cheaper.
They don't require remembering previous dialogue options.
They don't create continuity errors.
They don't require DLC.
And unlike a cover story, a boundary does not eventually develop holes because you have washed the same goddamn work shirt seventy-five times.
This lesson unfortunately arrived during another lesson:
Never assume stability is permanent merely because Tuesday looked exactly like Monday.
Sometimes you can show up.
Do the job.
Work the hours.
Collect the paycheck.
Go home.
Repeat this process for months.
And then suddenly the plot advances without asking whether you were finished with the previous chapter.
This is irritating.
Jerry does not enjoy character development.
Jerry enjoys direct deposit.
Nevertheless, there are useful things buried beneath the rubble.
I learned that wanting privacy is fine.
I learned that lying to obtain privacy creates maintenance costs.
I learned that being capable of doing more does not obligate me to volunteer for everything.
I learned that workplace jokes should probably remain the sort that cannot someday become Exhibit Fucking A.
I learned that an employer can provide consistent hours while the environment surrounding those hours remains remarkably inconsistent.
And perhaps most importantly:
I learned that when something goes wrong, anger is information—not instructions.
You can be furious.
You can complain.
You can call the building Haus Morgenrot.
You can mentally assign every supervisor a species of guard dog.
You can imagine yourself being repeatedly flattened into a pancake by the world's least entertaining Punch-Out!! roster.
Then you wait.
You gather facts.
You apply elsewhere.
You make the next decision after the emotional fire has stopped selecting menu options for you.
Because sometimes there is no grand victory.
Sometimes the victory is considerably less cinematic:
You didn't blow everything up.
You didn't make the situation worse.
You learned something.
You kept moving.
And somewhere out there is hopefully a warehouse containing a pallet that possesses neither feelings nor access to Human Resources.
Jerry intends to find it.
— Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Marginal note: Next time, use a boundary instead of a cover story. The wardrobe budget alone is unsustainable. 🌵