The Employee Who Would Like to Be Employed
I saw a Bandana short today called “Being Employed vs Unemployed.”
Simple premise.
Two little creatures.
Two completely different problems.
On one side, we have The Cat.
The Cat is employed.
The Cat has apparently reached the stage of employment where he is considering whether gravity might qualify as PTO.
His opening strategy is essentially:
If I throw myself down the stairs and say I broke something, maybe I can get a week off.
Now, obviously, do not do this.
But spiritually?
I understand the Cat.
The Cat has had enough.
The Cat wants one week where nobody asks him anything.
Nobody calls him.
Nobody schedules him.
Nobody needs him to solve something.
Nobody walks around a corner and introduces a brand-new side quest.
The Cat wants to be left the fuck alone.
Then the video cuts to The Mouse.
The Mouse is unemployed.
The Mouse is sitting at his computer staring at job listings.
And this little bastard is practically negotiating directly with Heaven.
Please.
Please let me get this job.
Please, with all your might.
Please put this job into my life right now.
This is no longer an application.
This is a summoning ritual.
The Mouse isn't clicking Apply.
The Mouse is attempting to manifest a hiring manager through divine intervention.
And watching these two creatures, I realized something horrifying.
I AM BOTH OF THEM.
Somehow, through the administrative genius of Haus Morgenrot, I have achieved the previously impossible employment state of:
EMPLOYED AND UNEMPLOYED AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME.
Let me explain.
I have a job.
This must be established immediately.
I am employed.
I have been employed at Haus Morgenrot since February.
I am now in my eighth month there.
I have an employee number.
I have a uniform.
I have completed training.
I have worked twelve-hour shifts.
I have worked six-day runs.
I have taken the tests.
I know the procedures.
I know the building.
I know the routine.
I know when things are supposed to happen.
I know when things absolutely will not happen despite everyone insisting that they are supposed to happen.
I have accumulated enough institutional knowledge that if you leave me standing in a hallway long enough, eventually someone will mistake me for part of the furniture.
I am, by every conventional definition:
Employed.
Except I haven't worked since September 14.
Not because I quit.
Not because I was fired.
No.
That would be far too easy to explain.
September 14 brought another allegation.
Then came the suspension.
Then came questions.
Then came waiting.
Then came my report.
Then came more waiting.
And after everything that had already happened during my adventures at Haus Morgenrot, I figured:
Well.
That's probably it.
Third suspension.
Pack it up.
Mr. Germin has completed the Haus Morgenrot campaign.
So I started applying elsewhere.
Warehouse.
Shipping.
Receiving.
Assembly.
Distribution.
Anything where the primary daily objective is preferably:
MOVE OBJECT FROM POINT A TO POINT B.
I became The Mouse.
Indeed opened.
Resume loaded.
Applications fired.
Please.
Please let me get this job.
Please put this moderately boring warehouse into my life.
I promise I will move the boxes.
I will move the absolute FUCK out of those boxes.
And then Haus Morgenrot called.
Plot twist:
I WASN'T FIRED.
Oh.
Well.
That's good.
Seriously.
I would rather still have the job than suddenly have no job at all.
Apparently they want to move me away from my current assignment.
Possibly Medical.
Possibly nights.
Something around 6 PM to 6 AM had been discussed.
Fine by me.
Actually, that might work considerably better.
Put me somewhere quieter.
Let me do my job.
Let me be boring.
Let me collect my check.
Let me go home.
There is only one tiny remaining question.
WHEN THE FUCK DO I COME BACK?
Because it is now September 23.
I left September 14.
I have provided my account.
I have been told I'm still employed.
I have been told there is a plan.
What I have not received is the final, magical sentence:
“Come to work on this day at this time.”
And this is where I have transcended the Bandana video.
The Cat wants time off.
The Mouse wants a job.
I have somehow been granted both wishes while receiving the benefits of neither.
The Cat says:
“Please give me a week off.”
Haus Morgenrot:
Granted.
The Mouse says:
“Please give me a job.”
Haus Morgenrot:
Granted.
Mr. Germin:
“Cool. Can I work?”
Haus Morgenrot:
PLEASE HOLD.
This is not unemployment.
This is not employment.
This is Employment Purgatory.
I am Schrödinger's Tech Assistant.
Until someone from management opens the box, I am simultaneously scheduled and unscheduled.
I possess a job which currently produces no job.
And ordinarily I could simply laugh about this.
Except Haus Morgenrot pays on two windows:
1st through 15th.
16th through the end of the month.
The calendar, unfortunately, has declined to participate in my employer's administrative process.
September 16 happened.
Then September 17.
Every one of those dates wandered past while the second payroll window quietly continued without me.
My bank account has reviewed the situation and would like to remind everyone that:
“Technically still employed” is not a currency.
You cannot pay rent with it.
You cannot buy groceries with it.
Uber does not have a payment option marked:
HR ASSURES ME EVERYTHING IS FINE.
And that's really the frustrating part.
I don't need a grand ceremony.
I don't need someone to gather the elders.
I don't need a handwritten proclamation delivered by a mounted courier bearing the Seal of Haus Morgenrot.
Just talk to me.
Tell me what's happening.
“You're coming back Thursday.”
Great.
“We're moving you to nights starting Monday.”
Fantastic.
“We still don't know. Give us until Friday.”
Not ideal, but THANK YOU.
Now I know something.
I can plan around something.
I can stop checking my phone wondering whether today is the day someone remembers:
Oh shit. We still employ that guy.
And then, because reality occasionally has a sense of humor, I opened Indeed.
Haus Morgenrot is hiring Tech Assistants.
Of course it is.
And what are they advertising?
$18 an hour.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Because after seven-plus months of service, adventures, procedures, twelve-hour shifts, investigations, institutional nonsense, and enough Haus Morgenrot lore to fill a small paperback:
I make $16.
So somewhere in Houston, a completely new Mouse may be staring at the Haus Morgenrot listing right now.
Please God.
Please let me get this job.
Please put this job into my life.
And I'm sitting at home staring at the same listing like:
Motherfucker, I already HAVE that job.
Apparently I should apply.
Maybe they'll hire me.
I hear the starting pay is better.
At this point, though, I don't need miracles.
I don't need revenge.
I don't need Haus Morgenrot to admit that the universe has become profoundly stupid.
I would simply appreciate communication.
Tell me where I'm going.
Tell me what shift I'm working.
Tell me when I'm coming back.
Or, if this grand experiment isn't going to work, tell me that too.
Because there are boxes somewhere in Houston that need moving, and I have applications pending.
Until then, I shall remain in my newly discovered state of matter:
Employed enough to have a job.
Unemployed enough to be sitting at home.
Employed enough that I haven't been fired.
Unemployed enough to be begging Indeed for another employer.
The Cat wanted a break.
The Mouse wanted a job.
Somehow I became both.
And somewhere deep within Haus Morgenrot, I imagine a printer quietly producing another form that will explain absolutely fucking nothing.
Be boring.
Collect the whole check.
Go home.
I swear that's all I ever wanted.
— Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
Technically employed. Please check back later for availability.