the-paco.livejournal.comI never realized my job would let me encounter and try to bolster the weaklings that are many ordinary techs. You know, the ones who last only 3 months and get pulled out on gurneys. My god, how pathetic. I've acted like that, I remember acting like that about some things, and now I know why I was such a moody little shit back in the day (as opposed to the well-adjusted immense pile of fecal matter who posts before you). But rather than steal the contents of the wallets of these little wind-blown reeds of indecisive wheat, whose every move is begging for a quick and violent harvest, I help them. I manage to pick them up, dust them off, strap on an Acme Port-a-pair, and send them back in to deal badly with their intellectual betters (and saying that about the customers is the worst insult I can give the tech). I can be a dick by proxy, using the techs as my soft, fluffy protective sock over the end of the cudgel of uncaring truth and fact. I can no longer directly hear the customers scream in anguish (usually), but I get to hear the tech squeal when I hit them. Occasionally one doesn't squeal, but rings like a chime, and I know who to keep an eye on for promotion.
I feel like 1/10th R. Lee Ermy (the drill instructor from Full Metal Jacket), and not even the hat bit. I'd totally be the hat if they let me verbally hand these techs their little bundle of emotions, worries, and whines back to them on a bloody pike like I know I CAN. Nope, I'm probably the sock.
But I'm moving up. A few more months, maybe a year of this, and then I want to shoot for supervisor, or something more. I don't care. As long as it's UP. Maybe someday I can be the hat.
All hail the hat.