Another day, another errand
Saturday! That special day of rest when yet another day of rest is guaranteed, thus there is no real need to rest, unless you are really tired. I could clean or cook or fold laundry or take care of the myriad mundane things that would make my house into my man's castle, but my man hasn't complained yet, so... Okay, I admit, I did wash the clothes and put them out to dry in the frigid wind. I also considered vacuuming, but we need bags. Thank goodness I got out of that one. The market economy in NZ is just small enough to save me from too many necessary errands by closing some important shops on Saturdays and Sundays.
In my former life, prior to moving to this itty bitty microcosm of upside down western living, I was an attorney. I am an attorney still, but you can't fault me for this profession just at this moment because I don't practice here. Instead, I volunteer for all sorts of organizations that I would have loved to have found in the US to help out people that I couldn't. The point of this is not that I did some decent work that made me happy and fulfilled in the past. No, the point here, relevant to my current state and the theme of this rambling, is: I can't remember how I ever got my errands done when I was wearing a suit all day. I don't remember ever taking time off to go get groceries, yet, somehow, I remember having fuller shelves then than now. Did I frequent Trader Joe's in my suit? Did I really clean the house when I arrived home after a full day, and did I do it before or after taking off my suit? If I didn't take off my suit, did I get down on my knees to scrub? In that case, when did I find the time to get to the drycleaners? Who did all the running around? Did my husband do that? I believe he may have on occasion. I have a fleeting memory of the two of us sharing chores. What a world we lived in then.
Where is he now, that husband who used to be home, but clearly is not at this moment, you might wonder? Why am I so alone on this Saturday? He works for a Company that calls Saturday a "normal day" and "normal" apparently means more like the five work days of the week and not the traditional day before Sunday when we all sleep in and take walks and eat lunch in the late afternoon. So, he works. In addition to the strange abnormality that the Company has made normal, they also do such pleasant things as "invite" you to work on Sunday, a day they can't quite bring themselves to call a normal day... yet. They even include an incentive: the boss people will be there. Ah, the Company is eating the souls of lots of people today and probably will again tomorrow.
No unions, no human resource department, and the best part is there are actually no employees. The Company asserts that each worker is an independent contractor, thus has no obligation to pay into the national medical benefit on behalf of all these diligent people required to show up for normal day Saturdays. If you don't come in, you better submit a report. The High Court decided that they really are employees. Score one for the workers, but working more than 65 hours a week makes the assertion of employment rights a really difficult errand to complete.
And so, there are the wives. Yeah, where are we in all this? Why aren't I on the picket line? Surely I have the time, between not vacuuming and not cleaning, to walk the streets in front of the Company's main office, carrying a hand-painted sign depicting me and a sad little doggy crying for our best friend to come home, demanding rights for my husband, and all the others, or at least requesting that he can join us for dinner? I am looking for others to join me, but frankly, I think I would rather pack our stuff, our little dog, our impressive abalone shell collection, and get back to the security and comfort of unionized employment! Hooray for the worker! Hooray for the worker who escapes to stability!
Next up on my errand list: make more songs for my upcoming party album on garageband.
In my former life, prior to moving to this itty bitty microcosm of upside down western living, I was an attorney. I am an attorney still, but you can't fault me for this profession just at this moment because I don't practice here. Instead, I volunteer for all sorts of organizations that I would have loved to have found in the US to help out people that I couldn't. The point of this is not that I did some decent work that made me happy and fulfilled in the past. No, the point here, relevant to my current state and the theme of this rambling, is: I can't remember how I ever got my errands done when I was wearing a suit all day. I don't remember ever taking time off to go get groceries, yet, somehow, I remember having fuller shelves then than now. Did I frequent Trader Joe's in my suit? Did I really clean the house when I arrived home after a full day, and did I do it before or after taking off my suit? If I didn't take off my suit, did I get down on my knees to scrub? In that case, when did I find the time to get to the drycleaners? Who did all the running around? Did my husband do that? I believe he may have on occasion. I have a fleeting memory of the two of us sharing chores. What a world we lived in then.
Where is he now, that husband who used to be home, but clearly is not at this moment, you might wonder? Why am I so alone on this Saturday? He works for a Company that calls Saturday a "normal day" and "normal" apparently means more like the five work days of the week and not the traditional day before Sunday when we all sleep in and take walks and eat lunch in the late afternoon. So, he works. In addition to the strange abnormality that the Company has made normal, they also do such pleasant things as "invite" you to work on Sunday, a day they can't quite bring themselves to call a normal day... yet. They even include an incentive: the boss people will be there. Ah, the Company is eating the souls of lots of people today and probably will again tomorrow.
No unions, no human resource department, and the best part is there are actually no employees. The Company asserts that each worker is an independent contractor, thus has no obligation to pay into the national medical benefit on behalf of all these diligent people required to show up for normal day Saturdays. If you don't come in, you better submit a report. The High Court decided that they really are employees. Score one for the workers, but working more than 65 hours a week makes the assertion of employment rights a really difficult errand to complete.
And so, there are the wives. Yeah, where are we in all this? Why aren't I on the picket line? Surely I have the time, between not vacuuming and not cleaning, to walk the streets in front of the Company's main office, carrying a hand-painted sign depicting me and a sad little doggy crying for our best friend to come home, demanding rights for my husband, and all the others, or at least requesting that he can join us for dinner? I am looking for others to join me, but frankly, I think I would rather pack our stuff, our little dog, our impressive abalone shell collection, and get back to the security and comfort of unionized employment! Hooray for the worker! Hooray for the worker who escapes to stability!
Next up on my errand list: make more songs for my upcoming party album on garageband.
posted by your friend at Friday, August 26, 2005
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