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Monday, November 29, 2004 Dismal is how I would put the state of affairs of my previous employer. It used to be gravid a couple of years ago, you know, pregnant and heavily lactating, with proverbial opportunities and the upper management's favorite closed-door, one-on-one by-line "room for growth."Those words echoed on from upper management, until my eight year tenure, which is exactly a fraction of my life. Until I came to realize that you find echoes almost exclusively in hollow spaces. ---------- After that, the compulsion of moving on had such a bracing imperative urgency like a male feline in estrus. The sentiment was community-wide, en masse, migratory instincts at the fore. ---------- How this suddenly concerns me, considering "the past is past" and somesuch, is based on two things: First, eight years was enough to form a granite-solid opinion that advertising is not in league with anything that has a semblance to words like "long-haul", "for keeps", and "Labor Code". It is a transition device, from here to there, points A to B, advertising being "to". While making a living out of it. In those eigth years of perennial ups and downs, year-end cliffhangers as certain as sinning, I have formulated exit plans, one of which is to open my own internet shop and take on every walk-in LAN gamer with a soft spot for Warcraft. Or do a 180 degree turn, head for the hills, and make a meaningful living on the countryside. Of course, along with the creature comforts of cable TV, the net, DVD, my hammock, and Pepsi Twist. ---------- Second, concerns a paisano affiliation. Eight years is not without alliances, friendships. Solidified down to the core in the course of plus or minus a decade. The so-called Old Guard, by merit of tenacity, witness to comings and goings in time lapse. When the last exodus happened, I took the trip ticket out, and some stayed. Admirable, after a fashion. To eke out a cursory bi-monthly living or other reasons I'm not privy to, I'm quite sure it is not an acquired taste for sado-masochism. But they too have exit plans of their own, which has fermented long enough in time for an ex-employer who has grown overhead bulimic lately. One of the old guard is relinquishing the mouse for a paintbrush, another is going to go back to his alma mater as an art guru. And the last, has a broad spectrum of options matched by brass-quality cojones. His blogspace Is It Safe speaks volumes. Bon chance, then. Opportunities abound. ---------- Right after this, I will continue page 165 of A Dog's Life. Authored by Peter Mayle, a long retired copywriter. This book is but one of his many exit plans.
posted by Alexis at 7:25 PM |
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