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.
The Din Over Dan
Lost In The Shell
Born To Snooze
Heres My Kokote
Is It Safe?
Something To Sing About
Streaks Of Light
Hire Me ... Please
Hyung Tae Kim
Happy Tree Friends
My Boyfriend Is A Twat
Home Star Runner
Albino Black Sheep
Triumph, The Insult Comic Dog