While musing the other day about the workd of work I discovered an amazing thing. If pursued to fill a job as an practicing anthropologist I’d say no. “Ahhh, come on Lou! You know how much you loved doing this!” Well it’s true, I did love doing it But I am, as a friend put it “I am just so done with that now.”
It was like a diet of junk food, after a bit you’ve had all you can take. It wasn’t the people in the communities that I studied, or developed the programs for. They were uniformly wonderful, great to work with, and the experiences were truly fulfilling.
Complete stop. Full new paragraph. Here it is. It was the agencies and people I had to work for. Talk about flies in the ointment. The idiots needed publicists to help justify the irritating, self-serving, and self-interested shit they pulled.
Me! My Friends and Me!
No, it wasn’t the bean counters. They were easy – keep track of the money, and stay within the law. It was the egocentric twits in the front office. Find a spot for my niece. Hire this band. Use my friends to do the research. Change the date not to conflict with my friends event. I didn’t like it that the mayor got top billing on the invites rather than me. Why are you always on about “those people” rather than mine? I think that gardening stuff is stupid. How about some nice classical music. Those craft people do lousy work. You are prejudiced for so and so. You are prejudiced against so and so.
That’s a partial litany. In my final job, I was less an anthropologist and more an interference blocker. I ran interference so my staff and contractors could do the job.
Still, I could almost… nope. There’s the little TV station, the carving, and writing for pleasure. I wouldn’t be a practicing anthropologist again. “I am just so done with that now.”
Amen. Thanks for letting me vent.
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