A big, you might call pivotal, moment for me was when I realised that if I stay in my government job, I’ll become like them – fat, complacent, lazy, bitter, scheming, incompetent, incapable of making my own money, and apparently ignorant that I could make my own choices.
The *Them* I knew quite well, because for years I’d had a friend who although lots of fun to be around, was a deeply flawed human, lazy, the absolute opposite of driven or ambitious, professionally in a rut of many years, trapped being a wage slave and for not great a wage.
As usual, I had no real idea of what I wanted. I only knew what I did not want.
To not become Them was at the top of this list of one.
And so started hatching the scheme, kinda on its own.
I could write, or so I had been told. I knew about this internet thing, at least enough to be on my second ‘internet job’ at this point. I had a blog, which made more enemies and caused more stress than it was worth, but it somehow established that yeah, I could have a thought and put it down in a reasonably readable fashion.
So I would write, but who would pay?
Well, some did, and not much. It was €25 per ghostwritten piece of unspecified word-count that I started out with, putting words in the mouths of supposed thought leaders in the tech industry, because they were too occupied leading thoughts to actually have thoughts that translate into words.
It wasn’t much, but it was something, and it was a start.
And it was something I could do while pretending to work at my government job, because honestly, most days there was nothing to do, since most days the Minister did not decree something that concerned the agency I worked at, and a flurry of activity was therefore mostly uncalled for.
Then I was on holiday in Australia with an ex and cofounder and that’s another story. A former boss from a former job, whom I’d looked up to and who’d actually noticed me, offered quite the deal. 20 hours a week to work on a client of his, based in Stockholm. Half of the 40 demanded by the government, and getting paid double.
I quit on the spot – someday I’ll even unearth the 2 line resignation email I had quickly and gleefully drafted.
I still had 2 or 3 weeks Down Under though, and the best bit, and I swear completed unwittingly – I miscalculated the time difference, so I was returning home a day after I had informed my job I would.
And so it happened that one of the best phone conversations I’ve ever had in my life happened early morning in Kuala Lumpur, with me sat in the most nicotine stained airport smoking area I’ve ever seen.
“Erm, hello?” I answer nervously because I see the call code for Malta, so it could be family, but I know I’m paying for this by the second.
“This is ______ from your government job.” A guy with one of those ridiculous portmanteau type names like Marjohn for Mario and John, and whose qualification for the fancy job title he had was his possession of the correct political party membership. He’s not even my direct superior, just has a higher rank but in some tangential manner clear only to government department employees. What could he want?
“Hey, how are you? How can I help?”
“Are you coming to work?”
“Erm. Coming to work. This is awkward.”
“Awkward how? I’m calling to see if you’re coming to work.”
“Coming to work. Hmm, I’m in an airport in Malaysia.”
“What? Your leave request said you return to work on this date. Are you coming to work?”
“Yes, I heard the question, but, I’m about 10,000 kilometres away, and my flight is in a couple of hours. I must have miscalculated, so, I guess my answer is no?”
“Hmm ħeqq, this is going to be a problem eh.”
“I guess, yes, it could be, but, also, it is entirely out of my and out of your hands at this point Marjohn, so you can choose to make it a problem, or you can not.”
I somehow got cocky at this point.
It was like secondary school all over – this chump has already decided he’s going to make me suffer, but that won’t be for another 2 days roughly, and I can talk back like a pro, and also, I’m basically already kinda working out my notice period at this point, so who cares?
The call ended soon after. I think I was three days late going back to work in the end, because I had to overnight in London, and then I had a cold.
In any case, the government was as done with me as I was done with them, so much so, that they miscalculated my last payslip and somehow overpaid me for leave days in lieu which I did not have.
