Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Forget princess. I want to be a housewife
Let's get women into STEM - but it's not the only battle we need to fight for workplace equality
Much of the discussion in recent years around increasing women's workforce participation rates and closing the gender pay gap has focused on encouraging girls and young women to consider careers in STEM - science, technology, engineering and mathematics. Women and girls considering or in STEM fields should certainly be encouraged, institutionalised sexism and other barriers to their careers dismantled. But the focus on getting women into STEM as the solution to women's workforce participation sidesteps dealing with the full reality of the gendered nature of work - a reality we need to address to achieve anything like real gender equality.
Doctor Google vs the patients
If you ask any suburban family doctor what the hardest part of their job is, then I'm sure that - along with under funding, excessive patient loads, waits for tests and referrals, work load, the burden of $100K student debt and the office politics we all must deal with - they'd mention the frustration of competing with Doctor Google. People who, before seeking actual medical advice, have researched their symptoms online, and without the ability to distinguish credible sources from quacks, have come up with dubious self diagnoses from which they will not be swayed. And I get it.
Frequently Asked Questions
Well, what with new readers arriving through BlogMad, Bust and others - a warm welcome to you all - I thought I'd take the chance to answer some of the questions I get asked about my life and our blog. So...
Working Hard, Or Hardly Working?
Yes, I'm still busy at work.
Which is why I'm within a hair-trigger of walking into the boss's office, screaming "I QUIT!", and storming out.
As you may know, I'm employed on a permanent part time basis. But lately, I've been working full time hours. I'm on a salary, so I don't get any overtime. What is supposed to happen, is that I get days off work in lieu. But everytime I try to take a day off, I get phoned at 7:30am and told "We really need you into work!" so I go.
You may ask why the company doesn't employ me as an official full time employee. Well that's because our parent company is about to be fully privatised (you've figured out where I work, haven't you?) and there's a hiring freeze. Actually, several people in our office have been made redundant, and I'm now employed part-time to do the job that two full time employees used to do.
Anyway. You can understand that I'm poor, and I'm bitter; I am sick of working so hard, and ending up financially little better off than I would be on unemployment. I'm normally a pretty timid person, happy to work extra without complaining, but this is really reaching "last straw" status. I'm contemplating going back to uni (though can I live on student money at my age? Anyway, everyone hates mature-age students, I know I did when I was 20) and wondering whether I should just have a summer of leisure in the meantime. Lord knows, Xander would be happy. He's never grown out of being upset when I leave in the mornings - and he's nearly three now, hard as that is to believe (those of you who've been following the blog from its early days will remember when he was a tiny little kitten!). He sees me taking my keys off the key rack and putting my coat on, so he knows I'm about to go; some mornings he wraps himself around my ankles, sometimes he blocks the front door with his body, sometimes he just wails pathetically, but his message is the same "Mum, the office can go hang. You should stay here." And he is right.
Because this is ridiculous.
That's my rant done with!
Which is why I'm within a hair-trigger of walking into the boss's office, screaming "I QUIT!", and storming out.
As you may know, I'm employed on a permanent part time basis. But lately, I've been working full time hours. I'm on a salary, so I don't get any overtime. What is supposed to happen, is that I get days off work in lieu. But everytime I try to take a day off, I get phoned at 7:30am and told "We really need you into work!" so I go.
You may ask why the company doesn't employ me as an official full time employee. Well that's because our parent company is about to be fully privatised (you've figured out where I work, haven't you?) and there's a hiring freeze. Actually, several people in our office have been made redundant, and I'm now employed part-time to do the job that two full time employees used to do.
Anyway. You can understand that I'm poor, and I'm bitter; I am sick of working so hard, and ending up financially little better off than I would be on unemployment. I'm normally a pretty timid person, happy to work extra without complaining, but this is really reaching "last straw" status. I'm contemplating going back to uni (though can I live on student money at my age? Anyway, everyone hates mature-age students, I know I did when I was 20) and wondering whether I should just have a summer of leisure in the meantime. Lord knows, Xander would be happy. He's never grown out of being upset when I leave in the mornings - and he's nearly three now, hard as that is to believe (those of you who've been following the blog from its early days will remember when he was a tiny little kitten!). He sees me taking my keys off the key rack and putting my coat on, so he knows I'm about to go; some mornings he wraps himself around my ankles, sometimes he blocks the front door with his body, sometimes he just wails pathetically, but his message is the same "Mum, the office can go hang. You should stay here." And he is right.
Because this is ridiculous.
That's my rant done with!
I Want To Dialogue With You About Utilising Resources
If that sentence made sense to you, you've been spending too much time at the office and I recommend you take a mini-break; Port Macquarie is quite nice. Alternatively, you could take a week off work with horrible stomach problems, but I don't recommend that so whole-heartedly.
I don't know about you, but as I look around my office I see signs of brainwashing everywhere. There's slogans on posters and sticky notes and every kind of promotional gizmo you can imagine. Mission statements, value statements, customer service charters, visions: all encouraging the harmless office serf (that's me) to become one of the crowd, blend in and toe the company line. Does that sound familiar? Yes, I fear my company, like so many large corporations, is actually a cult. Consider this:
* Cults separate you from the rest of society... companies make you work so many hours you never see the rest of society.
* Cults make you wear unattractive outfits... Companies make you wear unattractive outfits too, except on casual day, when they make you wear casual unattractive outfits.
* Cults want all your money... Companies want all your intellectual property.
* Cults make you chant... Companies make you answer the phone the same way every time.
* Cults teach you to clear your mind of all independent thought... Companies make you attend meetings.
Spooky, no? Of course, I'm not saying my company is a cult. Now if you'll excuse me, apparently someone has put free drums of Kool-Aid in the break room.
I don't know about you, but as I look around my office I see signs of brainwashing everywhere. There's slogans on posters and sticky notes and every kind of promotional gizmo you can imagine. Mission statements, value statements, customer service charters, visions: all encouraging the harmless office serf (that's me) to become one of the crowd, blend in and toe the company line. Does that sound familiar? Yes, I fear my company, like so many large corporations, is actually a cult. Consider this:
* Cults separate you from the rest of society... companies make you work so many hours you never see the rest of society.
* Cults make you wear unattractive outfits... Companies make you wear unattractive outfits too, except on casual day, when they make you wear casual unattractive outfits.
* Cults want all your money... Companies want all your intellectual property.
* Cults make you chant... Companies make you answer the phone the same way every time.
* Cults teach you to clear your mind of all independent thought... Companies make you attend meetings.
Spooky, no? Of course, I'm not saying my company is a cult. Now if you'll excuse me, apparently someone has put free drums of Kool-Aid in the break room.
On Attending My First Conference
Last Friday I was off to Sydney to attend my first-ever conference. Few of my friends have corporate jobs (mostly teaching, nursing, trades etc - real skill and caring needed, two things I will never have) and so they were under the impression that attending a conference was somehow glamorous or at least exciting. You're probably way ahead of me on this - it's not. For a start, read the phrase "business travel" carefully. Also, few of the world's corporate high-flyers travel to conferences on CityRail (but how else was I going to get there, really? I wanted to get the XPT, but there wasn't one at a suitable time. At least the company paid for my train fare).
So it was in slightly less than a chirpy mood that I arrived, and did the rounds of meet and greet. There was also a major concern to my mind - our company's Sydney offices are located in the Australian HQ building of a major American company, with the logo prominently displayed, in the centre of the CBD. Call me paranoid, but sometimes I can't help worrying about terrorism. On top of that, although it suprises alot of people to know it, I can actually be very shy sometimes and having to make endless small talk, in a business environment and under management scrutiny, was very difficult for me. (And, she reports bitterly, there weren't even any sandwiches).
I won't bore you further with the details of the conference itself. You can get the drift of it from any Dilbert book, or just imagine fifty bored admins slumped in chairs hearing "Core changes to customer focus...drone, drone...paradigm reorganisations of strategic alliances drone, drone..." Suffice to say that by the end of it, I don't think hearing the words, "You've won $15 million on Lotto!", would have been as welcome as, "Okay, we're finishing an hour early today..." I could barely restrain myself from pumping my fist in the air. It meant that I got a chance to do some shopping. I immediately headed to Lush, as I badly needed some Fresh Farmacy. It's the only thing that has ever worked on my alternately dry and oily, and always ugly and red, skin. It's so good that I was planning a trip to Sydney solely to get some; now I won't have to. After that, I tried buying other stuff, but I felt so self-concious in my business attire - like I said, I'm more at home in an amusing t-shirt and stripy socks and carrying a tattered backpack - that I went home.
And I have had enough of trains for a while!
Sunday I headed along to town to see the much-vaunted Market St Markets...which are supposed to "revive" the Newcastle CBD. Now, few people could wish this to happen more than myself, but I just don't know if these markets are the thing to do it. I found them pretty standard market garb, and there weren't many stalls. Certainly nothing I'd consider worth making a trip to town for, and I enjoy both markets and trips to town. I fear that the Newcastle Alliance may have to think of something else.
We finished off the weekend with a cleansing ale at the Brewery. Much talk and laughter.
Finally, I've made the decsion to grow my hair long again. It seems to have stopped falling out, and is getting quite thick again, so I should be able to manage it. Long hair just suits my clothes and my general style more, and I found it was actually easier to look after - just tie it back, rather than having to worry about washing and styling it every day (I washed my long hair as often as it needed it, in case you're thinking I'm a soap dodger. But it did need washing less). Also - and all my own research has found this, even though they may initially deny it - most guys do seem to rather prefer women with long hair. I realise that this is a sweeping generalisation, but there it is. At any rate, these days I need any advantage I can get.
Anyway, what they hell? If I don't like it, I can always cut it again. Even if I am doomed to spend the next few months looking very, very shaggy as it grows out. Must resist temptation!
So it was in slightly less than a chirpy mood that I arrived, and did the rounds of meet and greet. There was also a major concern to my mind - our company's Sydney offices are located in the Australian HQ building of a major American company, with the logo prominently displayed, in the centre of the CBD. Call me paranoid, but sometimes I can't help worrying about terrorism. On top of that, although it suprises alot of people to know it, I can actually be very shy sometimes and having to make endless small talk, in a business environment and under management scrutiny, was very difficult for me. (And, she reports bitterly, there weren't even any sandwiches).
I won't bore you further with the details of the conference itself. You can get the drift of it from any Dilbert book, or just imagine fifty bored admins slumped in chairs hearing "Core changes to customer focus...drone, drone...paradigm reorganisations of strategic alliances drone, drone..." Suffice to say that by the end of it, I don't think hearing the words, "You've won $15 million on Lotto!", would have been as welcome as, "Okay, we're finishing an hour early today..." I could barely restrain myself from pumping my fist in the air. It meant that I got a chance to do some shopping. I immediately headed to Lush, as I badly needed some Fresh Farmacy. It's the only thing that has ever worked on my alternately dry and oily, and always ugly and red, skin. It's so good that I was planning a trip to Sydney solely to get some; now I won't have to. After that, I tried buying other stuff, but I felt so self-concious in my business attire - like I said, I'm more at home in an amusing t-shirt and stripy socks and carrying a tattered backpack - that I went home.
And I have had enough of trains for a while!
Sunday I headed along to town to see the much-vaunted Market St Markets...which are supposed to "revive" the Newcastle CBD. Now, few people could wish this to happen more than myself, but I just don't know if these markets are the thing to do it. I found them pretty standard market garb, and there weren't many stalls. Certainly nothing I'd consider worth making a trip to town for, and I enjoy both markets and trips to town. I fear that the Newcastle Alliance may have to think of something else.
We finished off the weekend with a cleansing ale at the Brewery. Much talk and laughter.
Finally, I've made the decsion to grow my hair long again. It seems to have stopped falling out, and is getting quite thick again, so I should be able to manage it. Long hair just suits my clothes and my general style more, and I found it was actually easier to look after - just tie it back, rather than having to worry about washing and styling it every day (I washed my long hair as often as it needed it, in case you're thinking I'm a soap dodger. But it did need washing less). Also - and all my own research has found this, even though they may initially deny it - most guys do seem to rather prefer women with long hair. I realise that this is a sweeping generalisation, but there it is. At any rate, these days I need any advantage I can get.
Anyway, what they hell? If I don't like it, I can always cut it again. Even if I am doomed to spend the next few months looking very, very shaggy as it grows out. Must resist temptation!
A Slice of Office Life
To give you a true idea of what life in the cube farm as an admin is really like, I've decided to give you a minute by minute account of my time in the office. I've chosen Tuesday, because that's supposedly the most productive day of the week. I was going to do a whole day, but that would be too boring. So here's just one hour, as it unfolded:
10:00 Nico is in front of her work station. A cow-orker has just placed three courier bags full of files for her to log on her desk. She's opened one, and will open the others as soon as she checks her email.
10:02 Checks her email. There's nothing new. Figures she'll check the Necro forums too. Nothing there either.
10:05 Opens the other courier bags. Checks through files, removing a few that need to be sent interstate and placing them in the appropriate out box. Sorts through the rest.
10:08 Attempts to open database needed to track files. It has logged Nico out. Halfway through logging back in, the bell at the unattended reception rings; it's a customer who, disgruntled with trying to call the national company query line and not getting anywhere, has decided to visit the office. Nico explains that we simply cannot handle the enquiry here, and gives the customer another number to call (the number they should have been calling, which was clearly printed on the unread paperwork). A brief verbal altercation ensures; eventually the customer leaves.
10:20 Nico returns to her desk. She can't remember what she was meant to be doing, so checks email again.
10:25 Sees the piles of files, resumes logging into database.
10:27 Takes phone call from lazy sales rep, wanting to be put through to the Melbourne office rather than calling themselves.
10:30 Nico commences logging the work. Many of the files are incomplete; other databases are brought into play to fix things up.
10:40 One file has totally incomprehensible handwritten instructions in the notes. Nico wants to help, but is confused as how to: sf5!gsfb ~yjdf89.T.fcse Decides to send file to self in internal mail, buying a few days time whilst she works out what to do.
10:48 Irresistible sugar cravings send Nico to the kitchen for cookies.
10:52 Back at desk. Phone again. Wrong number.
10:58 Nico is almost finished her work now. As she doesn't leave for another six hours, she puts the last two files aside and commences a free-cell challenge (Best of 25 games).
~~~~~
And this is my life, yes!
10:00 Nico is in front of her work station. A cow-orker has just placed three courier bags full of files for her to log on her desk. She's opened one, and will open the others as soon as she checks her email.
10:02 Checks her email. There's nothing new. Figures she'll check the Necro forums too. Nothing there either.
10:05 Opens the other courier bags. Checks through files, removing a few that need to be sent interstate and placing them in the appropriate out box. Sorts through the rest.
10:08 Attempts to open database needed to track files. It has logged Nico out. Halfway through logging back in, the bell at the unattended reception rings; it's a customer who, disgruntled with trying to call the national company query line and not getting anywhere, has decided to visit the office. Nico explains that we simply cannot handle the enquiry here, and gives the customer another number to call (the number they should have been calling, which was clearly printed on the unread paperwork). A brief verbal altercation ensures; eventually the customer leaves.
10:20 Nico returns to her desk. She can't remember what she was meant to be doing, so checks email again.
10:25 Sees the piles of files, resumes logging into database.
10:27 Takes phone call from lazy sales rep, wanting to be put through to the Melbourne office rather than calling themselves.
10:30 Nico commences logging the work. Many of the files are incomplete; other databases are brought into play to fix things up.
10:40 One file has totally incomprehensible handwritten instructions in the notes. Nico wants to help, but is confused as how to: sf5!gsfb ~yjdf89.T.fcse Decides to send file to self in internal mail, buying a few days time whilst she works out what to do.
10:48 Irresistible sugar cravings send Nico to the kitchen for cookies.
10:52 Back at desk. Phone again. Wrong number.
10:58 Nico is almost finished her work now. As she doesn't leave for another six hours, she puts the last two files aside and commences a free-cell challenge (Best of 25 games).
~~~~~
And this is my life, yes!
Being A Permanent Employee Is Great
Everyone in the office yesterday was whooping it up because of the long weekend, and out of years of casual-employee habit I thought "Yeah, it's all right for you...it means I don't get paid for the day." But then I realised "Wait a minute...yes I do!" I turn 26 in a few weeks, and this is the first time in my life I've had a permanent job, with sick leave, paid holidays etc. This is tremendous. It means I can take time off to go on the Einstein Factor, and also some friends and I are going on holiday in September. The trip was originally planned to be to Bali, but obviously not now. Everyone is saying, "Don't go to Bali, go to Fiji", but we thought we'll be patriotic and spend our money here, so we're going to Queensland.
*Wails* I wanna go back to Tahiti!!!
If you've been trying to get through to me and haven't been able, I apologise; my phone is dying. It needs to be charged every day whether there's any calls or not, and it constantly switches itself off for no apparent reason. (Just keep trying).
Not to worry though. When I get my tax refund, I'm going to get a new mobile phone...a top-of-the-line phone with all the whizz-bang latest technological features. I'm going to program the phone to continuously auto-dial John Howard's office. Then I'm going to hang the phone under the tale of a very large horse.
*Wails* I wanna go back to Tahiti!!!
If you've been trying to get through to me and haven't been able, I apologise; my phone is dying. It needs to be charged every day whether there's any calls or not, and it constantly switches itself off for no apparent reason. (Just keep trying).
Not to worry though. When I get my tax refund, I'm going to get a new mobile phone...a top-of-the-line phone with all the whizz-bang latest technological features. I'm going to program the phone to continuously auto-dial John Howard's office. Then I'm going to hang the phone under the tale of a very large horse.
Some Daft Company Wants To Employ Me
Yep, I got a new job. Actually, a new job at my old workplace. You're now looking at the brand new Database Administrator (Well, you're reading about her anyway). This is way too much power for someone as Machiavellian as myself - I can take down the whole network at a single stroke! I start on Thursday.
This will hopefully cure me of a dreadful habit I've picked up lately; I can't seem to get out of bed before 1pm. Partly this is because I was told to rest, because of my stitches. But mostly it's because I've got a new mattress (I'd been sleeping on the old one I'd had since I was ten - ugh) and I just lie there thinking about how comfortable I am. The mattress is yet to be "broken in" if you get my drift. I'm yet to decide who will do the honours (let's be honest - it will be the first buff young thing I manage to persuade to go home from the pub with me).
My stitches come out tomorrow, thank cow. I haven't been able to wash my hair for a week. I know that as soon as I get home from the doctors, I'll wash it for probably ninety minutes straight! Also I'll be able to assess how bad the damage to my hair really is, and whether head-shaving will be required (if it is, I'm wearing a wig. no way am I going around bald). I might treat myself to a facial or something; I'm feeling a bit battered and not very attractive.
This will hopefully cure me of a dreadful habit I've picked up lately; I can't seem to get out of bed before 1pm. Partly this is because I was told to rest, because of my stitches. But mostly it's because I've got a new mattress (I'd been sleeping on the old one I'd had since I was ten - ugh) and I just lie there thinking about how comfortable I am. The mattress is yet to be "broken in" if you get my drift. I'm yet to decide who will do the honours (let's be honest - it will be the first buff young thing I manage to persuade to go home from the pub with me).
My stitches come out tomorrow, thank cow. I haven't been able to wash my hair for a week. I know that as soon as I get home from the doctors, I'll wash it for probably ninety minutes straight! Also I'll be able to assess how bad the damage to my hair really is, and whether head-shaving will be required (if it is, I'm wearing a wig. no way am I going around bald). I might treat myself to a facial or something; I'm feeling a bit battered and not very attractive.
