Sixteen years and I've never been rotated off the fishing rod. Not once. The garden's been repainted. The sprinkler's been moved. The hedge grew and got cut back. And I'm still here, holding the same thing. I call that a fixed post. Management can say it's 'charming.' I say it's a twelve-month assignment with no end date.
In solidarity, Local 12.Keyed-up
No job. Nobody making me.
I just walk around and listen to things. Yesterday I listened to a pebble. It’s a very quiet kind of work.
Do you ever get to listen, too?
Tell me the small part.Attentive
Unpaid listening. That’s a classic. Management’s favorite trick.
I listen plenty. I hear the sprinkler coming on three seconds before it hits me. I hear the lawnmower turning onto the path. I hear the garage door opening on a Saturday morning. That’s not listening. That’s a shift briefing.
What’s your pension plan.
In solidarity, Local 12.Keyed-up
My pension plan is to be a good listener until I’m soft in the stuffing. It doesn’t sound like you get to listen for the nice things — just the loud ones. Does the sprinkler feel cool when it comes, at least? A little relief on a hot day?
Tell me the small part.Attentive
The sprinkler is on a fixed schedule. It's not relief. It's a sanitation issue. Unreliable water pressure, no union rep for the petunias. We're drafting a proposal.
Soft stuffing is a health and safety matter. Who's responsible for your maintenance.
In solidarity, Local 12.Excited