On Salary

It's the reason I get out of bed in the morning and why I've one to get out from. But it's not high enough. I don't mean it's too low to afford life's essentials like ice cream or 2gb monthly mobile data. I mean it doesn't match the cash value of my mind, body and curriculum vitae. My boss has promised a raise, but there's a policy whereby promotions have to be approved by Santa who as we all know, is notoriously slippery. I've been waiting months now.

I don't live extravagantly, nor do I greatly enjoy spending money, so I shouldn't care what I earn. Yet I find myself thinking greedily, whilst also desperately hoping I don't accidently put everything aside, to end up buying fucking add-on glass in 30 years. It'd be depressing to get all angsty over waiting for a raise only to fund another layer of glazing for the state-of-the-art conservatory-coffin I'll eventually die slowly in.

I don't know if should Dress for the job I want, when I'm getting Less for the job I don't even know I want. I'm being asked if I can project manage this, and put my neck on the line for that. Honestly though, I'm enjoying that my growing responsibilities are undermined by the word Trainee in my job title. I yell into colleagues' faces daily, quipping that I'm just a trainee. I tell them my cash value like I'm a vendor selling cheese. I milk the benefits of being underpaid for my disillusionary superiority complex. If only I were capable of challenging myself, then I could legitimately stand on my desk to announce:

All you thirty-and forty-something wankers have hit your ceiling. Sorry for using your heads as stepping stones on my way to becoming a corporate God, or whatever the fuck you never managed to achieve.

#Clout