Staff Fest

I don’t feel like being appreciated today.
It’s Staff Fest at my place of employment. Once a year, all 23,500-odd employees are invited to the quadrangle for a few hours of appreciation.
In years past, we were encouraged to wear shorts & t-shirts, have free lunch & free ice cream, play volleyball, climb a rock wall, moon bounce, do the electric slide or ride the bucking bronc if we were so inclined.
In my head, that translates to: are you freaking kidding me? It’s 85 degrees outside and you want me to stand in line and show my ID to get your dumb plate of corn & bean salad, barbeque sandwich and dumb Coke and by the time I’m done eating, the ice cream ran out?
I’ve been here for nearly 13 years and I’m telling you it’s the same every year. Every year about 11:30am my co-workers come by wondering why I’m not going and why they can’t convince me to. Every year I tell them I wouldn’t go if you paid me…and oh, wait, you ARE paying me to sit at my desk and do the good work of the University.
Sure, it’s nice to see the President and all the other execs sloughing out food like workers at the local soup kitchen. It’s amusing to see your co-workers begin crispy sunburns for the weekend. It’s hilarious to watch the largest man you’ve ever seen re-creating his glory days at Studio 54…but I have YouTube for that now.
This year, we aren’t even being fed. I think we get ice cream, but like I said, it runs out quickly and there’s a line. If I want ice cream, I’ll buy my own and eat it in the shade, thankyouverymuch.
I was looking through some old stuff last night – my life during the year 1990, in fact. I found memos from my then-place of business. Our regional manager telling me how mindful I was of the budget and how much he appreciated my cost-savings. Our district manager telling me that my latest memo regarding whatever was well-written and well-received. My direct supervisor telling me…well, you get the picture. If I do something right, tell me. If I do something wrong, tell me that, too. Don’t think once a year is going to cut it, and don’t think that I’m the only one griping. If I hear one more person gripe about work and then follow it up with, “But in this economy I feel lucky just to HAVE a job.” Give me a break. That’s what workers do: gripe about work until we retire, then gripe about how we don’t have medicare, social security or retirement income.
Clearly, I’m employee of the year.