On the joys of public service

I started writing a poem about work. I was thinking about calling it 'An ode to public service'. Here's what I've managed so far:

'Another week of fun and frolics is over

it really is a wonder that I'm still sober

every piece of news is like a great big hug

that slowly suffocates the remaining resistance out of you...'

I think I lost the rhythm there a bit at the end...sigh...

No doubt readers will be aware of the public sector's time honoured position as 'government whipping boy'.

Cuts need to be made. Fun. But raising taxes might make the mob a bit tetchy, what to do...oh, I know, let's kick those chaps who work for us, you know the unpopular ones the voters all shit over anyway.

They don't really need good pensions, do they? They don't really need average wages. Hell, some of them don't really even need jobs. Who gets hurt, I mean, really?
...

My position:

Yes, I'm not particularly happy with the current situation. Yes, I surprise myself with how vehement I can become on the subject. Yes, I realise there are millions of people worse off than me. Yes I realise I shouldn't moan/complain/whine about it as much as I do. Stiff upper lip and all that.

And, Yes, I recognise that it is great to have a job in the middle of a recession.

I am reminded of the above on most days by family members/work colleagues/managers and various media outlets. Hey, lets face it, I'm a lucky guy - with my secure, high paying, low-stress job, that is at the end of the day, a job. What could I possibly have to be upset about?

But the constant stream of bad news has become something of a daily occurrence now. A ritual that has become almost masochistic - the surprise having long since fled to be replaced by a stunned 'my word, they really do cut things most impressively, don't they?' expression.

If it's not news of how much a budget is to be cut, or how much more work in less time this will require, then it's the press publishing figures of how crap we're all doing. This creates something of a negative atmosphere.

Much of this is admittedly fuelled by office rumour mongering - the flood apparently crests on the horizon, yet no visible signs of the water quickening do I see, yet still there are those who panic and head for higher ground, hoping to outrun the deluge they are sure is coming. Sometimes but not always.

But even rumour has a way of wearing you down.

And when I say 'negative atmosphere' it does not, as you might expect, reveal itself in a great sobbing and shaking of fists. No, what amazes me is the shocked look that is splayed across people's faces, the rueful sighs and the scattered laughter, verging on the hysterical, at our predicament.

There is little energy apparent in the bemused expressions of my co-workers. Across Europe similar levels of cuts have been met by riots and protests, undisguised rage and explosive rhetoric.

But I certainly feel no such thirst for self-righteous displays in myself or my co-workers.

Maybe it is the manner in which we have been so well handled by the Government. So drilled with the mantra of 'cuts, cuts, cuts', we take our fair share, our portion of the country's burden.

Maybe it is simply a fact that things really aren't as bad as we all fear and that the storm can be ridden if we just hang on to the passing driftwood.

Maybe it is simply not in our nature.

Huff.

Ironically my own position has become more secure with the massive numbers of staff who have left my particular section. The loss of friends in this manner happily not being the result of redundancies but a series of ship-jumps to more stable looking life-rafts.


Might add more to this later - I'm tired now...and a little hungry...ok, I'm going to go make myself a sandwich.

Jams out.