Ten Reasons Why You Must Quit Your Job?

James Altucher, the author of eleven inspirational and career books listed on LinkedIn the “Ten Reasons You Have to Quit Your Job.”  On his televised morning radio program, Glenn Beck asked his listeners to pass the word along. You can read what Mr. Altucher has to say in the link. I’ve rewritten some of the listings to make them more edifying.  Besides, I don’t have a job to quit.

  1. The Middle Class is dead

I couldn’t agree more. The Communists issued a fatwa on the Middle Class (what they liked to call the bourgeoise) back in the 19th Century. They envisioned a world where a few elite were incredibly wealthy and controlled all the money and the masses labored in the factories or the fields, content in their ignorance that no one had any more than they did (except the elite, of course). In the Workers’ Paradise the only ladders you climbed were the ones you used to paint or fix the roofs of elite mansions or your factory. Modern-day Communists have seen to it that businesses and corporations have been taxed out of Middle Class areas, leaving the basically jobless Middle Class with no way to finish paying for their homes or send their kids to college. They’ve been forced to take low-wage, dead-end jobs just to make ends meet, thus justifying the ends of the Communist elite.

2.  You’ve been replaced

The same technology that made your jobs and your lives easier 20 years ago has now made you a dunsel, to use the word from the original, 1960’s sci-fi series, Star Trek. A “dunsel” is an outmoded thing that no longer serves any useful purpose. I was replaced by the point-and-shoot digital camera, as my company no longer valued morale-boosting photos that the employees could pin up on their walls. In fact, there isn’t even anyone left in my former office place to photograph; they were all, more or less, “dunseled”. The few who are left work in a small corner on one floor of the office building. Not only was I dunseled, but left without any of the new workplace skills I would need. I had to buy the new computer applications that are now in use, learn them, and create projects with them in order to have a useful working knowledge of them. But not all skills are obsolete; I bought an old, 1960s typing manual to practice my typing. I haven’t taken a typing test in years. Eighty words per minute was the minimum, and I’m right on that brink. All hail, Capt. Dunsel!

3.  Corporations don’t like you

They sure don’t. They do everything possible to make sure you know you’re the least valuable employee in the company, especially if you’re not perfect. For every success you have, they find at least ten mistakes with which to counter your value to the company. That way, they don’t have to give you a raise or promote you. In our company, it was not uncommon for some of the PR Department supervisors to select certain scapegoats and publicly tell them that they didn’t know how to write. One super insisted that certain of us confess our guilt publicly in a teleconference call. I told her where she could go.

4.  Money is not happiness

Jesus said so. “The love of money is the root of all evil.” Notice he didn’t say money was the root cause, but the love of it. Money may not bring us happiness, but the lack of it can certainly rain on your parade. I’ve never had enough of it to know if it could bring happiness or not. I do know that inflation eats up the value of money. By the time you retire, it won’t be worth what it was when you earned it. Young people would be better off using some of their money to stock up the non-perishable goods (bath powder, soap, shampoo, etc.) now than pay an inflated price on it 20 years from now. Just make sure you find the stuff on sale and use coupons.

5.  Count right now how many people can make a major decision that can ruin your life

 

Well, you might as well count the stars. From the bean counter who decides employees need to press their noses to the grindstone not take a break from listening to unhappy customers to the idiot who decides to cross three lanes of highway traffic to get to the Dunkin’ Donuts to a president who thinks we’d be better off on a government health care system (one that raises premiums astronomically), just about anyone can ruin your day, to say nothing of your life.

 

6.  Your job isn’t satisfying your needs

That depends on how “needs” are defined. If needs are defined as food, clothing, and shelter, my former job satisfied them very nicely, thank you very much, in addition to providing some savings, which are now all but gone. If you describe “needs” as a need for creativity and innovation, the worst thing you can do is work at what you love for a living. I loved writing – until I went to work doing it. I loved photography and loved doing it for a living – at my old job, at least. Working for the local paper hasn’t paid me enough to keep the roof over my head.   In fact, it took up so much time that it wasn’t worth the $25 per photo I was paid; time I should have been using to work up my typing speed for a job that will pay the property taxes on my condo. I’m much happier writing my unpaid blog, where I can ignore critics to my heart’s content and write as much or as little as I choose.

7.  Your retirement plan is in the toilet

Thanks to Nancy Pelosi and the Democrats, it is.

8. You’re trapped by excuses

Um, it’s more like I’m trapped by expenses than by excuses. I don’t think that the electric company would accept my excuse that I’d rather be a starving photographer than a working secretary for not paying my electric bill (watch out for scam artists, by the way, who tell you they can lower your electric rates. $1,100 later – which I can scarcely afford – I will never listen to Big Brother again).

9.  You’re afraid to make the leap

You’re darned right I am. I’m crazy but I’m not stupid. I have dozens and dozens of stories locked up in the vault in my head. That’s where they’re going to stay. Once burnt, twice learnt. When I was very young, I had some story ideas. I submitted them to a publishing company, which promptly plagiarized them. Ditto with an advertising agency, and a third time with a company for which I worked. At least there, I was ordered to do the writing. The person whose name went on my writing got the promotion, the raise, and the corner office. Never again. Maybe I’ll post them on my blog when I’ve retired at 80. But until then, it’s not happening.

10. Abundance will never come from your job

Or anywhere else, it would seem. But I have everything I want in my life: I have an abundance of books, movies, and music. I own my own home and God willing, I’ll find a way to pay the taxes and utilities on it in the future. No one can tell me what to do in my own home (except my nonagerian mother). I have my blog. I have my musical instruments and I have my pictures – a lifetime’s worth and more to come, I hope.

Don’t burden yourself down with too many material things. Expensive cars or jewelry. Big houses with big mortgages. My friend’s house is filled with valuable, even priceless, heirlooms dating back to his great-grandparents.   He was some really wonderful, unique items. But you have to be afraid to walk around in his dining room and kitchen for all the fragile items he has laying about, mixed in with everyday items like cookie jars, and calculators, and photographs and all the many wonderful memories to go along with them.

He was worried about his mother’s jewels, whether I might be coveting them. I showed him my own horde of jewelry, some costume, some real (though not very expensive), and my mother’s wedding ring set, the only pieces of jewelry I truly value. I told him I’d stopped wearing the work jewelry years ago because I felt like it all weighed me down.

Big Brother gave me expensive pocketbooks and handbags over the years that I never use. I have two pocketbooks – one for fall and winter, the other for spring and summer. That’s it. My real treasure is in my library and my photographs. The laughter of the people whose photos I’ve taken still rings faintly in my ears.

It would be nice not to have to worry about money. It would be nice not to have to go to work and walk on eggshells, fearing that someone will yell at me for some trivial mistake that won’t amount to a teaspoon of vinegar 20 years from now but which will jangle my nerves until the end of my days.

I’m not afraid to admit I’m fed up with the whole rat race business. Nevertheless, it’s my duty to rejoin that rat race as soon as I can meet their stringent qualifications: type 90 words a minute; know everything about Excel, PowerPoint, PhotoShop, InDesign, and probably Illustrator; be able to e-mail a letter to a group of people around the word; learn to communicate via Skype; keep an office organize; layout and edit a website; listen to angry people screaming over the phone (I have plenty of experience there). Get up at 5 in the morning and fall asleep at 8 in the evening, except on band nights and fit my blog somewhere in between.

If I had to work, how I would much rather be working for some news organization doing research. I’m quite good at it. I love hunting down mysteries and hidden information. I love interviewing people and taking their pictures. Since 9/11, I’ve been a news fanatic. I always want to know what’s going on in the world. No more surprises. Please. 9/11 was enough.

But alas, my days have been spent bolstering my typing skills, trying to get up to speed:

Jyh holy jyh shay jyh ahoy jyh they jyh jyh holy jyh shay jyh ahoy jyh they jyh jyh holy

Wait a minute… what does “shay” mean? I don’t even know. Hold on. Here it is:

Shay (n): a closed, two-wheeled, one-passenger, one-horse carriage of French origin, adapted from the sedan chair.

Like I said, it’s a really old typing manual from the days when people still used an operator to make phone calls (well, AT&T had just instituted the direct dial system) but when we first moved into our house in 1961, there was an operator and we were even on a party line. Very strange.

Anyway, I won’t be expected to know what “shay” means; just so I type it correctly. That will be my fate and if it is my cross to bear, than I must do so more humbly than I did when I was young. I can’t afford to dream anymore. Dreaming is for the young, Mr. Altucher, and no one has offered me any better position in life.

Dreams don’t always come true. But at least I can say I had it good for 12 years. That’s more than I expected when I was 18 and was told all I was going to be was a secretary.

The little brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

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Published in: on April 17, 2014 at 10:52 pm  Leave a Comment  

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