Our Own Glass Ceiling

So I dropped in on my boss as he babysat a big data transfer tonight.  As the bizarre rules dictate some machines cannot be maintained remotely, which is itself laughable considering how the lofty telecommuting early goals of the company are gutted anyway, this guy had to sit around and watch a bunch of bits fly out the door.

And we kinda talked.  It was the usual stuff, though:  the job sucks, ceasar is batshiat crazy, #8 could actually be a no-talent bully better acclimatized to a sales job in a non-technical field, etc.

One theme stuck out.  Since the zoo kicked us outta their shop and we landed in the sweatshop 2.08 years ago, the sweatshop has been taking on newbies to fill for people who end up leaving or are required for the assloads of new business these gifted but clueless salespeople are drumming up with luciferian deals.

Granted, the 15-year zoo veteran who attempted to kill himself within 6 months while onsite, to protest work conditions which were worse than the zoo, he was offered a tidy 'just go away' bribe so he didn't come back onside and become a martyr, embarrassing reminder or soundbyte machine, 

and, well the heart attack guy just last month was nearing the end of a contract period and just .. wasn't renewed; but the rest left.  No more of the old guys, but newbs do tend to burn out within a few months of celebrating their good fortune at landing a job at such an apparently-respectable shop, and those guys are replaced with more newbs to train.

The newbs, though, have a much better contract for the company:  way cheaper on-call time, slashed call-out rates if something goes wrong and they demand you come in, that kind of thing.  It wasn't these guys who made the one guy type up fucking monthly status reports while waiting for his wife to give birth, but I know which company that was, for instance.  And we, the fogeys, give up our awesome grandfathered contract the moment our job changes in any way.  The fact that I wasn't on the on-call roster when I was kicked over that railing, for instance, means my on-call terms are way, way beneath the point where it's worth getting zero hours sleep for a week, and far beneath those of me closest peer who has 2 weeks less seniority than I do.

What that means is, us old guys have no future at the company.  We can't take a promotion, for it means less money and more risk after the contract is changed to the sweatshop norm.  We can't be re-classed.  We probably can't change our work schedule.  The slightest alteration means we drop from our upper-class society into the muck of the newb contract, the one the Union greedily agreed to like a dog knowing its owner has a treat.  We're stuck where we are, and can't advance or change areas at all.

In short, we're all waiting to leave and the company can't get rid of us quickly enough and save a few bucks .  It would rather we didn't leave on a stretcher, but those guys' replacements (before they quit) did very well on far lower salary, so .. score!

What's that mean for the company?  We have some very smart, very talented, very stressed-out people at the sweatshop, and they will soon take their accumulated experience with them.  Their replacements will be trained on their core jobs, and - estimated - within 6 months may understand the complicated environment of the sweatshop enough to go on call.  Will they ever be replacements for 10-, 15- and 20-year veterans?  I'd say no.  Those guys would be just too expensive.

Oh.  I included that screen shot because a toaster that toasts hot dogs and buns is awesome.