The corporate — a short horror story
...Ever so often you come across a Voldemort in your career, One Who Must Not Be Named.
Staring at the computer, suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to leave. Give up the 'career path' that I thought I was destined for. His hand was raised and his eyes had nothing but contempt for my work. His lips dripping with disdain. Anger filled his very being. But why? All for a frivolous mistake on an Excel sheet? That couldn't be it. His actions on that last day left me befuddled and anxious. I wondered — Would he have hit me? Would he dare to? Wiping off an isolated tear that rolled down my cheek, I left.
In a corporate organisation, actions like these ensured that you got fired. I knew the manager of the quality department was wrong. He had no right to treat anyone this way. And yet I had let it happen for a grand total of eight months. I was just 22. My confidence was shattered day by day in that organisation. I still stuck around because I'm a fighter, not a quitter. Right? Stupidity.
But when he threatened to hit me that was the last straw. Even though he tried to pass it off as some infuriating form of 'correction', I was no longer in denial. I was awake.
Working in a quality department for almost a year, though it might seem like a small stint, it felt much longer. I still remember, the insults, the pain, the late nights and the lonely, often tear-filled, travel back home. The experience was similar to falling into one of the lucid dreams depicted in the movie Inception. And when I woke up, my brain was scrambled.
The anxiety from this hellish experience of one of my first jobs remained with me nearly three years after I quit. Every time I failed or couldn't complete a task I would hear his voice (albeit in Hindi): "You are useless to me," "Even a child with no experience would do a better job." And my personal favourite—"Did you even graduate?"
His remarks would inevitably be justified by some arbitrary example. I still remember him dragging me into empty meeting rooms saying, "Did you know that after the giraffe gives birth to its child, the mother wakes her child by kicking it a lot." He justified him raising his hand on us as a sign of a 'mother's love' and correction.
Since then, a lot has shaped me in my writing career — the diminishing self-confidence and untimely panic attacks all part and parcel of it all. The nightmare that I once went through to earn a living (dare I say it) taught me something. It taught me self-worth and when to stand up for myself. It taught me responsibility comes at a price. Talks of "You need to work hard to climb up the ladder", was just another way for management to shove overtime down our throats.
As a kid out of college, I didn't know any better. The whole point of picking your major early on was to ensure a focused life. "A budding career path may witness bumps in the road but it starts with focus," they said. It is only now that I have learnt how wrong 'they' were. These people (parents, godparents, career counselors alike) who tell you to 'know what you want' only do so as a precautionary measure.
The truth is you might end up changing your major. You might go back to college for a course or start a company all on your own; do something completely unrelated to your major; or land a corporate job with a high paying salary right after graduation. The possibilities for a young graduate are endless. What matters is learning to be kind to yourself. Corporates will do their job of ensuring they get the 'best' out of you, which may include squeezing every ounce of energy from your body. Sure, you learn from your mistakes but are those experiences worth the sleepless nights and the self doubt?
Now, five years, two job changes and a whole new perspective later I know the truth about corporates. Of course, I still hear those hard hitting words, "you are of no use..." Panic attacks may have only doubled but a tiny voice in my head refuses to give up just yet. The damage I have done to my self-esteem by sticking around at ghastly jobs just to be a part of a 'corporate' is probably irrevocable, yet I exist.
Staring at the computer, suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to leave. Give up the 'career path' that I thought I was destined for. His hand was raised and his eyes had nothing but contempt for my work. His lips dripping with disdain. Anger filled his very being. But why? All for a frivolous mistake on an Excel sheet? That couldn't be it. His actions on that last day left me befuddled and anxious. I wondered — Would he have hit me? Would he dare to? Wiping off an isolated tear that rolled down my cheek, I left.
In a corporate organisation, actions like these ensured that you got fired. I knew the manager of the quality department was wrong. He had no right to treat anyone this way. And yet I had let it happen for a grand total of eight months. I was just 22. My confidence was shattered day by day in that organisation. I still stuck around because I'm a fighter, not a quitter. Right? Stupidity.
But when he threatened to hit me that was the last straw. Even though he tried to pass it off as some infuriating form of 'correction', I was no longer in denial. I was awake.
Working in a quality department for almost a year, though it might seem like a small stint, it felt much longer. I still remember, the insults, the pain, the late nights and the lonely, often tear-filled, travel back home. The experience was similar to falling into one of the lucid dreams depicted in the movie Inception. And when I woke up, my brain was scrambled.
The anxiety from this hellish experience of one of my first jobs remained with me nearly three years after I quit. Every time I failed or couldn't complete a task I would hear his voice (albeit in Hindi): "You are useless to me," "Even a child with no experience would do a better job." And my personal favourite—"Did you even graduate?"
His remarks would inevitably be justified by some arbitrary example. I still remember him dragging me into empty meeting rooms saying, "Did you know that after the giraffe gives birth to its child, the mother wakes her child by kicking it a lot." He justified him raising his hand on us as a sign of a 'mother's love' and correction.
Since then, a lot has shaped me in my writing career — the diminishing self-confidence and untimely panic attacks all part and parcel of it all. The nightmare that I once went through to earn a living (dare I say it) taught me something. It taught me self-worth and when to stand up for myself. It taught me responsibility comes at a price. Talks of "You need to work hard to climb up the ladder", was just another way for management to shove overtime down our throats.
As a kid out of college, I didn't know any better. The whole point of picking your major early on was to ensure a focused life. "A budding career path may witness bumps in the road but it starts with focus," they said. It is only now that I have learnt how wrong 'they' were. These people (parents, godparents, career counselors alike) who tell you to 'know what you want' only do so as a precautionary measure.
The truth is you might end up changing your major. You might go back to college for a course or start a company all on your own; do something completely unrelated to your major; or land a corporate job with a high paying salary right after graduation. The possibilities for a young graduate are endless. What matters is learning to be kind to yourself. Corporates will do their job of ensuring they get the 'best' out of you, which may include squeezing every ounce of energy from your body. Sure, you learn from your mistakes but are those experiences worth the sleepless nights and the self doubt?
Now, five years, two job changes and a whole new perspective later I know the truth about corporates. Of course, I still hear those hard hitting words, "you are of no use..." Panic attacks may have only doubled but a tiny voice in my head refuses to give up just yet. The damage I have done to my self-esteem by sticking around at ghastly jobs just to be a part of a 'corporate' is probably irrevocable, yet I exist.
And that's perhaps the scariest thought of all—the horrors of the corporate world persist but so do I.
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