That’s exactly how I feel in my line of work. I suppose it’s common, and I am a lot better off then many. Some jobs make no bones about not giving a crap about their employees what-so-ever. But still. It hurts. And I don’t want it to. I don’t want it to affect me at all. This job is not my life or identity anymore. This stint does not matter to my life. That’s what I tell myself anyway.
–>I wrote most of this post in the past, but I’m posting it today–my birthday–because it’s relevant<–
And it continues on. Because when I’m slighted, then I’m not willing to comment on THEIR personal lives either. And that’s not the kind of person I want to be, but if you open yourself up and be the way you see yourself ideally–it just hurts more when they STILL don’t care. And so I just go in and do my job. So I’m sure they think it’s MY deal. Which isn’t how I roll, or how I want to, just protection for myself.
And I have learned. Before, I was devastated when the employers and co-workers I gave so much of my heart, my time, and my life to proved not to give a $hit about me. Other then sucking every last drop of work out of me, that is. Now I’m fully aware that these people only see me as a body to get the job done. They don’t actually like my personality or care about me as a person.
It’s petty, and I don’t want to notice it or be angry–but I do. Birthdays are important to me. When I was turning 28, I would mention my birthday countdown throughout the entire year. And nothing was said/done for my big day. I just figured it was the age discrepancy–everyone at work was over 40. So I thought it sucked, but at that time nobody said or did anything for anyone else. And nobody else even really disclosed when their big day was. And this year, nobody so much as gave me a verbal happy birthday for my big, milestone 30th birthday. BUT the other tech was given balloons and dessert for hers. The 2nd doctor that shys away from birthday attention, was fawned over and told by everybody happy birthday. And this week, our receptionist got a cake and special apple cider for hers. What happened, and why was I still the odd man out? It’s telling.
-My really important talent show.
An event that was very meaningful to me. Of course, nobody came even though I invited everybody. But nobody even wished me luck, asked me about it afterwards, or mentioned the dance itself–it’s on Facebook and YouTube. I think that sucks, and even if you don’t give a crap–out of politeness alone, you inquire about the super-important things. Instead those people spit on me.
It was only a matter of time. I get to work early in the morning (like 30-75 min earlier than anyone else), when it is still dark outside, and our neighborhood is mostly quiet. Usually, I park on a side-street. I have no problem walking to the door–any exercise I can squeeze in my day is a good thing. But someone started messing with Rusty (my car). It happened on a Saturday morning. And I know when someone tries to break in, because my alarm will tone three times on unlock instead of two, and the blue light will flash more. I thought it was a fluke and parked there Monday morning. The alarm had gone off again. I wondered if my alarm was broken or my doors weren’t closing properly or something. So I paid close attention next time I locked up.
It didn’t happen at school. And it never happened at home. When I parked on that same side street Tuesday–it happened a third time. So Wednesday, I moved to a different side-street. Someone tampered with my car there too! It was making me very nervous. I felt like someone must be watching me in the morning. Because it didn’t happen if it was light outside or when I pulled up in the middle of the day. Was someone being a jerk and just messing with me? Was someone actually trying to get into to my car? And to do what? Was that same person intending on robbing me? Or worse? I just didn’t know. And when I parked on the main street, it didn’t occur. So I began parking, in front of work–not in either of the two street-side spaces immediately adjacent to our driveway, but in a third. I leave by 10AM so I figured it would be fine. And no one messed with my car or me. But this morning, my boss told me not to park there. They don’t give a Fu(k about my well-being, and it infuriated me that instead of talking to the Douche who owns the store across the street who parks in our closest street-side spot (while his customers have there own marked 5 min parking spots), she makes me move. If I get mugged, molested, or murdered walking farther in the dark, with some sinister person out there–at least our clients won’t have to walk far and my boss won’t have to have a confrontation with the neighbor. . .
A coworker got bit–which is a very real, and frequent possibility of the job. But instead of the doctors extending sympathy, it was mostly annoyance and self-protection. One doctor stood by and watched the gal get bit up, then was annoyed/mad at the gal for not screaming/fussing/saying aloud that she was being bit (umm duh?). My boss told us to make sure we were ready for an OSHA inspection and made the comment, “Doesn’t she have her OWN doctor?” when told the gal had to have 2 recheck appointments after her initial visit. I wanted to say, of course she doesn’t, because you don’t offer us part-time employees health insurance, and now both of us have spent MORE money in worker’s comp. . .
Nothing is huge here, but it’s an additive affect. Many incidents over time, a particularly callous boss, forgotten things–it just grows into a larger problem the more it persists. Those are just some examples of how vet workers are just a dime a dozen, expendable labor. We have some skills, but apparently none important enough that we can’t be easily replaced. It’s a problem.