March 7: Look Radiant, a Meeting, New Job Fairy Tale

It is not easy to look radiant, but Wilbur threw himself into it with a will.  He would turn his head slightly and blink his long eye-lashes.  Then he would breathe deeply.  And when his audience grew bored, he would spring into the air and do a back flip with a half-twist.  At this the crowd would yell and cheer.  "How's that for a pig?" Mr. Zuckerman would ask, well-pleased with himself.  "That pig is radiant."

Wilbur isn't comfortable with all the attention he receives because of Charlotte's trick.  He's not sure he's "Some Pig" or "Terrific," and he tries his best to be "Radiant."  He does what Charlotte and the visitors expect of him.  Back flips with half-twists.  Bats his eyelashes.  He knows his life depends on his performance.  If he isn't radiant, he'll be bacon by Christmas.


At the moment, I find working at the medical office a little exhausting.  The job hasn't gotten any harder, but, like Wilbur, I feel like I have to perform.  I have to register patients and be calm, caring, and friendly.  I have to be motivated to assemble medical charts and enter charges.  And I have to interact with coworkers, pretending that I'm not terrified about my future.

This morning, I had a meeting with the head of the human resource department at the hospital.  I had a few technical questions about lateral salary moves and FTEs and pointages.  Even before I walked in the door, I knew I wasn't going to like any of the advice I was going to receive.  The gentleman with whom I spoke is a nice guy.  He deals with this kind of crap all the time (probably even more since the takeover of the hospital).  The upshot of the meeting was this:  either take a job that isn't ideal and hope for something better in a year or start collecting unemployment in 90 days.

That's where I am, folks.  And, on Monday, I'll strap on my mask, put on my costume, and go to work.  On stage today:  Saint Marty in the role of Happy Employee.  I'll give an Oscar-worthy performance.

Once upon a time, there lived a man named Yorick who made his living as the Royal Fool.  Yorick loved his job.  Loved jumping around the king and queen, telling jokes, making them laugh.  Everyone in the royal court loved Yorick.  He was so popular that he rented himself out for kids' birthday parties.

Well, one morning, Yorick showed up for work and was met by Ham, the Royal Director of Human Resources.  Ham told Yorick, "Alas, poor Yorick, your foolish services are no longer required in the court.  We're installing a fool app on all the royal iPhones.  You have 90 days to post for another position in the palace."

Yorick was beside himself.  He studied the job posting scrolls.   There were jobs for mutton cooks and scullery maids.  He could apply to become the Royal Tax Collector, but people would throw rotten fruit and rocks at him then.  There were openings at the Round Table, but wearing armor made Yorick break out in rashes.

Yorick couldn't find a job he wanted anywhere in the castle.  At the end of 90 days, he knew he had to make a choice.  He went to Ham and said, "I want to be the king."

Ham looked at Yorick, unbelieving.  "You must be joking," Ham finally said.

"I'm a fool, you horse's ass," Yorick said.  "Of course I'm joking."

Ham had him thrown in the dungeon, where Yorick eventually contracted dysentery and eventually died.

Moral of the story:  human resource directors don't fuck around.

And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.

That's about right, isn't it?