Humour

When the workplace turns torturous

T A Balasubramanian focusses on the common workplace syndrome.

With his crusty wisdom and jungle lore, Dr Don Jong, dubbed The Oddfather because of the unusual fixes that he offers, takes up another session, dipping into the world of Bobo Jitter, the eternally baffled CIO of Bazooka Company. Dr Jong, as we have seen, has a special skill for handling the curious challenges of modern workplaces.

“I am aware, because of the work I do, that I am being paid for generating code that makes machines do the work that people would otherwise have to do, Doc. It’s called programming. It seems just amazing, but I get this feeling of being compelled to perform constantly at Bazooka. Like a coding monkey with a clock attached to my head that counts money every two minutes no matter what I do.”

“You’re describing the common workplace syndrome, Bobo,” says Dr Jong, wagging a finger at Jitter. “The one place where people begin to feel guilty if they do not make the right motions, all in the name of earning a living. And during this pantomime, they are watching the clock running, and can barely wait to get away.”

“Exactly, Doc. And to be honest, those Bazooka morning meetings feel wonderfully relaxing. They count as work, just like programming does, but they are so much easier. All you have to do is sit and look very attentive, even if you are dreaming of a party at the beach. I fundamentally believe that a typical workplace today is designed to create agony.”

“You have hit the nail—how do you say it, my boy—on the head?” chuckles Dr Jong. “Business at places like your Bazooka still reflects an older model, which has a French word for working: ‘travailler’. It has an English cousin, ‘travail’, and what it means is exactly as you describe it so beautifully—torture.”

“Torture. Yes. You can say that again, Doc.”

“And you wish to escape from the torture, no doubt? I think the most important part of getting monkeys to unfreeze in the workplace cage is that business has to learn something funny about monkeys in general.”

“And what is that, Doc?”

“Well, monkeys work a lot harder on things they really enjoy doing. And of course, they heartily avoid doing anything they hate doing.”

“Well, that’s hardly news to anyone, Doc.”

“But look at any business workplace. Does it seem like you enjoy getting programs to work at Bazooka, sitting there in your cabin? Does it seem to you that any business actually knows what people enjoy doing? Does the structure of business reflect it?”

“I suppose not. People dislike working in most workplaces designed for business.”

“Ah, Bobo, this turns out not to be the last word on work, however. As societies get more progressive and richer and more fat and indolent, they seem to comprehend a truth about work that is a lot like what they comprehend about diet.”

“And what is that, Doc?”

“So let me tell you about monkeys again. In a famous test, when a set of normal monkeys were fed more food—double their daily quota of bananas—they quickly turned into slobs, sleeping and shuffling around all day. But when they were kept on a restricted diet—fed less than half of their usual daily quota of bananas—they became increasingly playful and active. As the diet became more stringent, they became even more agile and eventually lost all their lethargy. When they did drop off to sleep, it was out of sheer exhaustion.”

“So what does it all mean, Doc?”

“Well, we comprehend that the healthiest diet is the one our frugal and hard-working peasant ancestors were forced to follow because they were poor. Like rich food, indolence is only charming and desirable at a distance—which is when you do not get enough of it. I think we were designed—like the active monkeys—to work hard, just as we were designed to eat a certain amount of fiber, and we feel bad if we do not.”

“But then, Doc, what kind of people enjoy work? Not the workaholics, for sure. They seem to suffer work, not enjoy it.”

“That’s right, Bobo. Ah, but there’s a name for people who work for the love of it—we call them amateurs. This word now has such bad associations that we forget its origin—although it is staring us in the face. It was originally such a complimentary word—anyone would be proud to be called an amateur once.”

“So what happened to change it?”

“Professionalism. The great thing to become in the twentieth century was a professional, which an amateur, by definition, is not. You want to be a computer professional or a chess professional or a golf professional—not an amateur, right?”

“But professionals love their work, Doc. Don’t they?”

“Well, hello, Bobo? Am I hearing you right? Do professionals love their jobs? Or do they love the idea of being labelled professionals? The idea of acquiring a string of degrees, does that make you love the work you do?”

“I suppose not.”

“Think of it, Bobo. Professionalism was always a con—an overvalued con, one could say. Not just because it implies working for money, but also because it gets associated with stiff connotations like fussy formality and a robotic detachment. Maybe it caught on because it was a wonderful fashion statement, driven by the flush of computer-controlled workplaces that popped up in the last century. Work became output. The workforce became an input. Companies were looking for a dispassionate workforce. Who would ever want plain people who love to potter around and create great works of imagination with their brains? What they wanted were well-oiled, non-squeaky people who would be focused on inputs and outputs. What kind of people are these?”

“Professionals?”

“Exactly. Now amateurs—or even hobbyists, if you like—are different. People in business—the frozen monkey cage occupants—are always surprised that people working with great passion—the squeaky amateurs—often surpass those working for money. You have the example of Leanox—the operating system hacked together by hundreds of amateurs who love software. What is Microshop doing to stop them? This huge gorilla of the computer world cannot pay professionals enough money to build something better than what a group of inspired amateurs—good hackers—will build for free.”

“True, Doc.”

“Now that’s what your open software is all about. It is based on amateurs and their foolish love for work—hard work for which they get no pay—but, instead, they get the highest reward of all.”

“And what is that, Doc?”

“Freedom from workplace bondage—from the professional ice-bergs called offices. From having to watch the clock till it is time to go home and actually enjoy the day—or what’s left of it.”

“You know, Doc. I’m an amateur at heart, and maybe one of these days, I will just walk out of the frozen monkey cage and stay home. I have a great idea for a blog. But this is not going to be an average blog. It’s going to be a place where I can say what I know a million other CIOs want to say, but don’t dare say—because they are professionals.”

“Voila, you comprehend, Bobo! You may just be the tip of—how do you say? —the iceberg. I will be the first to talk back on your blog. It is time for us amateurs to put our voices together and say: ‘Amateurs of the world, unite. You have nothing to lose except your boring offices!’”