Barbara J. Hamby

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The Post Industrial Revolution

On a good day, when she’s in a good mood, my barber gives me a world-class haircut. She should; she trained in two countries: Italy and the U.S. But, if she’s in a bad mood, all bets are off. My latest haircut has cowlicks and sheep licks and wavy loose ends here and there. She complained about her job a lot while she was cutting.

I’m convinced that the only perfect timing in my life was being able to retire before conditions in most workplaces went totally to hell. I hear complaints from every walk of life--from burger flippers to corporate executives. Working just isn’t fun anymore. Employers have no respect for employees and vice versa. Small fortunes are spent on medications for stress, psychiatric consultations and psychological counseling, therapeutic massage, etc.

This is definitely the era of communication. Methods of communicating have been fine-tuned to near perfection. Could it be that too much communication is a hazard? There probably aren’t nearly enough idle ears around to listen to all the workers complain. For that matter, is complaining communication?

Is there any hope that working conditions can be improved sufficiently to restore harmony and good mental and physical health to everyone in the workplace? Who knows?

I don’t hear much from entrepreneurs and the self-employed, especially those who work at home. They are somewhat isolated and less likely to have opportunities to complain. There are, no doubt, disadvantages to working for yourself.

My writer friends and I are harsh taskmasters when judging our own work. We seek the advice of others for a lighter touch. True, like Adam in the comic strip, we can work in nightclothes or in the nude, if we prefer, and we can stop anytime we feel like a break. But, guilt hangs on our shoulders if we don’t produce as much as we think we should.

Probably the position of ice cream taster is the only perfect job left in our civilization. Where do we go to sign up?