October 4, 2012 by Lindsay Sharman
We know how the enemy operates. But do we know, or do we not know we know and dats why we do nothing? Because the most effective method of control is to make your victim complicit in their own oppression. Make the worker believe they have gladly chosen their conditions, engineer a mindset of forelock-tugging gratitude and contempt for their fellow wretch, while also ensuring that they believe themselves too unimportant to incur social change, and the system runs itself.
Which is why I found myself willingly sellotaping newspaper and sheets of polythene to another human being during a group job interview today, as part of a FUN exercise that reveals SO MUCH about your ability to work in a TEAM! It certainly did! In the same way the Milgram experiments made us realise how close we are to being in Team Nazi.
This was a job interview for a supremely shit customer service job. The sort of humble job which requires a degree of courage to undertake because people are dicks and will think you’re mentally deficient for doing it. At which point it flips around; taking such a job should be seen as a point of pride in these difficult times. You are willing to do what’s necessary to keep afloat, you will not sit at home all day in your bathrobe, smoking and watching soft-core Japanese porn on Netflix. You will work. You have pride!
Ha! Fat chance of that. Personal pride leads to things like union action and rights, and the sum total of human happiness would go up and WE CAN’T HAVE THAT, CAN WE SArUMaN?? No! You may have the job if you relinquish all pride, and not before. The Orcs are necessary but must know they are repulsive and disposable! Let them eat each other! MAKE them eat each other.
The girl being made to look like an unloved remedial kid at a Halloween party didn’t outwardly object, she just stood there and allowed me to sellotape her into a state of dishonour. I taped. She smiled. There were strained lines around her eyes. She knew she’d never amount to anything; because can you imagine Gandhi or Patrick Swayze or Pinter allowing this to be done to them? No. They would have politely declined, or told the HR tweezles to “……sod off”, or smiled like an angel of sexy moves in such a way that their oppressors burst into flames (that last one refers to Gandhi, is it bruv.)
I’d have felt better about wielding that bloody sellotape if my victim were in a coma and I was doing it to make fun of her. That would be less exploitative, somehow.
The main HR guy was your typical forced-cheerfulness petty dictator; a humourless dickhead too numb-skulled to realise that he’s just another greased-up golem, oiling the cogs of the machinery of oppression. Plus he felt the need to tell us all about his local football team, to a bunch of people who were 99% not-English and 100% could-not-give-a-fuck. But of course, there was a chorus of nods and smiles to the fascinating football trivia, because all the poor sods in that room needed a job.
Oops, look at the time! I have to go to a gig and hopefully re-inflate my sense of self-importance. I haven’t had time to tell you about the other exercises! And whether I got the job! Oooh!
I’ll tell you next time. Exciting innit.