On our way to the movie:
The historian: What did you blog about last night?
Me: Nothing whatsoever. I have not one thing to say to the internet.
The historian: (cannot believe this) You could write about work.
Me: I could write about work, but it'd be tedious. And I don't want to lose my job.
The historian: Oh, we'd be okay. We'd just turn off the heat. That's all.
Speaking of which, did anyone else read this story in yesterday's Times, "Chilled by Choice," about a mixed set of people who decide to live without heat in the wintertime, not precisely because they can't afford it, but because they decide to live in spaces--like, warehouses, or lofts, or old rubblestone buildings with wood slat roofs--that make it so heating is kind of an irrational choice. Like, you really love the light in your space, so you're fine with being chilly. Extra chilly. Like, leave the water dripping so your pipes don't freeze chilly. (Click here for a slideshow of the coldness.)
Once, before running son ran off to parts unknown to evangelize, he worked at a movie theater. The manager got the bright idea to say that everyone had to work on Thanksgiving, and everyone had to work on Christmas, too. It was his way of making everyone share the pain of staffing the holidays. Everyone got to be miserable. A philosophy of management, if you will--if there's unhappiness on the job, let's make sure everyone has some.
Running son worked on Thanksgiving. But he quit before Christmas. He said, "I, Running Son [not his real name] do not work on Christmas." I think you have to respect a principle like that.
Well, just so you know, I, hightouchmegastore (TM) will not live in a house with no heat. So I'd better keep my job. And that's why I'm not blogging about work. Which is also why, the people, this week, I had nothing whatsoever to tell you.
TAGS: labor relations, work, nothing whatsoever to say