Here it is, folks – the beginning of the end of my career in the crane world. It’s only a matter of time now.
Thursday was a particularly bad day – the worst day I’ve ever had in my 3 years and change in the industry. I had it coming at me from all directions – internally, the overly pushy Odessa branch manager who thinks I should just drop what I’m working on to cater to his every need (sorry, doesn’t work that way), to the business development director being all up my ass for a major project (who I think is probably more important than aforementioned branch manager) and then the P.E. and head draftsman pressing me for some CAD models (and if anything that gets priority, not the piddly shit our other lift planners can handle – I’m one of only two people in the company other than the P.E. with AutoCAD and/or Inventor proficiency).
Combine all of the above with a failing computer (my work computer has been fucking up something fierce lately) and that was a recipe for disaster. It was a recipe for a full-blown meltdown, which I had around 1 PM Thursday afternoon. I couldn’t excuse myself quickly enough to get to privacy before it happened either, and due to that I’m now under a radar.
Just when I thought my coworkers might be sympathetic, it turns out they aren’t. They complained to my branch manager and to HR. When I tried to explain myself they didn’t hear any of it – they wrote me up anyway, for something that was utterly beyond my control. Of course, once that happens it’s all downhill from there – so much as letting one four-letter word slip and I’m going to be written up again and possibly/probably terminated on the spot.
Take it from me that the crane business is no place for an autist. It’s just not. There is no “steady stream” of work in this industry. It’s one extreme or the other – either extreme boredom or extreme pressure/stress. My time in this industry has taught me that. It is absolutely toxic for us.
It’s not like I keep it a secret either. They all know. Shit, I have an outward symbol of my condition on my left wrist! It’s very clearly displayed at all times. I’m not required to cover my ink at work so I don’t go out of my way to. All one has to do is look at my left wrist to know what/who I am and maybe, just maybe have some understanding. Alas, that is simply not the case.
With that being said, this fits a pervasive pattern that I have seen in my life. I start a new career, it looks promising initially, goes well for some time but ultimately fails. Why should I be surprised?
“I thought this time, this time, I’m gonna make it; why I thought so I really don’t know? Tell me lies and I’ll come running…I could close my eyes and tell you just exactly what’s coming. Life’s gonna turn just a little unkind.”
That’s a little modified movie song lyric, but you get it. At one point does one throw in the towel? At what point does one give up and resign himself to the fact he will never have a successful career? All I know is it’s been this way since I finished undergrad in 2008 – it’s a pattern that started right then and there and lasted up through my teaching career, my time in grad school and now my post-grad school life. I just can’t keep doing this.
I don’t know what to do anymore. I just don’t. All I know is I’m right back where I was: feeling depressed, miserable, angry. What the hell am I even doing here? I’m sick and tired of being mother nature’s joke (I use that term since I’m not a believer in a personal god). If there is some sort of greater purpose for my existence, I just don’t see it. Maybe it’s so people can get their rocks off as they take delight in the misery of someone who can’t control it. Maybe I am here to provide mere entertainment value to the sociopaths of this world.
Whatever the case, I don’t like it and unless something changes soon, I might just move my miserable ass to Zurich where I’ll have Dignitas in my backyard. I’m sure it wouldn’t take a whole hell of a lot to convince them that I have no quality of life and that I am a prime candidate for euthanasia. At this point it just seems as though being put out of my misery would be the best option.