Hamilton is a factory city, always has been, always will be. My grandparents moved from Italy during the 40s to escape the fascist regime and worked at Stelco. My dad worked with Canada post; my Mom as a bus driver; all of my brothers have gone to trade schools to become electricians, welders, or other sorts of strong unionized jobs.
And so I enter the world of white collar instead– though it remains worth mentioning that a Teacher for highschoolers, my career goal, is still very much a working-class trade.
Even applying for universities in the first place, requiring a 300$ deposit just to learn whether I’d be accepted or denied, highlighted the beginning of a very tangible class barrier that I was trying to battle my way past. Sure I have a welding license, but how does that help me “correspond efficiently within an organization’s stated objectives”?
Or whatever?
Yeah, this week is a week that highlighted how far outside of my familiar fish pond I am.
Kayla said in her introduction: “I pride myself on being an innovative thinker with a knack for fostering cross-functional collaboration…” and I could not help but think “You pride yourself on thinking and talking to people?”. I know in a sort of intellectual way that it is different, but in my humble tradesman’s heart it’s very hard to think of it as meaning anything else.
Angela had a more, to use that word again, “Tangible” skill set to me. Working with non-profits and journalism is very solid work that you can very easily see the results of. Marx’s theory of the alienation of labor is very, very real in white collar work. Angela can see the results of her work in non-profit by following the typical metrics available to those organizations, and has a view count on her blog with analytics of exactly what is working and what is not. Kayla likely does not see such tangible results when she is “marketing for stakeholder engagement”.
Perhaps I’m also just an author who connects with Angela more easily since she is also an author– just a different sort of author.
Aah but there’s the rub isn’t it? (Thank you macbeth) Is Kayla not also an author? Writing emails in the ‘business voice’ is a talent that has to be fostered. Writing engaging emails to market to shareholders is, undeniably, a skill set that requires training. Example: Compare any of my writing here.
I actually found it particularly funny when Kayla talked about a theoretical panel of judges at a workplace printing off the pictures on your social media and asking you to provide context and an explanation. Is it because I’m an older student in this program? Is it because I’m queer and have had to justify my existence for a decade by now? Or is it simply that I have a strong personality and am happy to talk about myself? I just simply don’t post something I’m ashamed about. This panel of judges is in for a treat if they ask me to justify a post at a party that shows a little more cleavage than may be socially acceptable.
“With all due respect, sir. I looked hot.”
… not to mention it’s rather invasive that you scrolled through my social media to judge me like this, theoretical panel of judges! Shame on you!
Once again, fish out of water.
Maybe that’s the real name of this blog post. White collar nonsense can be justified quite easily by merit of the perceivable goals and effectiveness of that nonsense. But can I relate to it? Not in a million years. Typing a business-y email feels like pulling nails sometimes.
I will instead end this blog post with an excerpt from my novel. Hopefully this will highlight a contrast, bring a little joy into what I worry is a dismal blog post, and most importantly, give me a chance to talk about my book.
“You wear your heart on your sleeve, don’t you?” Someone said.
I opened my eyes and stared into the face of a goddess.
Her head was perfectly framed by the morning sun in the east, her long black hair nearly glowing gold in the brilliant light. She was nobility, she was ethereal, she was tall– at least a foot taller than me. So tall that she was bent all the way over at her hips to offer her hand to me. Well taken care of hands, too. Her nails were trimmed but unpainted and her skin looked so soft that even if I didn’t want to stand back up to look her in the eyes I’d still take her hand just for the chance to hold it. To spin with her, twirl with her, laugh under moonlight. And those eyes, my god those eyes! They were the deepest brown I’ve ever seen, almost black, and catching hints of gold from the sun just like her hair. Her eyes were a vortex drawing me in, in, in. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was the precursor. It was the understanding that no matter what I did I would fall in love with her someday. She opened and closed those lips… those lips… as she… spoke? Spoke? Oh shit! I forced my eyes back up to hers and we both froze.
And yes, they’re lesbians.
Cheers.