An
by Noemi — Age 26 — Los Angeles, CA
When I was child I marveled at how actors could transition between their assigned characters and their actual personalities. Did Sean Connery ever get beat up after picking a barfight because he forgot he wasn’t really a trained assassin? Tragically, I have answered my childhood question. It’s not possible to play a role without losing some of yourself to the character you create.
My job is typical corporate America. I sit at an imitation mahogany desk, in a large cubicle, under bright fluorescent lights. I spend too much time surfing the web, reading gossip columns and searching monster.com for a better job, with a better desk in a better cubicle. I give presentations that bore even me, produce statistics that are completely useless and try not to fall asleep in mundane weekly meetings.
How did I obtain this sensational lifestyle? Somehow I was uprooted from San Francisco, the Mecca of cultural diversity, and replanted in the middle of the high desert where the majority of the population are card carrying NRA members who drive F150s and live in constant fear of ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS.
I have spent eight hours a day, five days a week (excluding paid holidays) listening to mind numbing political discussions, unbelievably inconsistent religious speeches and sickening rants of misplaced patriotism. I have remained silent, sacrificing my own beliefs and values for a 401(k) and extensive medical coverage. I have swallowed my tongue to pay for private schools and premium gas.
I realized recently that I spend more time censoring myself than I do actually expressing my opinions. I may be the most underpaid actress in America. I may also be the most talented, since I continue to climb the illustrious corporate ladder. I can’t help but imagine how many of my coworkers must be wearing masks like mine. Purchased complete with waterproof, politically correct smiles guaranteed to please the crowd. Pull the string and we’ll play elevator music.
With the world’s average daily wage under $2.00 it seems terribly ungrateful to complain. I am not breaking my back picking vegetables or crippling my fingers making T-Shirts. Yet somehow in a country that I love and respect for its freedom of speech, I have managed to lose my voice.
When I was 15, I worked after school at the local health food store. I was underpaid, undervalued, uninsured and 100% replaceable. I wonder if they’re hiring.
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