During my working life I always gave more to my job than it gave to me. Mind you, I never overdid it. I always ran my own show. I worked at my own speed. I always rationed my energy. I could always stop when I wanted to and I always did. In reality I did a job that no one else wanted. I felt that my employees only gave me a grudging respect. They would have rather employed someone else if they could have got people willing to do the job. I kept my employers at arms length and they had to put up with it. But, I did have a conscience. I was responsible. I did the job properly. I always put more into the job than was written on the job description.
Since my retirement I have been plagued by dreams about work. Nightmares even.
These dream do not have the normal nightmare quality, such as falling down holes or falling off roofs. But you can call them nightmares. They are always deeply disturbing and they do not vary much. They always have the same overall deep sense of foreboding. I always have a deep sense of guilt. I am always behind in my work - sometimes weeks behind - even months. I am always being asked to do tasks that I don't want to do. If I have a workstation, it has work on it I don't want to do. Mostly I have trouble finding a workstation. I do not know what to do. I have a deep sense of foreboding.
I do not have a permanent place of work. I turn up at the office in Moorabbin and I am asked to go to Frankston. I get to Frankston and I don't have a desk or even a telephone. There is no Aged Trial Balance for me to work on. I have to arrange for a new printout to be produced. Nor is there a computer available for me to use. If I find one, I have forgotten how to set the computer up to print one out, so I have to call Head Office in Sydney. This involves an hour long telephone call to people who are resentful I have bothered them. I am told I will have to wait for a full day before someone will do what I am asking. .
I am asked to deal with the public as there is a long queue outside. I always draw an innocent plain looking young girl who is weeping uncontrollably as she has been threatened with legal action. Either that or I get a middle aged woman trying to pay for her husband's gambling debts and she shows me the bruises she has received when he has knocked her about - as if I could do something about it. I do not know what to do.
I do not know if I should show sympathy in either case.
I finally get a printout and I am asked to move again to Prahran, as there is a shortage of staff. I know I have to do a reconciliation of the Office Bank Account and allocate cash payments which cannot be done by computer. Again I do not have a copy of the Bank Statement. I only have a written copy of what has gone through the Cash Register.
I am never spoken to by other staff members. No one is remotely welcoming. No one is remotely interested in me. I am never offered a work station. Girls entering data ignore me completely and claim no knowledge if I ask them a question. They answer in monosyllables and always negatively. If I do ask them to do something they ignore me.
On one desk I find an old book containing all firms in a particular industry. I am expected to transfer the contents of every firm in this book into a new data base and compile a complete record of the industry. The book is several years out of date and I know it cannot be useful. Nevertheless, I am instructed to do this duty. No one will listen when I say this does not make sense.
On occasion I get lost travelling from one office to another. If I have to travel by public transport, I do not know the tram routes. If I have a car, I only know the direction of the office and go way out of my area. I end up forgetting where I have parked. I cannot find the car weeks later and the Office have asked me to return it.
The atmosphere in all these offices is dark. No one speaks. There are no available work stations. I am never able to get down to work and this worries me. I am full of guilt and foreboding.
I always wake up with a deep sense guilt. I am filled with a deep sense of despair. My adrenalin rate is through the roof.
Did Kafka experience similar dreams?
Neville Gibb
May/June 2024
Since my retirement I have been plagued by dreams about work. Nightmares even.
These dream do not have the normal nightmare quality, such as falling down holes or falling off roofs. But you can call them nightmares. They are always deeply disturbing and they do not vary much. They always have the same overall deep sense of foreboding. I always have a deep sense of guilt. I am always behind in my work - sometimes weeks behind - even months. I am always being asked to do tasks that I don't want to do. If I have a workstation, it has work on it I don't want to do. Mostly I have trouble finding a workstation. I do not know what to do. I have a deep sense of foreboding.
I do not have a permanent place of work. I turn up at the office in Moorabbin and I am asked to go to Frankston. I get to Frankston and I don't have a desk or even a telephone. There is no Aged Trial Balance for me to work on. I have to arrange for a new printout to be produced. Nor is there a computer available for me to use. If I find one, I have forgotten how to set the computer up to print one out, so I have to call Head Office in Sydney. This involves an hour long telephone call to people who are resentful I have bothered them. I am told I will have to wait for a full day before someone will do what I am asking. .
I am asked to deal with the public as there is a long queue outside. I always draw an innocent plain looking young girl who is weeping uncontrollably as she has been threatened with legal action. Either that or I get a middle aged woman trying to pay for her husband's gambling debts and she shows me the bruises she has received when he has knocked her about - as if I could do something about it. I do not know what to do.
I do not know if I should show sympathy in either case.
I finally get a printout and I am asked to move again to Prahran, as there is a shortage of staff. I know I have to do a reconciliation of the Office Bank Account and allocate cash payments which cannot be done by computer. Again I do not have a copy of the Bank Statement. I only have a written copy of what has gone through the Cash Register.
I am never spoken to by other staff members. No one is remotely welcoming. No one is remotely interested in me. I am never offered a work station. Girls entering data ignore me completely and claim no knowledge if I ask them a question. They answer in monosyllables and always negatively. If I do ask them to do something they ignore me.
On one desk I find an old book containing all firms in a particular industry. I am expected to transfer the contents of every firm in this book into a new data base and compile a complete record of the industry. The book is several years out of date and I know it cannot be useful. Nevertheless, I am instructed to do this duty. No one will listen when I say this does not make sense.
On occasion I get lost travelling from one office to another. If I have to travel by public transport, I do not know the tram routes. If I have a car, I only know the direction of the office and go way out of my area. I end up forgetting where I have parked. I cannot find the car weeks later and the Office have asked me to return it.
The atmosphere in all these offices is dark. No one speaks. There are no available work stations. I am never able to get down to work and this worries me. I am full of guilt and foreboding.
I always wake up with a deep sense guilt. I am filled with a deep sense of despair. My adrenalin rate is through the roof.
Did Kafka experience similar dreams?
Neville Gibb
May/June 2024
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