Australian Supervisor – Banality TV or just another s#!t job?

Some are born mediocre, some achieve mediocrity and some have mediocrity thrust upon ‘em. 

Oh, for simplicity. Life has become a cheesy, unkempt socialist minge clamped suffocatingly over my red-wine-hungover face. Why, for the love of mercy, can’t I die in my sleep? Why don’t angry gang members just randomly shoot me while I’m buying coffee? I apologise, dear reader, for the infrequency of my entries of late but life my has taken an hitherto unprecedented turn for the feculently absurd.

My evil mouth-breathing minotaur of a boss called me into her office at the end of the week. She was terribly excited and that scared the living fuck out of me. If L.F. is happy about anything then either Creed are in town or something else is very wrong in the world. Indeed it was the latter.

She’d called me in to offer me the opportunity of vying for a promotion. Not to offer me one but to tell me I was now part of a bizarre selection process that appears like a cruel and unusual punishment in itself, for a position that no right-minded person would want in the first place.

They want a new supervisor. Supervisors are the pitiful wastes of humanity who oversee phoneroom work but have no real power except their own bitterness. So The Wobblers have selected four of the more literate and socially presentable interviewers, myself oddly included, to train as Team Leaders (Team Leaders are the people who listen to the calls that you agree to being listened to when bastards like me phone you) for a couple of months, at the end of which one of us would win* and be the new supervisor. She actually said win, I can’t wait for the day my doctor tells me I’ve won cancer.

The only thing I could think as she described this absurdity was that I should immediately call Channel 31 and tell them to get some RMIT students over here to turn it into a reality TV show called Australian Supervisor. It would be brilliant, the briefings and meetings with all their many office sub-plots streaming off. The learning of the ropes, the discussions about  troublesome interviewers, the monitoring the calls between interviewers and the general public, the confessions as we cry about having to reprimand our former comrades over petty transgressions, the patronising analyses of L.F. and the other supers as they rate us against one another. Of course the reality TV version would be much more exciting than the actual reality as the public would be able to vote on us and someone other than ourselves would bear witness to this pitiful existence. The sad banality is far more hopeless, but to my own surprise, after a little resistance, I accepted the offer. I tried to shrug it off initially but L.F. really wanted me to do it, any reasonable employer would have fired me on the spot for my lack of gratitude and work ethic.

Gee, I don’t know. The good thing about interviewing is I can leave for a week or two and still have a job when I come back. Can I still do that as a supervisor?

Well, …yes. I’d need notice but …yes, that’s fine.

How much extra do I earn an hour for all this?

Well, initially…not much…but the successful applicant will make $ 😦

You know, that’s not very much for being accountable for stuff?

Yes, but you’ll find this is a gateway position in the organisation and you could go from here to anywhere if you work hard enough…

What a cuntful pack of bullshit. The words market research and career should not end up in the same sentence together…ever! I should have dropped my trousers in front of her and snapped off a big steaming shit right on her desk before walking away forever, but I didn’t. I listened to the bullshit, I nodded and smiled and I acquiesced. I deluded myself that I would defiantly take the system for all I could at any opportunity, but really…?

In truth, I just sold out. I’m a weak piece of shit the same as all the many people I despise. Fuck, I hate myself, but sadly looking down the barrel of the continued mindless tedium of interviewing, I couldn’t say no. I am such a whore, but like a convict faced with the choice between continued incarceration or parole into an unforgiving world of prejudiced oppression and at-best minimum wage slavery, I chose parole. At least it breaks the tedium, I’ll still be a casual worker with no penalty rates or paid holidays, sick leave or job security, but at least the shifts are longer. Fuck me, who’d have thought I’d ever want to spend more time in that shit-hole than I already do?

If anyone knows how to make bombs out of paper clips and photocopier toner please email the recipe to .


*She didn’t tell us what would happen to the three applicants who lose, does it not seem strange that none of us actually asked that?

7 Responses to “Australian Supervisor – Banality TV or just another s#!t job?”

  1. Climbing the corporate ladder! You’ll be running the madhouse one day! 🙂

    note: I’m sure you accepted just to get juicy blog ideas. Who needs reality tv? There is Buck Frain!l

  2. Hey Buck…

    After reading this most entertaining post and having read others, you appear to me to be WAAAAY too intelligent for this type of job. You really seem like a smart cookie and I fear your talents are being completely wasted there! The only good thing is that it brings great fodder for those of us that read your blog on a regular basis.

    Also, why is it that employers always say the same bullshit about getting more responsibility but less pay? I went from my normal full-time position to covering someone’s maternity leave for 10 months. Although the position I was covering was a couple steps up from where I was, my employer informed me that they would not be giving me a raise as they would “have to take it away” from me when I went back to my regular position. SO TAKE IT AWAY! At least I would have made more money for 10 months! But I got the “Oh it would be great for you to learn for the future in this company” and “oh it would be great for cross-training” crap and took the position anyway! Damn them!!

  3. Hans Licht Says:

    Don’t beat yourself up Buck, it’s all just a matter of degrees. The system is the system and it’s all one big ropey spittle cage we’re all entangled and digested in bit by bit. You already know that though. Simply by naming The Wobblers you’ve busted a strand and given us a few minutes of… whatever that was… I’m never sure what it is, but it’s always a cracking read. Fuck the wobblers (mine I call the ‘rrhoids as in haemo) fuck the rrhoids and the back door they came in through.

  4. Well its good to see that you arent one of the power hungry little men of the group they call Supervisors (*cant spell*)

    Minitour of a boss (I see the resemblance). ; )

    currently sitting in a booth as I type this talking to the numerous bastards and bitter elderly fucks within Australia, your blog is providing quite alot of entertainment.

    Yours Sincerely
    One of the lesser minions

  5. Wobblers are people too you fuck! Have a thought for other people. With feelings. And weight loss problems. And um… Cankles. And bad breath. And… Ah fuck it. Can someone give the Japanese whaling fleet a quick hoy. There’s a deal to be struck here.

  6. It’s a terrible indictement upon our society when krill, should they develop the necessary evolutionary machinery, aren’t even safe ON LAND!

  7. I can’t believe I didn’t read this earlier! Ha!

    I’m reading it at work now, and I can’t work out whether my laughter is simply a result of your sense of humour, or a facade hiding the unfathomable depths of self-hatred and bitterness that dwell beneath the surface of my consciousness.

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