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Link
Yaco! We don’t live
in the United States, we live... For one thing, only here do secretaries get paid 50K a year to surf the net and protest any increase in their workload because then they won't have time to answer their email. Only here do companies routinely have "early release" where everyone gets to go home at 2 p.m. on a Friday before a vacation weekend. ANY vacation. Here, the usual work week is 35 hours. Do you realize that in most states, the usual is 40 hours? And lunches aren't an hour long either! Take a single step off the island and things change drastically. And god forbid you should have to work in the pie-plate deep culture of the Mid-West. Try eating yogurt at your desk in the flatlands. "Yuck! Yogurt!" Yeah, like it's some bizarre exotic food from another planet. I kid you not. Even just across the water, the social sophistication quotient is somewhere between nil and zero. Ever had a boss say, "Oh, that's a joke? I see. No wonder I didn't understand. I have a problem with humor." Wouldn't you think that if you had such a pathological disability that you'd be embarrassed to admit it? In Newyorkland you can strike up a conversation with a waiter or a cabbie or a store clerk, and not only will they be happy to chat (unlike the Mid-West grunt of obliviousness) but they are marvelous wiseasses, guaranteed to elicit a giggle out of you. Once I muttered in dismay at the price of something in a bodega and the fellow behind the counter grinned and said, "Hey, it's only money. It's not like you have to work for this stuff. What the hell, why not stand on top of the Empire State Building and just throw it away?" Now, that is funny. Maybe not to someone in the flatlands, but me, I was delighted. Bosses in Newyorkland (maybe not yours, but I've had some beauts) actually encourage you to express yourself. "Aw, come on, have a little personality, for chrissakes," urged one Jewish boss of mine. I was stunned. Elsewhere in the working world, the idea is to have as little personality as possible. Keep it dumb. Don't discuss politics, religion, personal hobbies, musical interests, and above all, don't make a joke! In many companies in the flatlands, you can actually be fired if you make a job with a drug reference. "Hey, this tastes like bongwater," can be grounds for dismissal in certain states where they manufacture cars. People whose can routinely easily drive anywhere have a stunted worldview. Once, when I had the misfortune to work in the flatlands, a client complained to me, "Don't you have any parking closer to your building?" "Lemme see," I essayed, "There's a parking garage one block north of here. Then, if you go right out of the building, there's a garage one block east of here. Oh, yeah, there's another one a block behind the building. And I think there's one a block west." The client frowned. "I know, but don't you have anything CLOSER? I mean, I had to drive THREE MILES to get here, and now I have to walk a block!" This clown wouldn't last a day doing the trucking and schlepping that is our lot here on the island. That's the killer. This tiny little island, the size of a mediumish Mid-Western town, takes forever to get around in. That's the price you pay. In return, you get bosses who are characters, street vendor with the stage presence of academy-trained method actors, and restaurants that will deliver cuisine from any part of the world to your door in 15 minutes. Of course, it ain't cheap. But then, it's only money. It's not like you had to work to get it.
Link Yaco has written comic books for several publishers. He is currently working on a couple comics-related paperbacks. He has been a copywriter, technical writer, newspaper journalist, and magazine entertainment writer. He has a Masters' degree in Telecommunications and was a technical manager at MIT for five years. Link lives in West Greenwich Village with his wife, Susannah, a Senior Vice President at an independent film company. Check out his web page here Read last week's column Visit Link Yaco Home Page COPYRIGHT 1999 LINK YACO. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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richard e. schiff,
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