Instead of emptying portable toilets or placating Under Armor-clad suburban tyrants who holler for your manager whenever you run out of decaf, you could be living in a glamorous Mad Men- ian world of brilliant colleagues, gorgeous workspaces, and long boozy lunches. Creative jobs sound attainable, too. The pay would be good, and the work would be satisfying.
It sounds like a dream, but a very reasonable dream, because creative jobs are still jobs, and like any job they would have their downsides.
The hours would probably be long. There would be lots of meetings, many of which would be boring, pointless, or both boring and pointless. Sometimes the clients would be lunatics. However, we do have a thriving and vibrant Slack. S omeone is thinking about you right now. They want to know if you believe in God and if you have any recently deceased pets.
They know about the half-eaten Chinese takeout in your fridge and the vibrator in your sock drawer. They watch you when you go the beach, they follow you when you go to the zoo, they stroll with you down the aisles of the liquor store, keeping meticulous notes about every person you greet along the way. They know where you went to elementary school, they know how often you visit the doctor.
They have spreadsheets full of your favorite websites, your least-favorite films, your most flattering selfies. You might call them creepy, obsessive, even criminal.
