Concerning cowardice, and dinosaurs

I'm a coward, apparently. When it comes down to fight-or-flight, I flee. My self-preservation instinct is "get the hell out of here fast."

And I hate to think that about myself. "Coward" isn't something anyone wants to be, but here I am: When the going gets tough; Run.

Or, at least that's the conclusion I've come to based upon these last few days at work. All I want to do is get out. Gone, baby, gone. I could pick up my jacket, pick up my bag, and never look back. Yesterday almost featured an indefinite lunch break.

I've been faced with irrational expectations since my first manager quit. My coworkers, as far as I can understand, are operating under the assumption that as long as they know something, I must know it too.

The pressure builds up until a day or two before the monthly reporting is due. All of a sudden, from nowhere, I'm told to accomplish tasks I don't understand. As difficult as it may be, I try and struggle through it, even going so far as to blindly strike keys and hope for the best.

All it would take is a litte oversight. I'm sure that Insolent Bob could stand over my shoulder and say "No, that's not right. This type of security has to be booked on the foreign cash account, not the USD cash account. It's not usually a big deal because we only see about one or two of these a month, but, there's an easy way to tell. Just look here at the last two letters of the security code. That will let you know which account to book it to."

That seems easy, right? A tip. Check the last two letters, and from then on I wouldn't be messing up trades or positions or cash because I'm booking a foreign trade to a local account. Teach a man to fish...

But Insolent Bob doesn't offer tips. He offers vague, often incoherent statements of disbelief from his desk two rows over.

"You mean you didn't run a position report and then check holdings foreign with a date of yesterday? Or why didn't you go settle all trades under rebook?"

And sometimes I want to scream. Or pick up my monitor and launch it across the office. Or combust. Spontaneously. That would teach these guys a lesson.

But, most times, or after the fire fades from my imagination a new idea grows. Pick up your coat. Walk out the door. Don't look back. Why the hell are you getting so worked up about this anyway? It's not like you care.

Though, it now seems that is not quite an instinctual flight response. That's actually more of a "fuck that noise" response.

Maybe I'm not a coward.

On the other hand, if I'm not a coward, if my instinct is not to flee, does that imply my instinct is to fight?

We're talking about base instincts here, the most animalistic, instantaneous response. If you've got time to think your way out of a situation it doesn't apply.

I imagine me, in a loincloth, somewhere in the Mesozoic, facing off with a giant tyrannosaurus, club in one hand, rock in the other. "What would I do?"

I think I'd run, banking on my top speed being greater than the great lizard's. Also, I'd try to climb up a mountain, because I'd probably be safe.

But maybe I could take him.

Here in the office I don't know if fight would serve me any better than it would against the T-Rex. I could punch Insolent Bob in the face, but that would just make him mad, and then he'd punch me back. That won't help me with monthly reports.

I could fight insolence with insolence and turn surly, obnoxious, rude, and unhelpful, but I don't know if he'd get the message, and it would put me in a dark place I'd rather not go.

I could throw my monitor around the office. That would either get me fired (subconscious flight response?) or company sponsored counselling (hello, blogging?), and still no closer to understanding my job.

Then there's deliberately not doing any work, forcing my manager or Insolent Bob to take care of my responsibilities, plus their own.

That won't work either. Part of their own responsibilities is making sure I can handle mine, and we all know that they haven't accomplished that.

I'm going to end this post here, because I can't think of a morale, and because I'm getting hungry.

If I don't come back I guess we can put this question to rest.

-t

recommended download:
Bizet, Overture from Carmen