Noelle McCarthy: Advice for making the best of a bad job

Dear Noelle.

My job is sucking my will to live. I work as an accountant in a large firm and I hate it. The people, the office, the utter tedium.

I've had a bit of a rough trot these last 12 months, but things are finally coming together for me. Everything except this. Anyway, my question to you is this: if I hate my job so much, should I quit it, or hang on in there and hope it gets better, or I die in the saddle.

Yours, over it.

A Drone.

Dear Drone.

I feel for you, I really do. There is no greater bane in life than having a horrible job. I speak as one who has had two horrible jobs.

One was in London, 10 years ago, in a sticky little cafe in Stoke Newington, working for a creepy Turkish man who used to steal my tips and roar at me. My last task of the evening was to vaseline the tops of the cisterns in the ladies so patrons couldn't do lines of coke off them.

He fired me on the spot when I shaved my head and I stole a bottle of Glayva when I left.

The other was overnight talkback on Newstalk ZB. Six hours from midnight to dawn to fill four nights a week, with only the assorted disenfranchised of New Zealand and Fox news on the studio telly for company.

I gave notice after I was reduced to talking about crockpots and "Christmas smells" and thought about throwing myself into traffic on Hobson St on the way home. I didn't want to kill myself you understand, just get injured enough to avoid active service.

A broken ankle maybe, or a nice, cushiony concussion. Not that a good bang on the head ever stopped any talkback host I can think of.

I think it's mandatory when you sign up. Both jobs were truly horrible, but both, in their own way, taught me something about myself. I know now that I hate Glayva and the elderly, how not to do coke in a pub toilet and that I don't suit a shaved head.

Also, Bob Dylan's Like A Rolling Stone, at 6 minutes 9 seconds long, is one of the few songs on a commercial radio playlist that gives you enough time to void your bladder and make a cup of tea. We work, we learn.

I can be blase now, Drone, about my two horrible jobs because I have a lovely job at Radio New Zealand, and a great gig here at the Herald. I am lucky; at present you are not.

You are having a terrible time of it. The people, the office. Is it one of those horrible open-plan offices where everyone can hear when you book a bikini wax on the phone? Your colleagues, are they awful? Nosey? Do they eat catfood tuna at their desks from the can? I shudder at the thought of it.

You write of the tedium. Is it very boring? I know little of the works of accountants.

My sister is an accountant, albeit a newly qualified one. Maybe I should ask her about ways for you to improve your work life.

She seems to spend a lot of time forwarding me emails containing dancing cats, so maybe not. It all sounds terrible, Drone, and yet there must be something you can do to help drag yourself through the day.

I'm presuming it is a co-ed office you work at. Might I respectfully suggest cultivating a flirtation with one of your co-workers?

Nothing like a little frisson to up the ante and make things more interesting. Then again, I've only worked at radio stations and restaurants, my advice on sexual mores in the workplace could garner you some strife.

It's important though, that you do something, Drone. Otherwise an essential part of you will wither up and die.

So much of our time, and our energy, and our words are used up at work. Plodding through it like an automaton will neuter you, ravage you and take all the colour out of your life.

This is not a good time to be looking for a new job. Job opportunities are few and far between, even for thoughtful accountants with a nice line in horse-y talk, like yourself. So rather than packing it in, and trying to find something new, perhaps you are better off trying to shine a little light on this.

You won't find it in the office, amongst the tuna cans and tedium, it has to come from inside. You must do something, anything to make this bearable. Anything not involving guns and ammo that is.

Change your wardrobe, change your desktop, change your attitude, and find something in this work that makes it pay. More than the wages even, hopefully. "Il faut cultiver votre jardin." You are Candide, let your garden grow!

Good luck with it - I'll pass your email on to my sister as well. The dancing cats aren't far away.

All the Best

Noelle.