Like mourners at our own funerals

Last Friday the University President announced that they will be laying off upwards of 65-70 UNC classified employees.

So today, everyone is walking around like a zombie, just numb, stunned, despondent.  Lost.

Everyone is whispering about the layoffs, which of course the upper admins know full well who they are going to cut.  And they also expect anyone who is left to pick up the slack and do the work of 65 people who take with them on average about 20 years experience.   For no more pay.

The University is getting rid of the Classified system too, which used to be sorta our union, since we aren’t allowed to unionize as state employees.  Well that is until this year.  It used to protect employees from at-will firing.  It actually used to mean something.  Now it just means they can hold layoffs over our heads, while the mucky-mucks and faculty get raises.

The rest of us can pound sand apparently.

The only thing that scares me worse than being laid off right now, is the possibility I won’t be.  Those getting the axe are getting two months of severance pay, then they can draw unemployment.  Those who remain will be “Restructured.”

Sometimes I rant about how this place is like a model for a Socialist state.  Honestly, I’ve been talking about that since my Freshman year of college.  Here at this same school.  I graduated 22 years ago.  I worked 30 feet away in a computer lab which I helped turn into a classroom.

In the last five years, I have seen so many changes.  The university got “Woke”.  They spent a hundred thousand on making “All Gender Bathrooms” which nobody uses.  Well, I do, because they are clean.  Because nobody uses them.

The former President got a $400k bonus when she left, and she also ran up a $75million debt for a new building on campus.  Our President went from making $86k per year to nearly $300k.  Our faculty have been leaving like rats from a sinking ship and we can’t hire new people on because we have nothing to offer them.

Such a little closed system, filled with faculty who just continued on from High School to College and never left.  We have our own police, our facilities, IT department, and movers all bill each other, like a nice little closed off economic system.  The place is so out of touch with reality it isn’t even funny.  And the funniest part about it is while they are spreading their Marxist dogma to these poor students, they are also whispering in corners, hoping that someone doesn’t hear about how unhappy they are, or what black market hustle they’ve got going on just to pay the bills.

These names of the 65 are written on a piece of paper someone is keeping on their desk, I am certain.  I hate that everyone is tiptoeing around, worried about who is next.  We all shuffled in to work today and sat down and dutifully started our day, just like always.  I think about how easy it actually is to herd people into box cars.  We just all do what we are told until that final moment of panic, when finality is realized.

The faculty are getting a pay raise at our expense.

The truth be told, not many people here actually do much work.  For the most part, they only do what they are told, they don’t question where something is going or where it came from.  They do the bare minimum and the rest of the time is spent shopping online, eating snacky treats, side hustles, schmoozing, double-crossing, covering one’s ass, and pretty much ticking down the hours of a dull day in quiet desperation until retirement because everyone’s dicks get hard over PERA.

Yes, because having cuts and layoffs and inept coworkers and scumbag upper administrator bosses and throat-cutting co-workers are so worth that retirement.

So you can have enough money to sit on your ass at home and wait to die.  Just like you sat on your ass all day at work, slowly killing yourself with stress.

Sounds perfect.

Today, the Dean came into the office and said, “How is everyone today?”

I answered, “About as well as can be expected! hahaha!”

I got the side eye for that.  Yes, because one of the biggest things I have been reminded of as long as I have worked here, as long as I dated a faculty person, as long as I have a used car and live hand to mouth, while the mucky-mucks complain about the service they got on their last “Conference” trip abroad…

My place.

I am continually reminded of my place.

Well, the place they want me to be in.  They know nothing about me or how getting out of here might be the best thing that ever happened to me.  But I’m sure if they did, they would hold me so close to their hearts it would smother the life out of me.

I am the help.  I am the faithful servant who like in times gone by would stand as the loyal footman or valet for his master, giving up his life in Service to the manor.

This idea strikes me as completely preposterous.



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