Hast Thou Fewer Public Holidays Than a Medieval Peasant?

On bullshit jobs and time theft

Nov 23, 2023

Bullshit jobs

You and I are trapped in a Kafkaesque nightmare, a pantomime of busywork and make-belief with others engaged in the same. If we break character, someone else may be offered our part. It’s a farce staged in workplaces all over the world; whether in the public or private sector, bullshit jobs and pointless tasks abound.

Unfortunately, even useful jobs have become increasingly “bullshitised”, buried under an avalanche of administrative tasks and various fool’s errands such as keeping pace with the euphemism treadmill and quantifying the number of pansexual transmasc demigirl boyfluxes that can dance on the head of a pin.

“A bullshit job is a form of paid employment that is so completely pointless, unnecessary, or pernicious that even the employee cannot justify its existence even though, as part of the conditions of employment, the employee feels obligated to pretend that this is not the case.”
—David Graeber, “Bullshit Jobs”

Wet water

In the same way a fish doesn’t ponder the wetness of water, we rarely consider the absurdity of the artificial systems we inhabit. We don’t acknowledge our system of work was designed—haphazardly, but designed nevertheless—meaning we don’t seek to improve it. Rather, we numbly accept our fate as a seafarer might accept the caprices of a storm.

Since at least World War II, writes anthropologist David Graeber of Occupy Wall Street fame, full employment has been the economic ideal, the premise underlying the working world. Even in this age of automation, we can’t seem to bear the thought that perhaps there isn’t a need for everyone to work.

Idleness and unemployment are so reviled that even someone in a sinecure (a cushy job with a lofty and ambiguous title) will spend their days scrolling through social media in a corner office at the company where their father is Vice President, rather than lead a life of unpunctuated leisure entirely guilt-free.

Meanwhile, those of us from humbler backgrounds are taught to be grateful for the —so insinuated—privilege of wasting most of a lifetime just to be able to sustain it. This keeps us too worn out to revolt and works out rather well for those in power.

“We have become a civilization based on work—not even ‘productive work’ but work as an end and meaning in itself.”
—David Graeber, Bullshit Jobs

The good, the pointless, and the ugly

Useful jobs contribute something of value to society; however, many of these jobs are better suited to an automaton. In contrast to essential workers, many people who take home a handsomer paycheck have a negligible, or even negative, impact on the world.

Certain types of jobs have seemingly congealed into being only to make others look more important. Graeber calls these “flunkies”. Then there are the “goons”: lobbyists and corporate lawyers contorting through bureaucratic red tape as though cat burglars faced with a mesh of museum lasers. Arguably the worst of the lot, goons advance the financial interests of the 1%—at the expense of everyone else.

In a similar vein, large enterprises employ people to patch over flaws that should have never existed in the first place (“duct-tapers”), or undertake tasks that are purely performative in nature (“box-tickers”).

According to Graeber’s nomenclature, there is a fifth type of bullshit job-haver, the “taskmaster” whose entire job is to generate yet more bullshit tasks to heap upon the rest of us, otherwise known as a “manager”. (I’m here all night folks; tip your waitress.)

Whatever the particulars of our employment, employers dictate our time to a minute—pun intended—degree, choose or restrict what we wear (at least, while at the office), and what we’re allowed to talk about; the edict to not discuss one’s salary with coworkers comes to mind. We are required to peddle the company line, however daft or unethical, regardless of how heinous and/or humiliating.

So much the worse; human beings crave self-determination and meaningful work. We yearn to make a positive contribution to society. That moment in infancy when we first discover we can effect change and alter our very reality is a thrill like no other—it affirms we are alive. In contrast, bullshit jobs are antithetical to what it means to be a thinking, feeling, and wondrously creative being.

Time theft

My first job was folding pamphlets for a small business, aged fourteen. My schoolmates and I worked while chatting as, oddly enough, mindless repetitive tasks lend themselves well to mouth-flapping. It made the work pleasant, which got the owner’s goat as he watched from his, I’d wager, sufficiently sound-proofed office.

Our boss couldn’t bear that we were using our time in service to ourselves in addition to completing a task for him. We were made to work in silence thereafter, unhappily and, as a consequence, less effectively.

That was the first lesson I learnt about the world of work: productivity is not measured by the quality and quantity of what you produce, but rather by the totality of ownership. That is, the degree to which an employer can exert control over you.

Nowhere is the desire to curtail autonomy more evident than in employers’ resistance to the long-overdue remote work revolution. While financial concerns related to commercial real estate and flagging demand for vehicles are contributing factors, this opposition finds its roots in fear rather than greed.

Egomaniacs need to survey row upon row of peons to feel significant. Control freaks need to know you aren’t blowing your nose too often on the company’s dime. Useful idiots need to feel ‘in the know’ and thus will parrot whatever their masters tell them with puffed-up pride. Extroverts need their coworkers to remain in spittle distance to feel energised and entertained (part of my job description, to be sure).

How did this sad state of affairs, of employers thinking themselves entitled to every second of our time, come to pass? How to begin to understand the existence of timesheets divided into six-minute increments? As Graeber points out, this is a relatively new concept; the Ancient Greeks or Romans could look at a potter and conceive of buying his wares (or even the potter himself)—but his time? That was too much of an abstraction.

It wasn't until the late 1700s that humanity began to perceive individuals as an extension of machinery, capable of running up to 16 hours a day. Alongside this glorification of time spent, the need for surveillance arose, leading to the advent of 18th-century open-plan offices and 19th-century punch cards, which persist in altered form today. All of a sudden, labour was something to be extracted, like golden eggs from the proverbial goose, as long as you applied pressure for long enough.

We are complacent about a 40-hour work week because we are ignorant of the cultural shifts that led us to this point. We labour—pun intended—under the misconception that things have “always” been this way (or much worse) and thus ought to continue indefinitely. Our collective imagination is so hobbled that many only dare to dream of a shift to a 4-day workweek if it is accompanied by a hefty pay cut or 10-hour days.

We console ourselves with the fact that at least we’re not licking radioactive paintbrushes six days a week, jaws melting off our faces, when in fact we should be outraged we have so little time to ourselves, our deteriorating relationships and ailing bodies a testament to this.

Wage slavery

In the Middle Ages, writes Graeber, almost all wage labourers were slaves, employed in commercial port cities like Malacca or Zanzibar and expected to hand half their wages to their owners. As such, referring to the modern worker as a “wage slave” is apt rather than dramatic. (Though I prefer “The Working Dead”.)

While at work, we are instruments of our employer’s will for as long as legally permitted—or longer. In effect, we are free citizens forced to rent ourselves out as slaves.

Being a slave was historically considered “the most degrading thing that could possibly befall a human being”. Now, it’s normalised, accompanied by a slew of other indignities, such as the constant face-splitting exuberance expected of retail and hospitality workers.

The Industrial Revolution gave rise to another aberration: the idea that one should work continuously rather than in bouts and bursts, interleaved with longer periods of idleness and relaxation. This way of concentrating is natural, and people were permitted to work in this manner for much of human history.

Human nature has remained unchanged, explaining why the average office worker spends fewer than three hours per day productively. Despite this, we are required to work eight hours a day—or at least to pretend to do so, which is nearly as exhausting. Or so I’ve heard.

When we study modern-day tribes, we find they typically work no more than 15–20 hours a week. Similarly, a serf worked the land from dawn to dusk—yes, that much is true—however, it was only for 20–30 days of the year. Outside of harvest, a few hours were sufficient for the upkeep of farmland. On feast days, dedicated to honouring various saints by quaffing ale and nibbling on cheeses, people were at liberty to enjoy life. And rest assured, peasants had more feast days than you have public holidays.

Today’s wage slave sits immobile for most daylight hours, hunched over a desk, lit by the glow of a computer monitor rather than sunlight. No amount of box-ticking exercises in ergonomics—moving our monitors further away or our keyboards closer—will remedy the ill-health effects of these working conditions.

High levels of stress due to lack of meaningful work, and musculoskeletal pain due to the sedentary nature of office work are the bane of the ‘knowledge worker’—yet both are easily avoidable. If it harms the worker and does not increase productivity (the only thing employers claim drives their various machinations), why do we persist with the lunacy of the 8-hour day?

An abnormal society

Perhaps you are one of the rare people for whom long hours and pointless tasks aren’t a problem. You go home or log off and watch television, eat dinner, and happily do the same thing the next day. You’ve sunk all your energy into your career; it’s the only place you socialise. Your job title quickens you, and you value money and status more than you appreciate the brevity of your lifetime.

But the rest of us aren’t, to paraphrase Huxley, so evidently mentally ill as to be perfectly adjusted to a sick society.

What’s the solution? Do we wait until enough countries have trialled shorter working weeks and Universal Basic Income (UBI), and we’ve confirmed the blindingly obvious—that people in such a system would be more productive, secure, healthier, and happier? (As long as UBI doesn’t shackle us to bare subsistence level and is free of any dangling ideological strings.)

Frankly, it may be a while before a 15-hour working week — as predicted by economists long ago in the face of rapid technological growth and greatly increased productivity — becomes a reality. Employers don’t want to lose control; tradition has a certain inertia. The Puritanical lust for suffering and needless sacrifice permeates our society; self-denial and abasement to authority are held in high regard.

Those who stand to profit are, of course, relentless in their propaganda. However, if you’ve bought into this hook, line, and sinker, perhaps it’s high tide—er—time you started contemplating the wetness of water.

A daring escape

“The philosopher Diogenes was eating bread and lentils for supper. He was seen by the philosopher Aristippus, who lived comfortably by flattering the king. Said Aristippus, ‘If you would learn to be subservient to the king you would not have to live on lentils.’
Said Diogenes, ‘Learn to live on lentils and you will not have to be subservient to the king.’”
— Anthony de Mello

Why, if I weren’t Angela Volkov, I should be Diogenes.

You simply can’t wait for society to catch up with common sense; you must escape the rat race. Or at least, minimise the time spent in your fetid little hamster ball. My advice is to scale back your working hours as much as you can; live frugally if you must.

Sure, you won’t have as much in your bank account, but a lot of your money goes toward bread, circuses, and (physio)therapists anyway. You can’t buy back time. So, stop squandering it.

Part-time work—perhaps supplemented by an enjoyable side hustle so you won’t have to actually live off lentils—will enable you to work on personal projects, engage with your community, appreciate art, bask in the glory of the natural world, deepen your relationships, exercise, and cook healthy dinners.

You’ll stop being the victim of bullshit jobs, time theft, and wage slavery. Instead of a ball rolling inside a Rube Goldberg machine, you’ll feel like a full-fledged person once more. And isn’t that worth half your paycheque and then some?*

Knowledge is Power, France is Bacon

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