BRATS IN THE RANKS

by Ross Sharp

In the decade during which I have been in the employ of a corporate concern, a multinational, I have witnessed people, too many to name, who have suddenly found themselves rudely and unceremoniously shuffled into irrelevancy, unemployment, deemed excess baggage or incompatible with whatever budgetary constraints are constraining the budget at whatever time, after working five, ten, twenty, even thirty years of their lifespan for said “concern”.

“Redundant” is the weasel word applied in such circumstances, which typically come about when a company undergoes or announces it is to undergo a “restructure”, which, as those of us living in the real world know, means one thing and one thing only – they’re going to sack a shitload of people and ship the work offshore where it’s cheaper.

When such news is delivered, recipients can react in a variety of ways. Anger. Resentment. A sense of betrayal; in some cases, even grief, that the work they do, that they’ve done, how they have gone about the doing of it, is no longer required, is no longer useful, and is no longer of value.

It is hard news to take.

Yet none (at least, to the best of my knowledge) ever reacted by trying to wreck the place before they left it.

There was no dancing on tables during spontaneous piss-ups, or breaking of legs, or the removing of shirts and beating of hairy man-boobs with clenched fists whilst bellowing how everyone can all get fucked. No, there was none of this. No foul-tempered, sulky, sooky ‘n’ sour spoilt-brat hissy-fits were sprayed at whoever may have been unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity at the time the news was given.

Most thought it unfair, which of course they would. Some simply shrugged with resignation, having expected it anyway, and some just didn’t care much at all, as they’d been there so long they’d grown sick of it. Some people in management got called “cunts” I suppose (especially the Americans), and a few may well have told a power-that-is on the odd occasion to take his/her job/company and shove it where the sun don’t shine, but everything and everybody soon settles down and gets on with business, either the taking care of it or the leaving of it, and doing so with a necessary modicum of restraint and decorum.

Which brings me to this small knot of squealing dickheads we’ve been hearing of, from and about the last couple months, a small knot of squealing dickheads from the rank of our body politic who were turfed from their jobs not long back because they were shit at them, and they haven’t shut up since.

Tony Abbott, Joe Hockey, Eric Abetz, and Kevin Andrews.

In less than the two years they held them, these men were sacked because they were crap at their jobs.

Not redundant.

Sacked.

They were incompetent in their work.

In the weeks since those events, we have borne embarrassed witness to the childishness of Abbott in the immediate wake of his usurpation, all glowering scowls and dark, sullen glares; we have listened to Joe Hockey’s specious delusions of grandeur, his sense of self-importance, and we have heard how both men, by their own assessment, were blessedly infallible in their words and actions, all of them, and how their untimely demise sprang not from any faults or failures of their own, but from grim and grubby deeds of treachery done dirt cheap on the sly by forces of pure evil.

Former Minister for Something I Can’t Remember Anymore Because He Was Crap At It, Eric Abetz, has had a few petulant grumbles to make on these shenanigans among other matters, as has former Defence Minister, Kevin Andrews, who still hasn’t quite managed to come to terms with the description “former”, and who yesterday saw fit to gift our nation his sage and sound advice – no doubt gleaned from years upon years of arduous study – on how to correctly prosecute a ground war against IS in Syria, advice that shall no doubt be pounced upon and devoured with gusto by the gormless gits currently in charge of the world’s military, because socially conservative, anti-gay, rabidly anti-abortion suburban Christian barristers are really shit hot at planning wars in desert ratholes they can send other people’s children to die in.

It’s the sheer gall of their ego’s, the fictions they’ve fed themselves as facts, the absorption in their own self-righteousness, the wilful ignorance on world matters they insist on showcasing and sharing as hard-won wisdom, the indulgent parade of bruised egos and damaged pride, and the conviction they seem to have that this, that they, still matter to us, and should matter to us, when most of us would prefer they just shut up and leave us all the fuck alone, we’ve been there already, enough, enough.

What a sad and sorry quartet of sore losers are these; graceless, bitter and undignified in defeat, still dishing up the same old hits ‘n’ memories to an audience who’ve long since changed channels.

I rack my brain trying to remember what it was they did when they had their jobs, and can think of nothing significant, nothing of real, tangible, substantive purpose beyond the chanting of clichés and the peddling of stereotypes, of clumsy and bellicose vindictiveness, of cruel judgments made and swingeing corrections imposed; these mutts could dish it out alright, but dish it back, they’re off like a bag of ha’penny crackers.

Here in the real world, where lives, not ideologies are lived, where the work we do is not just an abstract notion or mere statistic under consideration for a report, the likes of Andrews, Abbott, Abetz and Hockey may do well to reflect that, aside from themselves and a few like-minded, mouthy muppets in the media, no one gives a fuck about what they think on a thing anymore or why, nobody wants their opinion, and above all, nobody is in the least concerned about how they felt or still feel about losing their jobs (because they were rubbish at them), so could they suck it up, shut up and shove the fuck off and stop giving us all the shits.

You are no longer in the game.

Stop playing.

Go. Away.

Kevin Andrews

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