An Introduction

During the spring semester, I had read Herman Melville’s short story, “Bartleby the Scrivener,” in my American Romanticism class, but at the time, I had not realize that for my summer job I would be Bartleby the administrative assistant. My summer job as an administrative assistant started a few weeks ago, and now, I see parallels between the story and my experiences as I devolve into a typewriter with a heartbeat. Even though I do not intend to tell my boss that “I would prefer not to,” those infamous words sit on my lips when he asks me to perform another mundane task that negligibly contributes to my pursuit of eudaimonia, because in the name of financial stability, a civil form of the will to power, I remain silent in regards to my objectification of self and to my sacrifice of self-determination.

As one who is introspective, it is difficult for me to justify menial work, despite the significant pay attached to it, when it possesses no meaning for my life. When I insert an unrecognizable certification into a faceless file or when I type an agenda for a meeting that I will not attend or when I alphabetize names of people I have never meant or when I answer the phone to participate in the “casual comedy” of Corporate America, I feel existentially worthless, as my creative energy reduces.

My fourth week as Bartleby the administrative assistant had begun this morning, and in order to understand the purpose, if any exists, of this experience, I have decided to blog about working full time, Monday to Friday, as an insignificant mechanism in the immense machine known as Corporate America. In this blog, I will share stories, insights, and philosophies that I obtain while working this meaningless summer job, hoping to reconcile the time that I will lose as an office worker, which I could have used to write my stories, to read literature, to spend time with the love of my life, to see friends, and to reflect.

I know that to do these things, one needs financial stability, but the shortage of time due to obtaining this socially imposed goal creates a situation in which doing the things that help you feel purpose is difficult. I also know that if one really wants to do something, he or she will make the time. However, this cliché proves false for many who feel the weights of debt, of hollow labor, and of time. Nevertheless, I hope to post every night after work in order to log this experience, since I do not want to lose my reflective personality just because my job requires little need for insightfulness.