posts related to: stories

  1. Forgive me Father

    forgive-me-father-cover2

    for I have sinned.

    I have sinned of straight lines and flat roofs.
    I have sinned of strip win­dows and free plan.
    I have sinned of tak­ing this dis­ci­pline far too seri­ously, when every­one else around me just isn’t.

    I have sinned of spend­ing the night at the office, of stay­ing in front of a screen for weeks,
    of not speak­ing to any­body. I have sinned because I had a com­pli­cate rela­tion­ship with a layer in Photoshop.

    I have sinned of think­ing the sal­va­tion of this world relies on our mice, on our shared fold­ers and 3D mod­els. I thought the key to suc­cess was some­where in the server.
    I have sinned because I gave up on my civil rights for the sake of design think­ing that, one day, it will pay back, with cred­its.

    I have sinned of miss­ing the oppor­tu­nity of liv­ing, because I had to find the right gra­di­ent between two hatches. Their trans­parency was also one of my con­cerns.
    I have sinned of grant­ing author­ity to self appointed prophets of the idea, of believ­ing they were smart, when all they did was fill­ing the room with their voice. read more…

     
  2. Haze

    Haze

    The ele­va­tor got stuck between the 32nd and the 33rd floor.
    35 min­utes had already passed. A voice from the speak­ers said that the per­son­nel was sorry for the incon­ve­nience and that he had just to keep calm and to kindly wait until the tech­ni­cians would have fixed the prob­lem, there was noth­ing to worry about, “you-are-safe-sir”. There was a lit­tle beep and then the music started over again: it was a never end­ing loop of three Celine Dion’s songs of which he was unin­ten­tion­ally mem­o­riz­ing part of the lyrics.

    The ele­va­tor was one of those glass cap­sule designed in the 80s, with a dark gray moquette and some blue light spots in the false ceil­ing. From there he could look at the city sky­line and at the lit­tle white sails ran­domly scat­tered between the island and the cost of the hazy bay.The air-conditioning sys­tem had stopped work­ing with the black-out and it was start­ing to get warmer. He unknot­ted the tie and he sat on the floor look­ing down at the peo­ple walk­ing on the side­walks and at the cars start­ing and stop­ping at the cross­road. He could also see his fixie, that he had locked in front of the star­bucks at the cor­ner of the street. He was happy that it was still there.
    His iPhone started vibrat­ing in his pocket, it was his mother. He waited a bit, star­ing at the screen, then he decided to answer:

    read more…

     
  3. Internshi*

    sleep

    Did he get enough of pay­ing you already?’ she struck me cyn­i­cally, as she always did.

    Like the time when I received a Christ­mas present from the office where I spent my sum­mer intern­ship. Con­tem­plat­ing it under the tree for a few days before Christ­mas’ Eve already filled me with sat­is­fac­tion as a sym­bol of my undoubt­edly fun­da­men­tal con­tri­bu­tion to the work of the office for that year. Unwrap­ping it, I had a rush of joy: it was a note­book by the well-known brand! My excite­ment quickly sub­sided when I noticed my mum was shak­ing her head in dis­ap­proval. Her words that time were less sar­cas­tic and, maybe because of the fes­tive atmos­phere, acquired a morally solemn tone: ‘They should be ashamed.’

    Later I did the maths and, as it turned out, my mother was right. Assum­ing that, because of my poor pro­fes­sional skills, I got paid just half the hourly wage of a newly grad­u­ate (those days they used to be paid), for my 225 hours of work I should have earned some­thing around 1000 euro. I felt ashamed too but, back then, my favourite cur­rency was ECTS. So was called the sys­tem of cred­its in use all over Europe to stan­dard­ize the amount of time nec­es­sary to suc­cess­fully com­plete any aca­d­e­mic career. Courses, lec­tures, work­shops, study trips and also intern­ships were pack­aged in cred­its each worth 25 hours of study or work.

    The 9 cred­its earned through my intern­ship looked like a great reward at the end of the sac­ri­ficed sum­mer, as they allowed me to leave for Eras­mus with the near cer­tainty of being able to get my bach­e­lor degree by the end of the aca­d­e­mic year. After just three months, I was hold­ing in my hands a (prob­a­bly recy­cled) present worth 1% of the value of the work I had done: it didn’t look so great anymore.

    This is when I resolved to never work for free again, at least for money mak­ing businesses.

     
  4. Lunch Break

    office

    They were aston­ished.
    How could they miss it? There it was, right in front of them.
    A smoked Nor­we­gian salmon filet, the finest qual­ity, promi­nently posi­tioned in the fridge. That day, they were alone in the office, because the other intern was on a forced hol­i­day to recover from food poi­son­ing con­tracted ear­lier that week.

    read more…

     

Latest Comments

94Maggie

on 12+ h. a day, 6/7 days a week

2017-08-06 12:09:32

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multitude- multitude

on Survey

2015-04-01 13:27:31

[…] the spon­ta­neous responses to the last ques­tion of the sur­vey car­ried out in […]

Conrad Newel

on 12+ h. a day, 6/7 days a week

2015-03-23 18:10:56

@Colt Sievers I will be the first to agree with you on all counts. I would love to read that article. If you ever want to publish it on my blogg please do not hesitate to contact me.

Colt Sievers

on 12+ h. a day, 6/7 days a week

2015-03-23 16:58:10

@Conrad having worked in one of those offices that you mention, I have found your post as much provocative as naive and simplistic. I should make an entire post to explain why... will leave that for later. Thanks, anyway, to keep the discussion alive

Conrad Newel

on 12+ h. a day, 6/7 days a week

2015-03-23 16:45:07

Besides my terrible diction or lack thereof this raises another issue. Should we really feel outrage or sympathy for these interns? After all the ones who can afford to take these kind of jobs are the sons and daughters of the wealthy. What this letter is, is infact symbolic capital and social significance for sale. The rich kid can buy this piece of significance for among other reasons to go to a party and say to his less affluent counterpart, "hey I work for SANAA, or DS+R or whoever. Where do you work again?" Its a status symbol, just like a porsche, or a private jet. Affordable to a selected few that can afford it.