HOW TO NOT HATE YOUR JOB potx

HOW TO NOT HATE YOUR JOB Jason Schmock Copyright 2012 by Jason Schmock Smashwords Edition This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Dedication: This book is dedicated to my wife Amanda who always believes in me, my parents and step- parents for teaching me the value of work, and Dr. Jim Loving, Dr. Leslie Crabtree, and Dr. Timothy Rhodee for teaching me to write. Without you, this text wouldn’t be here. Index: Chapter 1 What This Book Isn’t Chapter 2 Getting Stuck Chapter 3 Cinnamon Roll Chapter 4 Harrison (Remember the Benefits) Chapter 5 Nikki (Listen to Yourself) Chapter 6 Paul (Remember What Your Job Does) Chapter 7 Christy (Do Your Best) Chapter 8 Matthew (Working Is A Gift) Chapter 9 Apply It! Chapter 10 Good Luck! Chapter 1 What This Book Isn’t I’m sorry if you got this book because you thought it would help you figure out what career would be perfect for you. I’m sorry if you bought this book hoping to get networking, goal setting, and driven tips to take you to the top. I’m sorry if you got this book to get your foot in the door at your dream job. I’m sorry because this book won’t help you do any of these things. If you want that book (actually there’s about a million of them,) take this book back and get it. Maybe after you read it, you will have your perfect job, rise to the top through your excellence and be working at your favorite place in the world. But, I’m going to guess that you will be in the same place you are now and wanting even less to be there. Or as I like to say, you’ll be stuck hating your job. I was there once too. I tried nearly everything I could to get unstuck. But, until I realized that if I couldn’t not hate the job I had, that I would probably end up hating whatever job I got next anyway, I would never be unstuck. Over time I developed some thoughts and skills that have helped me. And, even though I have never obtained a dream: job, salary, purpose in life, prestige or title, I have learned how to not hate my job. YOU CAN TOO. I don’t want you to hate your job, and I assume you don’t want to hate it either. I’ve been a telemarketer, a janitor, a fast food worker and a bunch of other things too and I hated them. But, guess what? Now I know that through the right approaches, anyone can be anything (with the exception of a job that you consider immoral) and not hate it. Read, apply, and stop hating! I decided to make the bulk of this book in story form. Why? I did this so you’ll read it. The main people that need to read this book probably don’t read many non-fiction books, or don’t read any books at all. If that’s you, don’t be offended. Most non-fiction books are written to make the author seem smart and you dumb. Besides that, the fiction section in the library is huge for a reason. People love stories, and a story is still the best way to learn to think differently. As you read the story, you will come to relate to the characters and learn their job approaches. With any luck, it will be entertaining too. At the end of it all you should, have some great new approaches that will help you achieve the goal of not hating your job. The rest of the book is a very short look at the principles and applying them. Don’t worry, these chapters are short and to the point. Take a deep breath; let’s get on with this book so you can start not hating your job. You have just completed chapter one. You rock, do an air guitar solo! Chapter 2 Getting Stuck It was one of those Fridays in St. Paul, MN that travel agents get rich off of. It was just warm enough to turn snow into its messiest form. And snow in its messiest form was falling at a steady rate. The snow made the roads a messy, gray, wet slop kind of like paper Mache with a touch of exhaust fumes. If this kind of day had a terrible effect on city streets, it definitely had a worse effect on Patrick Keys. He felt as sloppy as the snow and twice as cruddy. He was headed back to his job from running an errand that left him no time for lunch, and missing lunch just made him feel cruddier. He hated skipping lunch and he hated his job even more. He fumed about his hatred as he navigated the streets of Minnesota’s capitol city. Actually he fumed about it constantly to anyone who’d listen and even in random outbursts when he was alone. It was like Yoda said, “Hate leads to the dark side.” Patrick lived in the dark side because he hated his job so much. As he was driving and fuming, he was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a flat tire. It was his flat tire. “Crap! Just what I need,” he said as he pulled to a curb. Growing up in a family that believed that roadside assistance was for weak and socially incompetent, Patrick Keys assumed the role of part seasoned mechanic and part NASCAR pit crew member all too easily. He’d definitely changed a few tires in his day. He grabbed his stocking cap and gloves from the passenger side seat and turned off the car. Throwing on the cap and gloves he exited the vehicle and approached the rear. The winter streets of St. Paul did a number on his navy blue pant cuffs in the process. One quick sideways gaze revealed that the driver’s side front tire was the culprit. “Okay at least it’s a front tire anyway, and this should get me out of that stupid job for the rest of the day anyway,” he said aloud. He simultaneously flipped open his phone to call his boss and opened the trunk. Luckily he got the voice mail, which is what he was hoping for, and left a pathetic message about the situation. He was relieved to get the machine for two reasons. One, he didn’t want to go back. Two, his boss might talk him into coming back or worse even working late to make up the time lost. He surveyed the trunk’s content of used sporting equipment and other guy in his 20s necessities before making his way to a spare, a jack and an empty space where a tire iron used to be. “For the love of Pete, this is just perfect,” Patrick Keys shouted. The dark side was growing stronger in this one as he tried to recall the whereabouts of said tire iron. A flashback to about three months earlier solved the mystery. He had received a call from his buddy Knox. Okay, his name was Tim Knox but everybody just called him Knox for short. Anyway, Knox had a flat on said date three months prior and found himself as our hero, up poop creek without a paddle, or a boat, or a tire iron. Knox called Patrick and Knox brought the tire iron and continued to: 1. Help change Knox’s tire with NASCAR pit crew like efficiency. 2. Put tire iron in Knox’s car trunk like an idiot. 3. Drive away unaware and 4. Realize he had screwed up three month later in St. Paul on a terrible winter’s day. Patrick grabbed his cell again and called Knox up. “Pat Keys, what’s shaking man?” said Knox on the other end. “Hey you’ve got my tire iron in your car still. I need you to bring it to me now. I’ve got a flat,” returned Patrick who could hear heavy artillery fire from a first person shooter XBOX game through his friend’s end of the line. “Um yeah, I can do that but I’m busy (busy playing XBOX,) it’ll take about an hour is that cool?” It was not cool. It sucked. Defeated Patrick lazily said “Yeah I’m at the corner of County C and Lauring by a diner called New Horizons Café’ and a motorcycle shop called Vicious Cycle. You can’t miss me because I’m the car with the flat tire and NO TIRE IRON!” “All right bud an hour then,” said Knox hanging up. Patrick locked his car up. Still hating the fact that he missed lunch, he made his way into the New Horizons Café’. Just stepping through the doorway was enough to make him feel a lot better. The place was warm and well lit with plenty of red vinyl booth and table seating. Customers schmoozed, laughed and gorged on Midwest comfort food. It was a steady and soothing noise that made Patrick smile. A waitress was quick to tell Patrick to sit “wherever honey” and he made his way to a counter spot and grabbed a menu. He opened the menu while taking a deep whiff that was an ambrosia blend of pork, beef, chicken and more accompanied by deep fried or gravy covered starches. In short, it smelled like heaven. He quickly zoomed in on a huge breakfast platter that included four eggs, flapjacks, choice of meat, hash browns and the place even threw in the OJ all for $7. If it tasted half as good as the place smelled, he knew he’d be all right. A waitress took his order and Patrick shrewdly chose his eggs over hard and bacon as his choice of meat. Everything is better with bacon. As he waited for his food, he passed the time between daydreaming and his mental list of why he hated his job. None of his reasons for hating his job were ones that you haven’t heard before. And his daydreams were not that inspired either. Patrick was more stuck than his car. About 14 minutes later, a heavy set guy in his early 60s sauntered from behind the kitchen counter and out with Patrick’s feast. It looked amazing, it smelled better, and it tasted like a dream come true. Granted Patrick’s dreams were already stated as being generic and lame, but, still it sure was what you’d call a great meal. As Patrick settled into his food, the cook leaned on the counter and threw his kitchen towel over his shoulder. He looked straight at Patrick’s mid-sized frame and work uniform. “Late lunch break from your job?” the cooked questioned. His voice was husky with warmth and character. “Sort of,” Patrick said crunching his bacon. “I’m not going back today; I’ve got a flat tire outside.” He pointed to the window with his fork and then continued, “My buddy’s bringing me a tire iron in a few minutes, any way I hate my job. Can I get more butter?” “Sure Mac,” the cook returned and then handed him some butter pats. “Why exactly do you hate your job?” Now of all things that Patrick couldn’t pass up, complaining about his job had to be number one. He unloaded like a full dump truck at a quarry. Every reason and story that came to mind he delivered to this old guy. But, what was crazy was that he actually listened. Most people nodded and looked for a way to get out of these mostly one sided conversations. After the ranting was over and 85% of the platter was consumed, Patrick felt a lot better. The old guy extended his hand and the two had a hearty and surprisingly un-awkward handshake. “My name’s Phil and I know how you feel,” said the older man. “Oh you hate your job too,” returned Patrick. “No, I don’t. I said, ‘I know how you feel.’ I didn’t say that I felt that way now,” Phil corrected him. “Really, that’s cool, I’m glad you found a job that works for you. I hope I can do that some day,” Patrick sighed and then swallowed down the last of his OJ. “Well, I don’t know if I could help you with that, but I can help you not hate the job that you have,” Phil returned. For a split second, Patrick thought maybe Phil was a dealer of some sort, but his simple clothes, glasses and gray hair seemed to rule that out. He didn’t look like a miracle worker either, not that the most famous one ever did either. What was with this short order cook anyway? Besides making the perfection of a breakfast plate, what did this dude know? “All right how can you do that?” Patrick grudgingly asked. Phil crossed his arms and raised his eyes, “You got Monday off?” It was a minor holiday and Patrick did have it off. Most people didn’t, but he did. “Yeah, I’m off why?” Patrick said. “Well if you don’t want to hate your job, come here at nine a.m. That’s when the breakfast rush is about over and I’ll set you up okay. I gotta prep for dinner, um what did you say your name was?” “Um, Patrick,” Patrick said, really still confused. “Well, Patrick it was nice meeting you. See you Monday if you want the help,” Phil said as he left and pushed forcefully through the Dutch door into his meatloaf preparation zone. What had exactly just happened Patrick was not sure of. He was sure that Phil was awesome and so was his breakfast platter #5. If he showed up on Monday, it could be awesome too. At the very least, he could get one of the New Horizons Café’ cinnamon rolls that he had seen another patron consume. It was as big as a small child. And with that as an incentive, he decided to return Monday morning. Patrick paid his bill. He met with Knox, fixed his tire, and went home to a normal weekend. He watched the Wild win a game in overtime and the Timberwolves get slaughtered by the New Jersey Nets. He slept in on Saturday and he went to church on Sunday. As for Monday’s events, or at least Monday’s baked good consumption, he tried not to dwell on too much. It probably wouldn’t mean anything, but at least he had found a new place to eat out of the deal. It’s always easier to hate your job on a full stomach right? Dude, you rule! You completed chapter two. Eat the best breakfast you can tomorrow to celebrate. Chapter 3 Cinnamon Roll Patrick Keys was on his way to meet with Phil at the restaurant, when he realized something. He hadn’t left his wallet or an important task at home undone. No, he realized that he felt optimistic about Phil’s challenge. Now for you and me, this feeling of optimism may be a fairly normal one, but for Patrick, as of late, optimism was foreign.As Patrick strolled into the café’ he found that Phil’s estimate was dead on. The place was not that busy and only had a few senior citizens finishing up their breakfasts and mulling over their second or third cups of Joe, depending on caffeine tolerances and bladder limitations. Patrick smiled as he took in the comfortable environment again and strolled to the lunch counter. Phil spotted him from the kitchen window and stepped out with a cinnamon roll that completely dwarfed the plate. Nearly the size of Patrick’s head, it oozed icing over the side and glistened with margarine. The aroma of this beast of a pastry demanded a brightening to nearly any Midwest morning. Phil glided the plate in front of Patrick and just as quickly scooped a pot of coffee up and filled a cup with dark brown ambrosia. Patrick grinned slightly and added his cream and sugar before taking his first hug from Grandma Cinnamon Roll. Her embrace was sweet, warm, and comforting. One sip of honest brew later and he was already convinced that this alone was worth getting up and out of bed early on his day off for. “Yeah, I could see you eyeball my cinnamon rolls last time you were here. Good thing I expected you. I set this one aside for you otherwise we would be sold out,” said Phil in his husky and confident voice. “Thanmks,” mumbled Patrick finishing off another delicious bite. “So how are we going to do this lecture professor? I’m all ears to learn how to not hate my job,” he said half sincerely and half sarcastically. “Eager huh,” chuckled Phil. “I like that, I like it a lot. But, I’ve actually got some friends who are going to teach you the lessons.” “Lessons, plural then, how many things are there to not hating your job?” questioned Patrick. “Don’t you worry, there’s only five and they aren’t very complicated to explain, but then again,” Phil Paused. “Then again what?” Patrick pressed. “Well they can be hard to apply at first. But it’s worth it!” Phil stated solidly. Patrick gazed around at the café’, which had dwindled down to one Monday morning customer. He didn’t see too many options for people. Guess I’m gonna travel some he thought. “Okay,” said Phil digging out a sheet of notebook paper and unfolding it. “Just go to these places and see these people. And you should be all right.” Phil handed him the paper with the thick and hard pressed ink on it. “Okay,” Patrick stated with hesitation. “Do they at least know that I’m coming?” He was afraid to get advice from five total strangers. That fear would be worse if they didn’t know he was coming. “Yup, they know you’re coming. Go to the places and see those people. Well…,” Phil got up with a grunt from leaning on the counter, “back to it. Meatloaf special doesn’t make itself.” And before Patrick could even think of a thing to say, Phil had disappeared into his greasy spoon laboratory leaving Patrick all alone to act. Uh, bye I guess,” Patrick said to nobody. He ate the last two bites of his roll and sipped the rest of his coffee. He then let the friendly confines of the New Horizons Café and into what lay next. Although he didn’t know who he’d meet or what they’d say, he knew deep down that this was going to be a very interesting day at least. You finished chapter 3, and boy does it feel good. Reward yourself with a breakfast pastry or cup of Joe! Chapter 4 Harrison (Remember the Benefits) As Patrick Keys gazed at the list and took in the warm winter day, he quickly realized that all the places on the list were nearby. Since he had a good parking spot, and it was above 0 degrees (Minnesotans' standard for a ‘warm winter day’ are significantly lower than most people’s,) why not hoof it? At least I’ll work off half the cinnamon roll, he thought as he headed off to the first destination: Klein Manufacturing. Patrick had passed the Klein Mfg. white and royal blue sign many times. He knew it was a small factory, but had no idea what they made or why. He assumed he was about to find out. He opened the main door and was immediately at a security desk. The security desk clerk was an older African American man that looked up smiling at Patrick. “Can I help you?” questioned the clerk. “Sure umm, I’m here to see Harrison,” Patrick slipped out. “Oh yeah, he said you’d be bye, let me show you where he is.” The clerk said and ran his finger stealthily down a clipboard then tapped it. “He’s on press seven today, follow me,” The clerk strolled out leading Patrick through a door and into a whirl of machinery that shot out plastic products of various types. Employees moved about like ants at a dropped Snickers bar, as the employees performed their assigned tasked. The combination of machinery and human motion had an exciting but intimidating energy to an outsider. Wow, what a crazy and repetitive place to work, was the first thought that Patrick came up with. Before he had a chance to get to another thought, the clerk stopped and pointed out his contact. “That’s Harrison right there, check out with us when you leave,” the security clerk stated. The clerk slid a pass marked “VISITOR” into Patrick’s hand. Harrison had a muscular build and was in his late 50s as best Patrick could guess. He had a medium pot belly, but was otherwise in good shape for his age. He had more salt than peppered hair and wore triple stitched carpenter jeans, a Saint Paul Saints t-shirt and a faded navy Boston Red Sox cap. He was working like a top at catching and putting plastic hangers in a box as they spat out of a machine and on to a conveyor belt. There was a steady pile of these filled boxes a few yards away too. As best as Patrick could tell, the job at press six involved about four things: A. Make sure press is working right. B. Fill up boxes with plastic hangers. C. Close the filled boxes. D. Stack the boxes. It reminded him of playing Legos but on a grand scale. In a way he found the task’s directness comforting. “Hey, good morning,” said Harrison loudly and warmly in an accent that was New England splashed with Minnesotan. “Phil said you’d be bye to learn how to not hate your job today and here you are,” he half laughed. Patrick didn’t know what was funny. But it was a good and hardy laugh, so he smiled back. “Well, I’ll tell you old Phil makes a great patty melt and he helped me not hate this job too.” “You hated this job?” Patrick inquired a little confused given the smile and demeanor of the obvious baseball fan. “Oh yeah I hated it like the Yankees for a while,” Harrison paused and switched the boxes, quickly closed the full one, and stacked it neatly in the pile. “But Phil set me straight with the five principles he learned.” “Yeah five, what are they?” Patrick blurted out excitedly. “Well, Phil said to just teach you the one that helped me the most and that will be it from me. All five help, but not all five will help everybody the same way. Do you get that?” Phil asked. Patrick shook his head yes. He then glanced again at the notebook paper. He was starting to think he might have five new friends at the days end. He already couldn’t help but consider Harrison one. “Okay then which one hit you the most?” Patrick asked with a smile and perked up his ears in anticipation. “REMEMBER THE BENEFITS,” stated Harrison firmly. “Umm like medical, dental and 401K? Patrick shot back in a discouraged tone. “Well those are a small part of it I guess, but every job has way more benefits than just that. There’s way more kid.” Patrick was intrigued and pressed for more. “Like for instance?” he asked, “Well take my job here. A lot of folks that work here just say, ‘I work in a factory and they pay okay.’ But, Phil had me think about it bigger and better. Then I saw all the benefits my job gave me.” Harrison continued to explain all the benefits of his job over the next 20-30 minutes. During which, he masterfully executed all the functions of press six too. He loved the hours because the shift started and ended early. And, he also worked four 10 hour shifts instead of five eight hour ones. So, every weekend was a three day weekend, The work was physical, so he always got plenty of exercise. He even flexed his left arm and was proud of being in better shape than most guys his age. He ate whatever he wanted and slept every night like a rock. The wages were fair. He had made more at other jobs he had, true, but this one had friendly co- workers and was mostly stress free. When a shift was over, he rarely took his work home with him. But, baseball was definitely the best part of his job. No, at another press they weren’t cranking out batting helmets. See, Harrison’s main passion was baseball and this job allowed him the time and resources to develop the love affair. Because his job let him out early, he had a ticket block to the Saint Paul Saint minor league team and caught most every game. He also never missed it when his Red Sox (he was from Massachusetts originally) came to play the Twins. But, best of all, was the three weeks of paid vacation that his seniority at Klein Mfg. had earned him. “I spend two weeks with the wife and family,” Harrison said with a smile as big as the Green Monstah. “And, then I take the other week and go to Boston to catch the Bosox for a series. This year it’s going to be against the Rays. Tampa Bay’s got some talent you know,” Harrison chuckled again. He was giddy with excitement about the upcoming trip. “So you see when I remember the benefits of my job, how can I hate it? Sure there are days I don’t like it, but with all those great benefits, I just couldn’t hate it. Harrison concluded. By this time, Patrick’s head was swirling with all the benefits of his job. Truth was that he had never thought of them as benefits before. Just considering them for that brief moment made him feel 10 pounds lighter. What if he applied this every day? “Well you got some more names on that list Pal,” said Harrison. “And I got a lot of hangers to do before 2:30. So I’ll see you, and nice meeting you.” The two shook hands firmly and Patrick made his way out of Klein Mfg. Stopping of course to return his visitors pass to security. As he stepped into the crisp Saint Paul air, he felt even more optimistic and took a deep breath. Remember the benefits, he thought to himself with a smile as he strolled along. He hated his job less already and he still had four more friends to meet. You finished chapter four. Great job! Make sure to go see a ball game this season to celebrate! Chapter 5 Nikki (Listen To Yourself) The next location on the list was the Rice Street Library. In your town it may be weird that a library would be open on a holiday, but in this neighborhood ,so many kids were there daily, they stayed open on some minor ones. As Patrick Keys made his way to the library, his anticipation grew. What would the next principle be? What would Nikki, the name on the list, be like? Would he get shushed for being too loud like in junior high? Bye the time he was out of questions, he was pulling open the front doors to the Rice Street Library. The smell of new and old books, mildew, and furniture polish combined in his nostrils as he stepped inside. The calming area with bookshelves, work tables, and computer stations was a giant contrast to the organized chaos of Klein Mfg. He stepped lively and made his way to the help counter. An aged woman with a bad make up job met Patrick immediately. Her nametag read “Doris.” “Young man, can I help you?,” asked Doris. Why do all librarians call any guy under 70 young man anyway? Patrick unfolded the piece of notebook paper. “Nikki, I’m looking for Nikki,” Patrick finally let out. “Children’s department, down stairs, you can’t miss it,” Doris said, She then quickly turned around and attended to a large stack of DVDs on a cart. Patrick made his way down the stairs and into the basement and the children’s area. It was brightly decorated and was even complete with bean bag chairs for kids to plop down for an hour with Marmaduke, The Cat in the Hat, or Ramona Quimby age eight or otherwise. Just stepping foot down the stairs made Patrick want to reread “Freckle Juice” again. At a smaller, but piled high, librarian desk, worked away Nikki. Besides the nametag that gave her identity away, she wore a comfortable dark red sweater and some sensibly fitting khakis set off by some chunky shoes that were supportive, just cute enough and had the life saving traction to navigate the streets of St. Paul this time of year. She was plus sized but very well proportioned. And although she was likely in her mid 20s, she might possibly pass for a teen in the right light and outfit. She had some geek cute glasses that matched her caramel and almond locks of hair that hung around her eyes. But they couldn’t begin to hide her penetrating green eyes if they had been twice as thick. Patrick was sure, as he approached the desk, that there was at least one fourth grade boy or two that loved to get homework help from Librarian Nikki. But, now the kids were in school and it was his turn to get some knowledge. He took a short breath and approached the adorable librarian. “Uh, Phil sent me, my name’s Patrick,” he delivered. Nikki smiled at Patrick and looked even more worthy of fourth grade male daydreams, and she delivered in a soft but clear voice, “Great to meet you. You know old Phil is one of a kind and one of these days, he’s going to give that peach pie recipe of his.” Patrick made a mental note to try the peach pie as soon as possible and waited for Nikki to advance the conversation further. She set a few more books onto a stocking cart and started to wheel it away. She motioned with her pretty little head for Patrick to follow. Grasping an issue of Captain Underpants she began to speak. “You know I never really wanted to be a librarian at first, I just kind of fell into it.” She paused at the Babysitters Club shelf and put a book in. Another installment in the saga was home. “But some of the best things in life can be like that,” she continued. “The whole process to be educated to get this job, my parents were against it. ‘You’ll make no money. You’ll get bored. You’re capable of so much more.’ Stuff like that they would constantly say. I kept hearing these voices for years from my parents and family, but even more often in my head.” While processing her words, Patrick noticed that this lady sure just jumped into conversations with strangers. But he had met her kind before. And right there underneath a poster of Kobe Bryant encouraging kids to read, he was with her 100 percent. “Oh yeah I’ve been there with my family and parents too,” Patrick encouraged. “Yeah and my friends too,” Nikki stated comfortably. The conversation moved along with a grace that can only happen among peers. “It made me upset and stressed and question things and…” “Hate your job,” Patrick delivered with flare and a quirky smile. “Yup, hate my job,” Nikki responded with a slight chuckle. “Ann then one day I was talking with Phil and eating a Chef salad with honey mustard on the side, and he started talking to me about the five principles, and the biggest one to me was to LISTEN TO YOURSELF. She paused and thought about her revelation for a moment and then went on. “Phil said that we have to listen to our own voice in our own heads to hear what we have to say about our job, not what others have to say. Some times we mix up what other people’s opinions our from what ours are.” Nikki continued to empty the cart and her heart on the subject. People had told her why being a librarian wasn’t good and wasn’t for her so much that she couldn’t even hear her own opinions anymore. She explained that when she finally listened to her own voice she realized that she loved all the main things about her job. She loved kids, books and reading. Sure there were some negative aspects, but the core was all Nikki. She had a buzz when a kid told her about a favorite book. And she found that the steady, then slow, then fast rate of librarian work suited her. She understood that her family wanted prestige, endless challenge, and money, but she didn’t need as much of it as they did. When Phil gave her the idea to sort all this out and the other four principles too, she stopped hating her job. “I know that I’m lucky to like my job the way that I do. But I really believe that If I didn’t, I could still not hate it. All I have to do is listen to my voice more than everyone else‘s,” Nikki reaffirmed. Patrick let it sink in. He had so many voices in his head besides his own. They had really shaped, no distorted, his opinion of his job. Why hadn’t he realized this sooner? Nikki and him made a little small talk after that, and Nikki said if he wanted to talk anymore later it would be fine with her. Patrick wasn’t sure if she was flirting, being Minnesota nice, or a combination of the two. But, he definitely had enough to chew on without worrying about that for now. Patrick said goodbye to Nikki and made his way out of the Rice Street Library with more than a book worth of insight. In a place that was built to be quiet, he learned there was a lot of noise being made by voices in his head. He knew that he would use this to help him not to hate his job, and maybe to make more important things come to light too. You rule and have finished chapter 5! Celebrate by going to your local library and getting a children’s book for a quick and fun read. (Or download one to your Kindle.) Chapter 6 Paul (Remember What Your Job Does) As the temperature was screaming to a near balmy 10 degrees, Patrick Keys was gliding down the street. With a spring in his step, he strolled and gazed at the next contact and location on his list: Paul, Andersen Associates. Soon he found himself at a basic office building. The type that litter any Midwest city, but really never standing out. He went inside and looked at the directory posting. Andersen Associates was easy to find because alphabetically it was the first name on the list. It was off to the third floor. Patrick found the elevator and pushed the up button. Immediately the door opened. He walked in and pushed the silver button with the red three on it. The elevator quickly rose to the third floor and opened its doors. He exited into a well lit hallway and scanned for a sign of direction. He quickly spotted a sign with an arrow pointing right along with the words “ANDERSEN ASSOOCATES,” all printed in capital letters. Not being one to question the obvious, he followed the arrow. As Patrick walked down the hallway, he wondered who Paul was and what he did. More importantly he wondered how he would help him not to hate his job. As he finished pondering this, he reached the door marked “ANDERSEN ASSOCIATES.” He reached out his hand, turned the door and entered the room. The room was buzzing with phone conversations, all at different stages. The people working were as diverse as they come. Different sexes, ages, nationalities and traits all yammering away on the phone to a similar, yet not exact script. At the front of the room was a desk that obviously belonged to a supervisor and a dry erase board covered with information. “Daily Goal, Monthly Goal and Quarterly Goal,” were the largest things written on the board. Underneath them, were huge dollar amounts with names by them. Paul’s name was among those on the list and he had one of the higher amounts up there. [...]... something that makes a difference And, unless you have a moral objection to how that difference is made or what that difference is, it’s a reason to not hate your job. ” “That sounds…” Patrick paused “Way too easy,” filled in Paul accurately “Yeah, way to easy to work,” shot back Patrick skeptically “Sure it’s easy to understand, but it’s hard to apply for most,” Paul beamed back while lightly stroking his Sam... the air, get you an ally for your journey and help you to get there With nobody on your side, any task is harder Tip #3 of 3-Remind yourself of the five principles I don’t think you have to memorize these principles, but writing them down and putting them somewhere you’ll see them would be a good idea Text it to yourself, e-mail it to yourself, face book it to yourself, whatever Reread the book if you... she begun her reply “I hate to sound like your dad, but the advice I have for you is DO A GOOD JOB That’s the best advice Phil gave me.” Patrick took this one in too along with a sweet sip of brewed iced tea It was a simple enough principle, but like the others, a little hard to grasp he bet Do a good job Do a good job He tried to imprint it on his brain before asking for more How does that help?,”... what your job does, it will help you not to hate it And dude, if it can work for a telemarketer, with all the times I get yelled at, it can work for anyone!” The rest of the break was spent in discussion and splitting an everything bagel with cream cheese Patrick got to hear how Paul got into classical music He was an accomplished musician but not orchestra material This job allowed Paul to be apart... the less I hated my job Not only that, but my tips, customers and co-workers all got better too And it made my shifts go so much faster That simple statement changed my whole approach to work and my life,” said Christy smiling enthusiastically She switched over to prepping oranges As she sliced, Patrick listened to her story Her family owned several bars and restaurants so she always had a job She just... St Paul was amazing Come to think of it, the variety of people was an advantage of his work place too Wow, another reason he found to not hate his job while waiting in line for lunch! Things were looking up for sure and it was now his time to order An older Swedish descent lady with bottle blonde hair took his order and cash with a smile She then called out in a crisp kitchen tone, “Matthew one Italian... think you know now that those things are all possible I’ll leave Patrick and his destination up to your imagination As for you and work, I’ll leave that up to your imagination too Because, without imagination you and your job will never change Good job friend you finished chapter eight! Score yourself some potato salad from the deli, red skin if they have it It goes great with a Pannini by the way! Chapter... to take it to the nth degree Just know that it’s good you do it and there’s power in it So, keep it up! Tip #2of 3-Admit that you hate, and admit that you don’t want to Odds are pretty good that people close to you already know that something’s up If they see this book in your e-reader directory that may tip them off too! But seriously tell someone you trust about your feelings and where you want to. .. to help other people be a part of it too Paul took a lot of pride in helping so many people learn too enjoy the music he loved to listen to and play so much At the end of the 20 minutes, Paul went back to his calls and Patrick made his way out again Between remembering the benefits, listening to himself, and remembering what his job did, Patrick was already feeling more than 100% better about his job. .. on if you really do! Hey, you finished chapter nine oh yeah! Give a high five to the next person you see Chapter 10-Good Luck Good luck in not hating your job You’re done with this book! Remember: 1 Remember the benefits 2 Listen to yourself 3 Remember what your job does 4 Do your best 5 Working is a gift P.S if you want to e-mail me with a testimony go ahead: jpschmock@gmail.com . a dream: job, salary, purpose in life, prestige or title, I have learned how to not hate my job. YOU CAN TOO. I don’t want you to hate your job, and I. Patrick finishing off another delicious bite. “So how are we going to do this lecture professor? I’m all ears to learn how to not hate my job, ” he said half