Memoirs of a Failed Financier or The Justin Bieber Bank Diaries Part II

A four part retelling of a three month saga.

Part Two: The nonymous anonymous company satisfaction survey

A great brouhaha went down while I worked at the bank – and I like to take partial credit for its inception. This particular corporate behemoth was consistently rated among the top three for their customer service, and they wanted to be rated as highly in their staff satisfaction as well. Not too complicated – if the staff are happy, the customers are happy and everyone’s just an rollicking orgy of sweat glistened satisfaction. But this bank would not rest until their staff were the happiest fucking chorus of Oompa Loompas in Loompaland and they were going to beat it into us, whether we were satisfied or not. So we had to fill out an annual satisfaction survey; ok fine. Only, these guys were so paranoid about losing their standing that we were made to fill out a test survey first. I had had it up to here with all the interruptions to my work and all the midnight finishes that I started speaking up. In doing so, I found a whole lot of other people had the same inklings as me, but never said anything about it, so we starting discussing things that we were annoyed about and it spread dischord amongst our particular team. No job is perfect, and sometimes a good bitch with your workmates is all that’s required to clear the air, but the things that were bothering us were so easily fixed and so readily ignored, and no manager wanted to listen so it ended up that our team scored the lowest in the entire company. Oh, did I mention that this was an ‘anonymous’ survey? Oh yeah, let’s split hairs, it was totally anonymous under your login and your computer at your desk but when our team were called in to another infamous meeting about the results, I almost stuck my head through the computer screen.

The site manager sat there and tried to elucidate the deeper meanings of the results from us. I told her there were none.  I became unofficial team spokesman and said on behalf of nearly everyone that the meetings were bollocks, the mousepads and assorted paraphernalia were infantile and that I would never be emotionally fulfilled counting dirty money and lets just call a spade a spade and do the job to get paid and go the hell home. The rest of the team sat there in stony faced silence while her and I argued back and forth about the merits of corporate groupthink until I realised that she wasn’t interested at all about changing anything other than our minds. I threw in the towel and two weeks later when we had to fill in the ‘real’ survey, I didn’t even try to be constructive like I had before and just scored everything a zero. Take that, averages.

Our team’s score didn’t change, and it drove down the entire site average. I was elated. I don’t celebrate failure, but I will not tolerate contempt for common sense. The whole charade was an ego-stroking exercise for numbers, and never a commitment to actually making the job enjoyable or tolerable for the people that worked there. The arrogance of the managers to assume that we’d be dazzled by flashy signs and shiny objects while turning a blind eye to their complete indifference about the unpleasant realities was gobsmacking.


About the Author:
‘Job seekers’ used to be called ‘unemployed’ but in the crazy, mixed up world of cultural Marxism, Johnny Q. is simply a hapless, down-on-his-luck, overqualified victim of an evil capitalist market who can’t catch a break.

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