conversations...
...are so interesting.
Today at work, LankyJames said to me, kinda out of the blue:
Him: So, you must be loaded.
Me: Erm...why?
Him: Well, you work more hours here than anyone else. You normally work at least ten more hours per week than me.
(this isn't true, but I guess I routinely work about 8 hours more than he does)
Me: You don't get rich working here.
Him: Well you must get paid enough. I suppose you're on for ten hours today?
Me: No...nine :)
Him: Bloody hell!! Why? What happened?
Me: Ah...well it's cos I'll work at least 12 tomorrow...
Him: See. Why do you do it? Do you need the money? Do you live a champagne life-style? Do you live in a mansion?
Me: Errr, no, three bedroom flat, and I don't need the money that badly, because I'm tight, plus I never have time to spend much.
Him: SO why do you do it?
Me: Because I love my job. I love it. What else would I do?
Him: You can work computers. You'd get paid about four times as much for doing graphic work on a nice clean computer with a desk and you wouldn't get burnt or cut or risk your life every day or anything.
Me: But you're not...making anything. I mean not anything real, that you can touch and hold. Pixels aren't the same. Look what I make here, and compare it to something you see through a screen...
I'm not entirely sure he gets it. I'm not sure I do. But there is a drive within me to make three-dimensional objects. It's what I live for. So I cycled home at about 1730, the sun on my back, next to the ocean, covered in dirt from head to toe...and really, what more could anyone want? (Well, okay, the knowledge that I've got to be up for work at 0445 tomorrow I could live without, but tomorrow, I'll be at work for 6am, driving along the cliff-tops towards Eastbourne when other people are still in their pits, missing the day. What a waste.
Today at work, LankyJames said to me, kinda out of the blue:
Him: So, you must be loaded.
Me: Erm...why?
Him: Well, you work more hours here than anyone else. You normally work at least ten more hours per week than me.
(this isn't true, but I guess I routinely work about 8 hours more than he does)
Me: You don't get rich working here.
Him: Well you must get paid enough. I suppose you're on for ten hours today?
Me: No...nine :)
Him: Bloody hell!! Why? What happened?
Me: Ah...well it's cos I'll work at least 12 tomorrow...
Him: See. Why do you do it? Do you need the money? Do you live a champagne life-style? Do you live in a mansion?
Me: Errr, no, three bedroom flat, and I don't need the money that badly, because I'm tight, plus I never have time to spend much.
Him: SO why do you do it?
Me: Because I love my job. I love it. What else would I do?
Him: You can work computers. You'd get paid about four times as much for doing graphic work on a nice clean computer with a desk and you wouldn't get burnt or cut or risk your life every day or anything.
Me: But you're not...making anything. I mean not anything real, that you can touch and hold. Pixels aren't the same. Look what I make here, and compare it to something you see through a screen...
I'm not entirely sure he gets it. I'm not sure I do. But there is a drive within me to make three-dimensional objects. It's what I live for. So I cycled home at about 1730, the sun on my back, next to the ocean, covered in dirt from head to toe...and really, what more could anyone want? (Well, okay, the knowledge that I've got to be up for work at 0445 tomorrow I could live without, but tomorrow, I'll be at work for 6am, driving along the cliff-tops towards Eastbourne when other people are still in their pits, missing the day. What a waste.