The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: frustrations at work

  • Staying Safe in Extreme Weather: When Work Keeps Calling

    When Work Won’t Close For Your Safety

    Have you ever been trapped in a storm, sitting in your car, gripping the wheel so tight it feels like your knuckles might explode, thinking, “I could be anywhere else right now—safely”?

    That was me at 4:30 a.m., driving through torrential rain, lightning flashing 18 times since I parked, and wind so strong it felt like it might push me off the road.

    Heavy rain, high winds, and floods had been battering our island for over a week. Sure, we need the rain to keep the greenery alive—but Mother Nature was working overtime.

    I work in a warehouse, and part of my job means hauling freight from the yard into the building. In ideal conditions, that’s fine. But today? Not so much.

    By the ninth lightning flash, one of them was so bright I felt momentarily blinded. Luckily, the road was straight and empty—but it made me think: why do jobs expect us to risk ourselves in conditions like this?

    Why Am I Working During a Storm?

    Simple question. Complicated answer.

    I can’t afford to look for another job right now.

    Life throws curveballs—rising rent, bills, fractured sleep, and jobs that expect you to treat your safety like an optional bonus. My assets are already set to go to my parents if something happens. Because nothing says “good morning” like questioning your mortality at 4:30 a.m., right?

    I’d love to work from home, write, or do something dry and safe. But my current job literally pays me to work out—just not under these conditions.

    So the goal for today? Survive. And maybe, just maybe, make it home in one piece.

    The Reality of Hazard Pay—or the Lack Thereof

    A little extra compensation in extreme weather would be nice. Even if it only happened once in a while, it would show management that they value our safety. But wishful thinking aside, the storm doesn’t care about your paycheck—it’s just going to keep raining. And we just keep working.

    If You Made It to the End

    Thanks for reading my work rant.

    Most of us have had days when we’d rather be anywhere else than at work—especially in extreme weather.

    And while this is my personal experience, the underlying reality touches many: jobs sometimes expect us to treat ourselves as invincible.

    If this story resonates, feel free to like, comment, subscribe, or share with someone else questioning why they’re out in the storm.

    What’s the worst weather you’ve had to work through?

    Explore The Archives

    I write about more than just questioning my life choices at 4 a.m.

    You’ll find posts on:

    Feel free to explore the archives or check out some of my other posts.

    Otherwise, I’ll see you all after I survive Mother Nature—and my job’s decision to stay open, rain or shine.

    Wish me luck.

    Update: Mother Nature is Off The Clock

    Never mind. I woke up earlier this morning, the rain had settled, the clouds were slowly dispersing, the sun was slowly peaking through the haze, and now it is hot!

    Like clothes sticking to your skin uncomfortably hot.

    At least I don’t have to worry about getting struck by lightning or drenched to the bone in the torrential rain anymore.

  • Bound By Compulsion: When Anger Got the Best of Me at Work

    Rituals Aren’t the Only Things Ruled by Compulsion

    Yesterday, my anger finally spilled over at work. It started like any other Thursday — heavy freight, short-staffed, everyone tired. But when management decided to send home the coworkers who had come in on their day off earlier in the week, everything shifted.

    The only reason seemed obvious: avoid paying them overtime. Never mind that Mondays are our most understaffed days. Never mind that those people helped keep us afloat. Instead, we were left with fewer hands on one of our reasonably busier days.

    I felt frustration rising even before the afternoon sort began. My job was to push freight down the slides from the top of the conveyor belts, making sure boxes reached the right cans. For a while, things were steady. But less than an hour in, the freight started piling high. We were stacking boxes so tall we couldn’t even see our coworkers at the bottom, hoping nothing rolled down and hit them.

    What frustrated me most wasn’t just the work itself — it was watching people stand around, chatting, with no urgency as the piles grew. I could feel my anger bristle, like hackles rising.

    The Word I Couldn’t Say

    In the morning meeting, management promised we’d be done between 2:30 and 3:30 p.m. At first, it sounded reasonable. But once they announced more than a dozen people would be sent home, and once it was clear most of the part-timers weren’t showing up, I knew it was impossible.

    Still, we pressed on. I distracted myself by talking to the coworkers beside me — the ones I trust, the ones I can work alongside without losing my mind. But the slowdown at the bottom dragged everything else down, and the team lead that supervised us just stood around, watching. The only time they moved was when their friends were working. Everyone else? “Fuck you, do your job.”

    As the sky grew darker with sudden rain and the promised end time slipped further away, I lost it. My anger boiled over.

    And that’s when I realized the word I’d been circling in my first “Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape” article — the word I couldn’t name then — had been staring me in the face all along.

    That word is enough.

    I’m Never Enough

    At nearly every job I’ve had, I’ve felt like I was never enough: Not good enough, not needed enough, not smart enough, not successful enough.

    No matter how much I create — my blog, my stickers, my hoodie, my manifestos — it never silences the voice inside that says:

    You’re worthless. You’re weak. You’re pathetic. You’re never good enough.

    That’s why I don’t rest. That’s why I keep pushing. Because resting feels like proof of my worthlessness. Even when I tell myself I’ll take a break, I don’t.

    That, if I keep building up more evidence that I’m not worthless, weak, pathetic, and never good enough, maybe I could finally convince myself to believe that I am enough.

    It still has yet to happen…

    Yesterday, that weight of time marching on pressed down harder than ever, like a boot at the back of my neck. And my anger — the old familiar companion — took over.

    My Anger Wasn’t Justified

    As the clock kept ticking past the supposed end time, I watched management glare down at us from the windows above our sorting area. It felt like we were to blame for them being stuck there while we carried the load. My body was breaking down — the boxes were heavier, my strength was gone, I was getting so hungry, and I had to let more and more freight pass me by. My coworkers along the conveyor belt needed to pick up my slack frustrated me more.

    I spiraled. I said out loud I wanted to die, that all this giving and breaking ourselves down for this job left us with nothing in return. Nothing.

    And then I snapped. Not at management. Not at the people standing around. At someone I could actually call a friend. I didn’t scream at her, but my voice rose and my anger spilled out. She didn’t deserve it. It came out when she mentioned being patient, that we were almost done work, but my spirals don’t care about that.

    I had been patiently waiting for years that it felt like a burden waiting more. I wanted to die again. I mentioned this feeling in, Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here — On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy, but I struggled to keep myself in check.

    I couldn’t follow my own advice because I wanted this pain of feeling time slip by as I kept getting nothing in return for killing myself at a job that would easily replace me, if I got too out of hand or just existing, weighing down on me.

    Afterward, my friend asked if I was okay. I just shook my head, too tired to form words. She stayed patient anyway, talking to me, waiting for her Hot Cheetos delivery while I grabbed my things and left.

    I felt ashamed. I still do.

    Enough

    I don’t want anger to rule my life. But it has, for a long time. Practicing patience is hard when people disappoint me, when I disappoint myself, when nothing ever feels like enough.

    Snapping yesterday wasn’t justified. But naming what happened — naming the word that haunts me — is at least a step. Maybe the next time I feel myself bristling from things out of my control, I can pause before I snap. Maybe I can remember that I don’t have to measure my worth against impossible expectations.

    For now, though, I’m still sitting with anger, exhaustion, and the weight of not feeling enough. But at least I’ve given it words.

    Reflection

    Have you ever felt anger take over at work, only to regret how it came out later? Or felt that crushing sense of “not enough” hang over you, no matter what you’ve accomplished?

    If this piece resonates with you — even quietly — liking, subscribing, or sharing helps this little archive grow. It’s how more people in similar situations can find these words and know they’re not alone.

    Thank you for reading, whether this is your first visit or you’ve been returning in silence.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive