I've always said that I follow the "non-career track". I don't want one job to last my whole life (or even a whole year). I certainly don't want a job that annoys me so much that I become an asshole. I'm already close enough to that as it is.

I'm ahead of myself. Rewind. When I moved down here to the New South bureau, I got a job. One that paid real money. I'm an editor at a sports web site. I get paid to watch sports and do a large amount of computer work in a very short period of time. That's okay with me, though it's not work I would have chosen if I had a free choice. See, I took this job solely for the economic benefit, consequences to my eternal soul be damned. Every cent of my paycheck is going into a bank account which has "house down payment" written across the top.

The one thing I like about this job is the rush, the pressure of accomplishing many tasks well in a compressed period of time. Most folks don't like the stress which naturally flows from such an endeavor, but I do. My two all-time favorite jobs were putting out a college newspaper and being a menial errand boy/fix-it dude for a political campaign. Lots of pressure, lots of fun. This one is pretty close in terms of the rush.

So for one or two hours a night, I'm a happy camper. The other six or seven hours of tedium are grating, but I can deal with that. I was as happy as might be possible for me to be in this situation. Then on Friday, my boss told me that because I was doing such a good job (he was probably blowing smoke, but I'm simply repeating what he said), I was being moved to a part of the company where there would be no deadline pressure. Just a lot of boring, menial tasks. And all of them having to do with golf. A sport which I consider to be a cancer on society (I could write a book detailing the myriad reasons I hate golf, but that wouldn't serve much of a purpose). Needless to say, I'm not pleased. Which is what I expressed to my boss. He didn't seem to take my reticence to move very well at all.

This despite the fact that at my 60-day review session at the beginning of February I said that the only part of the company I wanted to stay far, far away from is the one which deals exclusively with golf. I have a feeling that particular comment didn't get written down or something. I can only hope he had forgotten what I said. If he did remember my comment and still decided to send me over, well, that makes the situation much worse.

Even in the worst case, however, I shouldn't be this upset. After all, the only reason I took this job was to earn some money for a house down payment. I should be able to shoulder any load, accept my cash every two weeks and watch the house kitty grow. After the house gets bought, I'll probably quit and get a part-time job, so as to be able to spend more time writing. But I can't let go of this situation, and I don't know why. That's what bothers me.

Here's the deal. I have no future plans tied up in this job. I have no real desire to move up or advance in the company. In a strange way, then, I'm in a position of power. I have no compunction about quitting. If they make me work in the golf section, I'll just walk out the door. No questions asked, no tears on my face or bruise to my ego. Indeed, if they fired me for any reason, I would shrug and move on. In the larger scheme of my life, this job is about as important as what brand of gas I put in my car. I need the money, but it doesn't matter where I get it.

Most folks would consider this to be a "bad attitude". I don't. If people treat me well, I can be loyal. But it's very rare that bosses are fair with underlings, and given the stress levels of this job, I can understand why most communication takes place at raised decibel levels. That doesn't mean, however, that I feel any need to repay these folks for giving me this job. They needed someone in a bad way, and I helped out. Any loyalty I might have felt was wiped out with the golf transfer.

You should not infer from what I just said that I am careless or otherwise less than vigilant about the work I do. Quite the contrary. I don't believe in doing a so-so job. If I am doing something, even if I hate it and I'm doing it only for the money, I'll do the job well. I figure that's only fair. My best effort is what the folks are paying for, after all, and I am only too pleased to provide it. Indeed, I seem to have done alright, because on Monday I was placed in charge of the night crew of editors (depending on the evening, that means me and one or two other people, but still, responsibility is responsibility). Then on Friday, this golf thing.

Now what I feared is fast becoming a reality. This job is turning me into a full-fledged asshole. I've always been something of a sarcastic wheezer, but my sardonic salvos are usually carried out with a smile (or at least a hoarse giggle). Saturday, I was simply being rude to folks for no good reason whatsoever. And the scary thing is, it really didn't bother me much when I was doing it. I thought it was just fine for me to call people names and demonstrate my rage in all possible ways. The consequences to my eternal soul are coming home to roost in a truly nasty way.

So something will have to give. I know this: I'm not doing golf. Simple as that. Since I have no fear of getting fired and no real concerns about quitting, I should be able to relax. I know what isn't going to happen, and that should give whatever optimistic side of me is left enough ammunition to imagine a better future. In previous days, that would be true. But all this crap surrounding the job has sucked the decent life out of me, and all that's left now is an angry shell. I can't get rid of the rage, no matter how hard I try.

No amount of money can justify that.

Jon Worley learned that while it is illegal to buy a six-pack after two in the morning, Wal-Mart will sell you a 12-gauge shotgun and plenty of ammo 24 hours a day, which provided an almost too-tempting possibility Friday night.