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第四单元 Work in Corporate America

第四单元 Work in Corporate America
第四单元 Work in Corporate America

Work in Corporate America

1 It is not surprising that modern children tend to look blank and dispirited when informed that they will someday have to “go to work and make a living”. The problem is that they cannot visualize what work is in corporate America.

2 Not so long ago, when a parent said he was off to work, the child knew very well what was about to happen. His parent was going to make something or fix something. The parent could take his offspring to his place of business and let him watch while he repaired a buggy or built a table.

3 When a child asked, “What kind of work do you do, Daddy?” his father could answer in terms that a child could come to grips with, such as “I fix steam engines” or “I make horse collars”.

4 Well, a few fathers still fix steam engines and build tables, but most do not. Nowadays, most fathers sit in glass buildings doing things that are absolutely incomprehensible to children.The answers they give when asked, “What kind of work do you do, Daddy?” are likely to be ut terly mystifying to a child.

5“I sell space.” “I do market research.” “I am a data processor.” “I am in public relations.” “I am a systems

analyst.” Such explanations must seem nonsense to a child. How can he possibly envision anyone analyzing a system or researching a market?

6 Even grown men who do market research have trouble visualizing what a public relations man does with his day, and it is a safe bet that the average systems analyst is as baffled about what a space salesman does at the shop as the average space salesman is about the tools needed to analyze a system.

7 In the common everyday job, nothing is made any more. Things are now made by machines. Very little is repaired. The machines that make things make them in such a fashion that they will quickly fall apart in such a way that repairs will be prohibitively expensive. Thus the buyer is encouraged to throw the thing away and buy a new one. In effect, the machines are making junk.

8 The handful of people remotely associated with these machines can, of course, tell their inquisitive children “Daddy makes junk”. Most of the workforce, however, is too remote from junk production to sense any contribution to the industry. What do these people do?

9 Consider the typical 12-story glass building in the typical American city. Nothing is being made in this building and

nothing is being repaired, including the building itself. Constructed as a piece of junk, the building will be discarded when it wears out, and another piece of junk will be set in its place.

10 Still, the building is filled with people who think of themselves as working. At any given moment during the day perhaps one-third of them will be talking into telephones. Most of these conversations will be about paper, for paper is what occupies nearly everyone in this building.

11 Some jobs in the building require men to fill paper with words. There are persons who type neatly on paper and persons who read paper and jot notes in the margins. Some persons make copies of paper and other persons deliver paper. There are persons who file paper and persons who unfile paper.

12 Some persons mail paper. Some persons telephone other persons and ask that paper be sent to them. Others telephone to ascertain the whereabouts of paper. Some persons confer about paper. In the grandest offices, men approve of some paper and disapprove of other paper.

13 The elevators are filled throughout the day with young men carrying paper from floor to floor and with vital men carrying paper to be discussed with other vital men.

14 What is a child to make of all this? His father may be so eminent that he lunches with other men about paper. Suppose he brings his son to work to give the boy some idea of what work is all about. What does the boy see happening?

15 His father calls for paper. He reads paper. Perhaps he scowls at paper. Perhaps he makes an angry red mark on paper. He telephones another man and says they had better lunch over paper.

16 At lunch they talk about paper. Back at the office, the father orders the paper retyped and reproduced in quintuplicate, and then sent to another man for comparison with paper that was reproduced in triplicate last year.

17Imagine his poor son afterwards mulling over the mysteries of work with a fr iend, who asks him, “What’s your father do?” What can the boy reply? “It beats me,” perhaps, if he is not very observant. Or if he is, “Something that has to do with making junk, I think. Same as everybody else.”■

第四单元 Further reading

1 Whenever I read my mother’s letters I am moved by the well-formed calligraphy that confidently traverses her pages.

I remember one letter in which Mum describes the birth of my

niece, Donna:“I have a sweet little face, blue eyes like Papa and long fingers like Nana.” It was typical of Mum to share precious details of her new grandchild with us, now living thousands of miles away on another continent.

2 The loss of handwriting in our high-tech world saddens me. People of all ages openly confess to their rapidly deteriorating handwriting as keyboards replace pen and paper. Increasingly, schoolchildren tackle assignments on computer and struggle to write, having typically had little practice.

I am of the generation that learnt to write with a dip pen in kindergarten and a fountain pen in high school; by the time I reached university, like everyone else, I used a functional ballpoint. Handwriting has underpinned every aspect of my life since I was first taught to shape letters on the lined pages of my exercise books.

3 I still have my travel diary dating back to 1970, which accompanied me on my first European adventure at the age of 19. In between old bus and theatre tickets, I wrote descriptions of my first experiences of London, Paris, Venice and Rome. I love poring over these precious travel memories, written in an assortment of pens and colours in my straight-up-and-down handwriting.

4 From the age of 12, I kept a handwritten journal, recording my thoughts and feelings regarding both the significant and mundane aspects of my life. Through this diary ritual I connected with myself, explored experiences and found a way to interpret and make sense of my relationships. Although I rarely reread my written material, the tangible process of writing has remained with me as a means of processing my feelings and filtering my experiences.

5 Yet today, handwritten letters are as rare as a red panda, and we are all poorer for this dearth. I think back nostalgically to the seduction of a love letter and the quality of emotion that was conveyed in the written words.

6 I treasure the cards my husband has penned to me over the years in his strong, determined hand. “I love you after 15 years, truly, madly and more today than when we first met.” Here is tangible written evidence of his affections!

7 Few of us write letters any longer, even to those to whom we are close. We communicate differently when we email or text, both methods characterized by speed and informality. The meditative consideration, which accompanied a handwritten letter, is almost entirely absent. We may be communicating more frequently and with more people, but the depth and quality of

our communication has diminished

8 As a writer and artist, I am heavily dependent on my notebooks for recording ideas; jotting down my dreams and plans; noting ruminatively the passing of time; as well as keeping stock by making lists. The immediacy, accessibility and simplicity of pen and paper are indispensable. Having hand w ritten ten manuscripts, later published as books, I’ve become addicted to the flow of thoughts that comes with the physicality of handwriting. It took me years before I could type as fluently as I could write.

9 Alas, modern technology tends to the ephemeral. Few of us keep old emails or even print them out, so a sense of history and memory is lost. Archivists report that more information has been lost in the past decade than in the preceding 150 years. It is too easy to press the delete button.

10 S teven Miller, archivist at Sydney’s Art Gallery of New South Wales, says most artists still keep handwritten journals with sketches, notes and ideas, but in many other areas of records, material is now digital.

11 “It s not uncommon for IT to be concerned that we take up too much space and request that we delete material. Yet saving material in a digital format only is extremely unstable; we

don’t know how it will survive the future.”

12 Another place where I have many handwritten gems is my recipe folder, where I have compiled favourite family dishes over the years. I love my mother’s handwritten instructions, underlining an important ingredient. Whenever I make these recipes, they evoke warm, fuzzy feelings and nostalgic thoughts.

13 In this digital world of text, email and instant messaging, the perceived value of writing is no longer obvious and the case for retaining the practice of writing needs to be made. Should we save the humble pen and paper when laptops and mobiles are functional, ubiquitous and unstoppable? Should children continue to be taught to write with a pen and paper?

14 With its demise, an exceptional mode of self-expression is being lost. I invite readers to engage with handwriting and become aware of this special skill that has nurtured civilization for centuries.

15 One of my most precious letters is from my friend, Amanda, who died in 2008 at the age of 49 from ovarian cancer. On my 50th birthday she wrote me a story describing our ten-year friendship. “People say you can’t cho ose your family, but if I had filled out a request form for the perfect

sister-soulmate-friend I couldn’t have been more blessed than I am in having you in my life.” ■

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