#Data entry job failure

[in-sightpublishing]

Ask A Genius 986: Getting Fired From Jobs

Author(s): Rick Rosner and Scott Douglas Jacobsen Publication (Outlet/Website): Ask A Genius Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2024/06/29 Scott Douglas Jacobsen: I’ve only ever been fired from one job. I was 15 years old, working at a bistro owned by a family friend in my hometown. I remember being quite unpleasant at the time. One day, as the dishwasher, the daughter of the owner said they…

[dis-agreeable]

whew. coming to terms with the fact that working at, say, the local cemetery office is NOT giving up on my hopes and dreams, is NOT saying ok music was fun now time for the Real World, that nobody in my family and friend group got jobs in their chosen fields right after graduating. i need a) money but more importantly b) insurance for the four scripts i am on.

[buttercandy16]

Shadows from the Past

Sequel to "The Bully"

PAIRING: Dark!Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: Your past will never let you go.

WARNING(s): Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Torture, and many more Dark Themes.

Years had passed, but the ghost of Agatha Harkness lingered in your life, her shadow creeping into every corner of your mind. No matter how much distance you tried to put between yourself and her—geographically, mentally, emotionally—she always found a way to slip back in.

High school was behind you, yet the horrors endured in those dimly lit hallways clung to you like old scars that refused to fade. She had turned your formative years into an unrelenting nightmare. Your only solace had been leaving town the day after what happened in the cafeteria, promising yourself you’d rebuild from the rubble she’d left behind.

But escaping Agatha wasn’t as easy as leaving.

Life hadn’t been kind since your departure. You’d scraped by working dead-end jobs: waitressing, retail, data entry. Nothing lasted. Over time, you began to feel cursed. Managers would praise you one moment and fire you the next. Coworkers would smile at you but whisper behind your back. Each dismissal came with the same dismissive refrain: “It’s not a good fit.”

Each time, you wondered what you’d done wrong, what flaw they saw in you that made them push you out. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that it wasn’t just bad luck. It was a feeling that settled deep in your gut: a cruel hand was behind all of this.

You stared at the eviction notice pinned to the cracked wall of your studio apartment. It mocked you, its red letters glaring against the yellowed wallpaper like a physical manifestation of failure.

Thirty days to vacate. Thirty days to figure out where you were going to sleep next. You couldn’t borrow money—you’d already alienated the few friends you had left by constantly asking for help. No family wanted to step in either; they’d given up hope long ago.

Slumping down onto the edge of your creaky bed, you stared at your phone screen, scrolling through endless job postings with no responses. You’d applied to over thirty positions in the past month. Nothing.

It felt personal. Too personal.

That’s when the email arrived.

The notification flashed across the screen, an unexpected break in the monotony. There was no subject line, and the sender’s name was unfamiliar. Normally, you would have deleted it without a second thought. But desperation pushed your fingers to open it.

The message was brief but chilling:

*Dearest [Your Name],

I’ve been watching. It seems life hasn’t been kind to you since our time together. But I can make all of your problems disappear. I can offer you comfort, stability, even a home. All you have to do is come back to me.

Meet me at 845 Blackthorne Drive tomorrow, 8 PM. Refuse, and… well, you know how persistent I can be.*

The blood drained from your face. You didn’t need to guess who had sent it. You knew. Of course, it was her. Agatha.

You closed the email immediately, your hands trembling, bile rising in your throat. You hadn’t heard her name—or dared speak it—in years. You had forced yourself to believe she was a distant nightmare.

But now, the past was staring you in the face, with claws sharpened and fangs bared.

The mansion loomed at the end of a long, winding road, shrouded by gnarled trees that reached toward the sky like skeletal hands. Blackthorne Drive was far enough from the rest of town that it felt completely cut off from reality. The house itself was imposing, its gothic architecture exuding an eerie dominance. The massive iron gates groaned as they opened, as if reluctant to let you pass.

Your car crawled up the driveway. The building grew larger and more menacing with each inch closer. Stone gargoyles leered down from the rooftop, their grotesque forms barely discernible against the stormy evening sky. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark silhouette of a figure standing at the top of the stairs.

Agatha.

She looked exactly as you remembered, though years had polished her beauty into something sharper and more refined. The same piercing blue eyes, the same cruel smirk that had haunted you for so long. Her tailored suit clung to her form, exuding authority and control.

“Right on time,” she said, her voice cutting through the heavy rain like a blade.

You clutched the strap of your bag tightly. “I didn’t have a choice.”

A smile curved her lips, but there was no warmth in it. “You’ve always had a choice, sweetheart. You just never make the right one.”

Her words stirred old memories—memories you had fought to suppress. The cafeteria, the locker defacements, her voice whispering cruel truths in your ear. You had spent years trying to build a wall between you and those memories, and now it felt as if she was tearing it down with every step she took closer to you.

“Come inside. Let’s discuss the terms of your employment,” she purred.

The interior of the mansion was no less intimidating. It was darkly elegant, with rich mahogany floors, towering bookshelves, and ornate chandeliers. Yet there was a suffocating energy that weighed down the air, making it hard to breathe.

“Your duties will be simple,” Agatha said, circling you like a lion stalking its prey. “Clean. Serve. Obey.”

Her tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of menace in her words. She wanted you to remember who held the power now—if you’d ever had any to begin with.

You tried to protest. “Agatha, this isn’t—”

“Ms. Harkness,” she corrected sharply, her eyes narrowing. “We’re not on a first-name basis anymore, darling.”

Her smirk deepened as you faltered, biting back your words. She reached out, running her fingers along the edge of your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“You’ll find,” she said softly, “that resisting me has consequences.”

The first month in Agatha's mansion blurred into an endless cycle of humiliation and despair. Each morning, you woke to a rigid schedule outlined in excruciating detail. Agatha handed you the list herself, her fingers grazing yours as she delivered it with a sly smirk. It wasn’t just work—it was a gauntlet designed to test your limits.

The tasks were mundane in concept but laced with subtle malice. Polishing the marble floors until they reflected like glass was a daily occurrence, though she ensured new scuffs appeared overnight. Preparing her meals required precision to an absurd degree: the perfect temperature, perfect presentation, and even the placement of silverware had to match her exacting standards.

She monitored your every move, ensuring you were always within her grasp. Every task she gave you became a test of your endurance, every failure an opportunity for her to assert dominance.

One day, she ordered you to scrub the kitchen floor on your hands and knees. The task was grueling, the heat from the stove making the air heavy as you worked. Agatha leaned casually against the counter, sipping wine as she watched you struggle.

“You missed a spot,” she said idly, pointing to an invisible imperfection.

Your hands trembled as you scrubbed harder, the muscles in your arms burning with the effort.

“Pathetic,” she murmured, her voice low and mocking. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

You paused, your breath hitching as her words dug into your skin like needles.

“I see someone who was nothing before I came into her life,” she continued, her voice sharp. “You think you’ve suffered? You have no idea what suffering is.”

Her words lit a spark of defiance in you, even as tears stung your eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” you choked out, your voice raw with emotion. “What do you want from me?”

Agatha crouched beside you, her cold blue eyes locking onto yours.

“I want you to realize that you belong to me,” she said softly, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You always have. And you always will.”

Agatha began finding excuses to pull you away from your duties, insisting on long, tense dinners where she dissected every aspect of your life. She pried into your thoughts, your fears, your dreams, twisting them into weapons to control you.

“You’ve always been so weak,” she remarked one evening, her tone almost pitying. “Even back in high school, you needed someone to guide you. You’d have been eaten alive without me.”

Her words reopened old wounds, the memories of her torment flooding back with brutal clarity.

“You’re wrong,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant. “I was fine until you came into my life.”

Agatha’s smile faltered for a brief moment, her expression hardening.

“Fine?” she echoed, her voice icy. “Do you call this fine?” She gestured to the house, to the life she had engineered around you. “I gave you everything. Without me, you’d have nothing.”

Her words struck a painful chord, but you refused to let her see the effect they had.

“I’d rather have nothing than live like this,” you said, the defiance in your voice wavering but unbroken.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as her control slipped for the briefest of moments.

“Careful, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice dangerously soft. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

Her cruelty wasn’t just about control—it was about possession. She wanted you to feel her presence in every corner of your mind, to know that no matter how far you ran, you would always belong to her.

Her games became more psychological. She’d arrange personal items in your room—things you’d never brought with you, things you’d left behind in high school. A worn notebook you’d written in during freshman year. A bracelet you hadn’t seen in years. Each item was a reminder that she had always been watching, always waiting.

One evening, she cornered you in the kitchen, her hands bracketing your body against the counter. The faint scent of lavender filled the air, mingling with the oppressive tension.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are you unhappy here, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer.

Her hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Do you know why no one wants you? Why every door you’ve tried to open has been slammed in your face?”

Her smirk deepened as your silence stretched. “Because I made it so.”

Your heart sank, the weight of her confession crushing you. Of course, it had been her. Every rejection, every failure, every lost opportunity—it had all been orchestrated by her.

“Why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

She leaned in, her breath ghosting over your ear. “Because if I can’t have you, no one can.”

The second month in the mansion was worse. Agatha’s punishments became more invasive, more intimate. She began to invade your space with increasing frequency, her touch lingering longer than necessary—a hand brushing against your arm as she passed, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re mine,” she reminded you constantly, her voice a low purr that sent chills down your spine. “I’ve always loved you, you know. Even back then.”

Her twisted idea of love suffocated you. She wanted you to break, to surrender, to accept her as the center of your world.

And yet, there were moments of terrifying vulnerability in her eyes. Moments when she looked at you not with malice, but with a desperate longing that bordered on obsession.

“You don’t understand, do you?” she whispered one night, her hand resting on your cheek. “I did all of this for you. To protect you. To keep you safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke, given the hell she had put you through.

What little humanity she offered was just as terrifying as her cruelty. Late one evening, you collapsed against the counter, your muscles aching from scrubbing floors for hours. Agatha appeared behind you, her presence announced by the familiar scent of lavender and something darker—whiskey, maybe.

She placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it just enough to make you stiffen. “I can ease this for you, you know,” she said, her voice soft yet sharp as a knife. “All you have to do is surrender.”

You didn’t dare ask what she meant, but you could see it in her eyes. Agatha didn’t just want your service. She wanted every part of you: body, mind, and soul.

When you flinched away, she sighed in mock pity. “You’ll see eventually,” she murmured. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re mine entirely.”

It was a game to her, an amusement at your expense. She thrived on your frustration, your exhaustion, the trembling in your hands as you tried—and inevitably failed—to meet her impossible demands.

Agatha ensured you were utterly dependent on her. The mansion was isolated, far from town, and the cell service was mysteriously spotty at best. Every attempt to reach out for help was met with failure—calls that wouldn’t connect, emails that bounced back.

One night, after weeks of relentless torment, Agatha pushed you too far. She had caught you crying in your room, curled up on the floor, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. Instead of offering comfort, she stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Look at you,” she said softly, almost tenderly. “So fragile. So weak. You need me, don’t you?”

When you didn’t respond, she stepped closer, crouching in front of you. Her hand reached out, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at her.

“You’ll see it one day,” she murmured. “You’ll see that I’m the only one who’s ever truly loved you.”

Something inside you snapped. All the fear, all the pain, all the years of suffering boiled over in a wave of anger and defiance.

“Love?” you spat, your voice shaking. “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

For a moment, Agatha’s mask slipped. Her eyes darkened, her expression hardening into something unreadable. Then, without warning, she grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” she hissed, her grip bruising. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

Her voice cracked with something raw, something vulnerable, but it only fueled your defiance.

“You don’t own me,” you said, the words trembling but firm.

Agatha’s lips curled into a dangerous smile. “Oh, darling,” she whispered, her voice low and menacing. “I already do.”

You should’ve left. Walked out the front door that very first day and refused to let Agatha Harkness tighten her grip on your life. But desperation binds people, ties them to their torment in cruel, unyielding knots. You were broke, friendless, and hopeless. Agatha knew this. She had engineered this.

One day, driven by an overwhelming need for freedom, you slipped out of the mansion while Agatha was occupied in her study. You didn’t have a destination, only an overwhelming desire to breathe air that wasn’t tainted by her presence.

But you didn’t get far.

A black car pulled up beside you within minutes. The windows rolled down, revealing Agatha’s ice-cold gaze.

“Tsk, tsk, darling,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet night. “Running away without saying goodbye?”

Her driver opened the back door, and Agatha stepped out, stalking toward you with the predatory elegance you had come to fear.

“I warned you,” she whispered, gripping your wrist with surprising strength. “There’s no escaping me.”

The ride back to the mansion was silent. Her grip never left your wrist, her nails digging into your skin. When you arrived, she led you inside with a calm, almost detached demeanor.

“I thought I was being kind,” she said once you were inside, closing the door with a resounding click. “Letting you work for me instead of keeping you locked away. But it seems you need to learn your place.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened as she pulled you closer, the dangerous gleam in her eyes making your heart race with equal parts fear and anger. She exuded control, towering over you not just physically but emotionally, the years of torment heavy between you like an anchor.

“You say I don’t own you, but here you are.” Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but her words dripped with venom. “You came to me, desperate, broken… and I welcomed you. I gave you purpose. Don’t you see?” She leaned in, her lips just brushing your ear. “You were always meant to be mine.”

The suffocating weight of her words threatened to overwhelm you. Agatha had taken everything from you—your independence, your sense of self, and now, even your will to fight. You stood there, frozen, as her fingers brushed along your jawline, a twisted facsimile of tenderness.

But there was no love in her touch. Only possession.

“You owe me,” she whispered, her face inches from yours. “You owe me everything. And you’re not going anywhere.”

That night, Agatha removed every shred of freedom you had left. No phone. No access to the outside world. You weren’t her maid anymore. You were her prisoner.

The days that followed were a blur of torment and submission. Agatha’s control tightened around you like a noose, her presence suffocating every moment of your existence.

One evening, as you lay in the cold, sterile confines of your room, a realization washed over you: there was no escape. Agatha had trapped you in her web, her obsession consuming you completely.

And in the depths of your despair, a horrifying truth began to take root.

You had fought so hard to resist her, to maintain your independence, but the constant push and pull of her control had worn you down. You were no longer the person you had been, no longer the girl who had dreamed of freedom and a fresh start.

You were hers.

And she knew it.

Agatha stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the hallway lights.

“You’re finally starting to understand,” she said, her voice soft but triumphant.

Tears streamed down your face as you looked at her, your defiance crumbling under the weight of her control.

“Why me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha stepped into the room, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Because,” she said, her voice tender and possessive, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. And now, you’re mine.”

The moment your defiance crumbled, it felt like death. The person you had fought to hold onto, the fragments of your former self that Agatha hadn’t destroyed, slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingers. What replaced them was something darker—a hollow version of you, shaped by her control and your desperation to survive.

Agatha stood over you, a predator basking in her triumph, her blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched the tears streak your face. Her hand cupped your cheek, the possessiveness in her touch both suffocating and strangely comforting.

"That's it," she whispered, her voice soft as velvet. "No more fighting. No more pretending you're anything other than mine."

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Instead, you let your body sink into the bed, limp and resigned, as she leaned in, brushing her lips against your temple. The gesture was almost gentle, but it only served as a reminder of the power she held over you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick with unspoken truths, with the undeniable reality of what you had become. You hated yourself for it—for the small, treacherous part of you that found solace in her touch, that craved the twisted sense of stability she provided. Agatha had broken you down to the point where even her cruelty felt like love.

And that was what terrified you the most.

Agatha’s dominance over your life grew even stronger after that night. She no longer needed to coerce or threaten you—your surrender had made that unnecessary. Instead, she began to blur the lines between control and affection, lacing her cruelty with moments of twisted kindness that left you reeling.

She bought you expensive clothes, dressing you in fabrics that felt like cages. “You look stunning,” she would say, her tone dripping with approval. “Perfect for me.”

She demanded your presence during her late-night dinners, insisting that you sit beside her as she drank her wine and recounted the day’s events. Sometimes, her hand would rest on your thigh, her grip firm but not painful, a constant reminder of her claim over you.

Other times, she would pull you into her lap, her arms wrapped around you like steel bands. “Tell me you belong to me,” she would whisper, her breath hot against your ear. And every time, you would nod, your voice trembling as you gave her the answer she wanted.

“I belong to you.”

Over time, the resentment that had once burned brightly within you began to dim, replaced by a numb acceptance of your new reality. Agatha’s world became your world, her needs and desires shaping every aspect of your existence.

She began to soften in subtle ways, her sharp edges smoothing out as she reveled in her victory. She would brush your hair before bed, her fingers gentle as they combed through the strands. She would trace the scars on your wrists from past despair, her lips pressing against them as she murmured, “You’re safe with me now.”

It was a cruel irony, the way she twisted the concept of safety to mean submission. But in your fractured mind, her words began to hold a strange kind of truth. Agatha had stripped you of everything—your independence, your identity, your dreams—but she had also filled the void she had created. Her presence, as suffocating as it was, had become the only constant in your life.

One night, as you lay beside her in bed, her arms wrapped around you like a cage, you found yourself leaning into her touch. The realization hit you like a blow to the chest—you no longer hated her as fiercely as you once had.

“I hate you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the darkness. But the tears that slid down your cheeks betrayed the lie in your words.

Agatha’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she tightened her hold on you. “No, you don’t,” she murmured, her voice filled with twisted affection. “You just hate how much you need me.”

And in that moment, you knew she was right.

Your days bled into weeks, then months, until time became meaningless. The life you had once imagined for yourself—a life of freedom, of love untainted by pain—faded into the background, a distant memory overshadowed by the reality of your existence with Agatha.

She had transformed you into exactly what she wanted: a creature entirely dependent on her, bound to her by a dark and unshakable connection. And as much as you despised what you had become, a part of you—small and desperate—began to find comfort in the life she had built for you.

Agatha, for her part, seemed utterly satisfied. She no longer needed to assert her dominance with cruelty; your surrender had solidified her victory. Instead, she began to lavish you with affection, her gestures laced with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl and your heart ache.

“You’re mine forever,” she would say, her lips brushing against your temple as she held you close. And every time, you would nod, the words leaving your lips like a prayer.

“I’m yours.”

But deep down, a tiny spark of defiance still flickered within you, buried beneath the layers of submission and survival. It was a fragile thing, easily snuffed out by Agatha’s overwhelming presence, but it remained—a reminder that, no matter how deeply she had claimed you, a part of you still longed for freedom.

And as you lay in her arms, her breath warm against your skin, you couldn’t help but wonder: would that spark ever be enough to set you free? Or were you destined to remain trapped in her web, a willing prisoner of her dark and twisted love?

Agatha’s voice broke the silence, her words soft but commanding. “Say it,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “Say you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you hesitated, the weight of her command pressing down on you like a vice. And then, with tears streaming down your face, you gave her what she wanted.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words tasting like ashes on your tongue.

Agatha’s smile was triumphant as she pulled you closer, her arms tightening around you in a suffocating embrace. “Good girl,” she purred. “You’re mine, and I’ll never let you go.”

And in that moment, you realized the horrifying truth: you didn’t want her to.

[burins]

kroger shoppers and butch4butch: failures of categorization, failures of desire

(originally published in 2023’s yaoi zine 2: the analysis issue and I realized I never crossposted. you Should check out the full pdf. it slaps.)

I. Survey Fatigue

The year after graduating college, I spent about six months filling out online surveys. In between sending out job applications, I trawled r/beermoney and r/workonline for survey clearinghouse websites, where I could (ostensibly) earn money by giving various nebulous corporations a large amount of information about my preferences on everything from TV to deodorant.

Unfortunately for the me of 2016, survey clearinghouses are not actually a great way to make very much money. Most surveys with low barriers to entry don’t pay very well, unless you happen to stumble on a well-funded academic researcher. Even in a more naive era in which there was still an expectation that consumers should be paid for their data, the ecosystem of survey-based consumer demographics collection is deeply exploitative, with most surveys on public clearinghouses that aggregate many different companies together paying well below minimum wage for the amount of time they take to fill out. (We’re talking, like, $1 for 20 minutes.) Which makes sense, as their ideal candidate is middle-aged, upper middle-class or higher, owns a home and at least one car, has multiple kids, is considering upgrading every category of possession imaginable, and is taking this survey in her free time because she feels deeply passionate about shaping the products of the future. (Many surveys are aimed at women, because, you know. Women be shopping.)

What survey clearinghouses are, instead, is a fantastic way to spend a lot of time thinking about how others might categorize your identity. Marketing research focuses on particular demographic categories, and survey clearinghouse sites overwhelmingly use screeners to make sure that only people who fit that category take the survey. If you’re a marketer interested in the grocery habits of northeastern women with multiple kids, you don’t want some single guy in California’s data. But if you’re a single guy in California, or (just as an example) a nonbinary recent college grad in the south, trying to make some extra cash, and you know you won’t get paid for the time you spent taking the screener, it’s in your interest to try to figure out exactly what the marketers want from you, and adapt your profile accordingly. And this is the internet, so every survey clearinghouse has its own subreddit full of advice for newbies.

(Bear with me; I promise we will get to the yaoi.)

Of course, the posts assure you, you don’t want to outright lie. If you say you’re a retired white midwesterner with two grandkids on one survey, and on another you tell them you live in Seattle in an apartment making tech money, eventually the survey clearinghouse is going to figure it out, and they will ban you. But, the posts continue, it is in your interest to stretch the truth. After all, aren’t the survey companies exploiting us? Shouldn’t we get to, just a little bit, exploit them back?

So I put down the total household income of everyone I was living with, even though we paid bills separately; my kid siblings, who lived multiple hours away, suddenly became residents of this same household, as did my parents’ newly acquired dog; and I became interested in every possible purchasing category imaginable. Sure, I was planning to purchase a vacuum cleaner in the next six months. Yes, I considered myself a power beverage drinker. Yes, that one hookah session did mean that I smoked tobacco regularly, and also I drank a lot, and I was planning to buy a car soon, and a toaster oven, and I made business decisions at my place of employment (my bedroom), and also, also, also, I was a woman.

Back in 2016, very few marketing surveys allowed you to select any category except male or female on the gender question, which was usually the first question asked. I’m not sure if this has changed, but even when surveys did offer nonbinary as an option, I usually selected female.

As of 2021, 1.2 million adults in the US identify as nonbinary. This is a big number; it is also vanishingly small from a marketing perspective, especially when you begin further population segmentation, and especially because 68% of those 1.2 million adults report not having enough money to make ends meet. The majority of us aren’t exactly splashing out on vacation homes. Which means that very few surveys target us, which means, as a nonbinary person trying to make ends meet, I said “oh yes I’m a woman! please let me into your survey” all the time.

I could make an argument that this is an inherently transgender thing to do, that my choice to create a survey identity who crossed as many categories as I could feasibly claim was an act of transcendent self-creation and boundary-blurring. My drag persona, Kroger shopper [oldname] Shipyrds, created for a world that did not have a category for me. If I was writing this essay for Vox or something, maybe I would make this argument, and the essay could end here, on a vaguely triumphant note about the ways trans people manage to exist under capitalism.

But I don’t find the closet liberatory. Mostly, it felt kind of depressing, and also pretty futile, because– much like actually being a woman– I wasn’t very good at it. To make surveys into a successful career– well, first, I’m not sure it’s actually possible, unless you get hired by one of these firms to do blind shopping or focus groups, and even that’s pretty precarious. And second, you have to do it all the time, and you have to install a whole host of scripts and add-ons written by other members of the community to help you grab surveys quicker, to auto-input your pre-loaded information, to tell you which firms are reputable and which ones will trap you in endless screeners before kicking you out without pay after you’ve already given them the info they want. There was a kind of arms race happening between the marketers and the survey takers, because of course the marketers don’t want people who are doing this full time taking their surveys, because we’re not a normal representation of American society, and also because we lie. And I wasn’t particularly good at lying, and I didn’t want to put in the unpaid time to install all of these add-ons and tweak them to my exact specifications, and so as soon as I found other work that paid better, I laid Kroger shopper [oldname] Shipyrds to rest.

II. Lesbian Male Homosexual Sex

Now on to the yaoi. A few months ago, a quote floated across my dash, from Gayle Rubin’s “Of Catamites and Kings: Reflections on Butch, Gender, and Boundaries,” an article in the 2006 collection The Transgender Studies Reader.

“Although [butch-butch eroticism] is not uncommon, lesbian culture contains few models for it. Many butches who lust after other butches have looked to gay male literature and behavior as sources of imagery and language. The erotic dynamics of butch-butch sex sometimes resemble those of gay men…Many butch-butch couples think of themselves as women doing male homosexual sex with one another.”

As you may imagine, I found this delightful. And I think it is also applicable to the eternal question of why lesbians read yaoi. There’s been a tremendous amount of writing and handwringing on this elsewhere, both on social media and academically. Are lesbians who read yaoi fetishizing gay men? Are we betraying our lesbian identities by not reading yuri instead? (As we all know you can only read one kind of content.) Lesbians who read Kirk/Spock slash fiction popped up in 1980s-era writing during the pornography wars; Akiko Mizoguchi has been writing on lesbians who read yaoi (in the specific, not the generic) since 2003.

Lesbians who read yaoi is a thorny question from the outside, but from a butch perspective it seems very simple. A number of the arguments imply that lesbians read yaoi because we want to be men, which for a lot of (I would even go so far as to say most) lesbians is so untrue as to be offensive. The other side of the argument is equally bad: Joanna Russ’s 1985 Kirk/Spock essay has a lot of loving descriptions of the inherent tender and nurturing nature of K/S slash fic, which for anyone who has ever read pon farr fic is. Kind of laughable. The fic is nurturing, she argues, because K/S fans are writing Kirk and Spock as women, and thus the porn is actually fine to read, because it’s two women having beautiful life-affirming sex, in a way where everyone’s boundaries are respected and no one ever gets hurt. (As we all know lesbians never fuck nasty.)

The argument about the morality of pornography aside– that’s another essay– I don’t think either of these arguments are actually true, or at least, they’re not true for me, which after all is the only perspective I can give without doing some survey design of my own. I read yaoi because I enjoy it, because of the tropes and the angst and the stupid bullshit plot machinations, and yes, also because I’m not a woman, and I’m not a man, but I am a dyke and also a twink and when I have sex it’s gay and lesbian at the same time, and so sometimes I want to read (and write!) about gay male sex. (One of the joys of being trans is that you get to feel like the meme about the School of Athens just by moving through the world.)

III. Yaoi and Categorization

These are two different essays, sort of, but they are also the same essay, because ultimately both the entire field of market research and the question of lesbian yaoi readers are failures both of categorization and of desire.

Marketing research, much like gender identity, is an attempt to fit the vastness of human experience into a series of small boxes that can be easily quantified. This is by necessity: if your job requires you to analyze data, your data must be manipulable, comparable across categories, vaguely replicable. But you are also asking people questions about what they want. How much do they want a bottle of iced tea over a can of Coke? Does adding a leaf to the label change the intensity of that feeling? How do you put numbers on desire? How do you put labels on it, so that it can be compared to other types of wanting?

Desire in the world of marketing research is a deeply beige, wan emotion, limited to the constraints of the capitalist imagination. But it is the only emotion in that world, and marketers want nothing more than to make it stronger. They want you to feel the same kind of overwhelming lust when you see an ad for chicken wings that you feel when you see someone you want to fuck. They want your desire to be very strong, and they want it to be about consumption and possession, and they want you to feel it all the time. And also, they’d like you to answer some questions about it, please, and in exchange they’ll enter you into a drawing for a $25 Amazon gift card.

This desire is impossible. There is nothing less sexy than a survey; even surveys about things like alcohol or makeup place their product designs on white backgrounds, devoid of all of the surrounding drivers of want– the hot butch at the bar drinking the green-bottled beer, the person wearing the maybe it’s Maybelline lipstick. We live in a society! Desire doesn’t exist in a vacuum!

And for that reason, the more ungovernable and uncategorizable my desire, the better it feels. There is no place on the survey for butch dykes having male homosexual sex; there is a place in the research for it, but always as a sort of curiosity, a quandary that requires explanation, because this type of desire exists outside of the researcher’s imagination.

And increasingly, I am unsure that I want a place in either locale. There is an argument to be made that by allowing ourselves to be studied, we normalize and cement our place in the world. To some degree, this is true. It is hard to accept something you do not believe exists. But also, I don’t believe that the answer to the unfulfilling and exploitative hunger of the marketing survey is to spend our energy advocating for more categories so I can be more accurately sold toothpaste. I feel more and more resistant to the idea (ironic though it may seem several thousand words into this essay) that I should categorize my desire at all. In the end, the best way to articulate my desire– to myself and to others– is to live it. And also, to go read some yaoi.

--

1 Some of these posts also advised fudging your race, as survey slots for more common (read: white) demographic categories tended to fill up faster, or at least the posters seemed to think they did. This was a line I was not willing to cross, but the prevalence and comfort with which some of these posters talked about racefaking for pretty minimal amounts of money could be an essay of its own.

2  The entirety of Russ’s essay is pretty interesting, not just for the Gender of it all, but also because towards the end she almost gets there: “Until recently I assumed, along with many other feminists, that ‘art’ is better than ‘pornography’ just as ‘erotica’ is one thing and ‘pornography’ another; and just as ‘erotica’ surpasses ‘pornography,’ so ‘art’ surpasses ‘erotica.’ I think we ought to be very suspicious of these distinctions insofar as they are put forward as moral distinctions.” 

--

Sources:

Bauer, C. K. (2013). Naughty Girls and Gay Male Romance/Porn: Slash Fiction, Boys’ Love Manga, and Other Works by Female "Cross-Voyeurs" in the US Academic Discourses. Anchor Academic Publishing.

Meerwijk, E. L., & Sevelius, J. M. (2017). Transgender population size in the United States: A meta-regression of population-based probability samples. American Journal of Public Health, 107(2), e1–e8. https://doi.org/10.2105/AJPH.2016.303578

Mizoguchi, A. (2003). Male-male romance by and for women in Japan: A history and the subgenres of “yaoi” fictions. U.S.-Japan Women’s Journal, 25, 49–75.

Rubin, G. (2006). Of catamites and kings: Reflections on butch, gender, and boundaries. In S. Stryker & S. Whittle (Eds.), The Transgender Studies Reader (Vol. 1, pp. 471–481). Routledge.

Russ, J. (1985). Pornography by women for women, with love. Magic Mommas, Trembling Sisters, Puritans & Perverts, 79-100. Crossing Press.

Wilson, B. D. M., & Meyer, I. H. (2021). Nonbinary LGBTQ Adults in the United States. Williams Institute.

[marta-bee]

News of the Day 6/11/25: AI

Paywall free.

More seriously, from the NY Times:

"For Some Recent Graduates, the A.I. Job Apocalypse May Already Be Here" (Paywall Free)

You can see hints of this in the economic data. Unemployment for recent college graduates has jumped to an unusually high 5.8 percent in recent months, and the Federal Reserve Bank of New York recently warned that the employment situation for these workers had “deteriorated noticeably.” Oxford Economics, a research firm that studies labor markets, found that unemployment for recent graduates was heavily concentrated in technical fields like finance and computer science, where A.I. has made faster gains. [...] Using A.I. to automate white-collar jobs has been a dream among executives for years. (I heard them fantasizing about it in Davos back in 2019.) But until recently, the technology simply wasn’t good enough. You could use A.I. to automate some routine back-office tasks — and many companies did — but when it came to the more complex and technical parts of many jobs, A.I. couldn’t hold a candle to humans. That is starting to change, especially in fields, such as software engineering, where there are clear markers of success and failure. (Such as: Does the code work or not?) In these fields, A.I. systems can be trained using a trial-and-error process known as reinforcement learning to perform complex sequences of actions on their own. Eventually, they can become competent at carrying out tasks that would take human workers hours or days to complete.

I've been hearing my whole life how automation was coming for all our jobs. First it was giant robots replacing big burly men on factory assembly lines. Now it seems to be increasingly sophisticated bits of code coming after paper-movers like me. I'm not sure we're there yet, quite, but the NYT piece does make a compelling argument that we're getting close.

The real question is, why is this a bad thing? And the obvious answer is people need to support themselves, and every job cut is one less person who can do that. But what I really mean is, if we can get the outputs we need to live well with one less person having to put in a day's work to get there, what does it say about us that we haven't worked out a way to make that a good thing?

Put another way, how come we haven't worked out a better way to share resources and get everyone what they need to thrive when we honestly don't need as much labor-hours for them to "earn" it as we once did?

I don't have the solution, but if some enterprising progressive politician wants to get on that, they could do worse. I keep hearing how Democrats need bold new ideas directed to helping the working class.

More on the Coming AI-Job-Pocalypse

I’m a LinkedIn Executive. I See the Bottom Rung of the Career Ladder Breaking. (X)

Paul Krugman: “What Deindustrialization Can Teach Us About The Effects of AI on Workers” (X)

How AI agents are transforming work—and why human talent still matters (X)

AI agents will do programmers' grunt work (X)

At Amazon, Some Coders Say Their Jobs Have Begun to Resemble Warehouse Work (X)

Why Esther Perel is going all in on saving the American workforce in the age of AI

Junior analysts, beware: Your coveted and cushy entry-level Wall Street jobs may soon be eliminated by AI (X)

The biggest barrier to AI adoption in the business world isn’t tech – it’s user confidence  (X)

Experts predicted that artificial intelligence would steal radiology jobs. But at the Mayo Clinic, the technology has been more friend than foe. (X)

AI Will Devastate the Future of Work. But Only If We Let It (X)

AI in the workplace is nearly 3 times more likely to take a woman’s job as a man’s, UN report finds (X)

Klarna CEO predicts AI-driven job displacement will cause a recession (X)

& on AI Generally

19th-century Catholic teachings, 21st-century tech: How concerns about AI guided Pope Leo’s choice of name (X)

Will the Humanities Survive Artificial Intelligence? (X)

Two Paths for A.I. (X)

The Danger of Outsourcing Our Brains: Counting on AI to learn for us makes humans boring, awkward, and gullible. (X)

AI Is a Weapon Pointed at America. Our Best Defense Is Education. (X)

The Trump administration has asked artificial intelligence publishers to rebalance what it considers to be 'ideological bias' around actions like protecting minorities and banning hateful content. (X)

What is Google even for anymore? (X)

AI can spontaneously develop human-like communication, study finds

AI Didn’t Invent Desire, But It’s Rewiring Human Sex And Intimacy (X)

Mark Zuckerberg Wants AI to Solve America’s Loneliness Crisis. It Won’t. (X)

The growing environmental impact of AI data centers’ energy demands

Tesla Is Launching Robotaxis in Austin. Safety Advocates Are Concerned (X)

The One Big Beautiful Bill Act would ban states from regulating AI (X)

& on the Job-Pocalypse & Other Labor-Related Shenanigans Generally, Too

What Unions Face With Trump EOs (X)

AI may be exposing jobseekers to discrimination. Here’s how we could better protect them (X)

Jamie Dimon says he’s not against remote workers—but they ‘will not tell JPMorgan what to do’  (X)

Direct-selling schemes are considered fringe businesses, but their values have bled into the national economy. (X)

Are you "functionally unemployed"? Here's what the unemployment rate doesn't show. (X)

Being monitored at work? A new report calls for tougher workplace surveillance controls  (X)

Josh Hawley and the Republican Effort to Love Labor (X)

Karl Marx’s American Boom (X)

Hiring slows in U.S. amid uncertainty over Trump’s trade wars

Vanishing immigration is the ‘real story’ for the economy and a bigger supply shock than tariffs, analyst says (X)

[ouroboros-hideout]

WIP WHENEVER

@chevvy-yates tagged me for this. Thank you a lot 💚

This will be a huge wall of text aswell, since I am not really of the „visual“ side of creating atm.

Writing // Worldbuilding

I'm still writing the next two chapters for my fanfiction, but would rather briefly introduce my other OCs here (yes, Aon isn´t the only one by now). Maybe I can create all of them ingame at some point, depending on how stupid I´ll act with modding etc. when I start. Since things can change quickly in the story while I'm writing, I wouldn't say that everything is 100% set in stone, a lot of it isn't finished yet. But it's a good base. Most of them appear in my „Like Napalm“ fic. Some of them will be in my main GARMR fic aswell. So prepare for half backed character data entries and some rambling.

Gan

Gan Tomobataar, or Iron as he is usually called, is a mysterious man. Many stories surround the Mongolian giant and it always depends on who asks him whether he affirms or denies these tales. It is therefore uncertain which of them are true or fictional and he really enjoys keeping his past in the dark. He is said to have served in an elite military unit. The metal teeth that earned him his iconic nickname are said to have been lost in numerous boxing matches as he tried to turn pro to make a better life for himself and his family, and he is allegedly a descendant of Ginghis Khan (which is probably one of his favorite rumors). One can assume that his closest confidants have more clarity, but none of them would dare say a word about it. Undeniably true is that he has two brothers, of whom he is the second-born. Together with them, he leads one of the largest nomadic clans in eastern Europe and Asia. The Tomobataar nomads are divided into three large families, each led by one of the three brothers. Iron's family stays mainly in Mongolia and Russia, but he would also travel to more distant parts of the Soviet Union for profitable contracts. He doesn't have many vices, but one of them is definitely greed.

By sheer luck, at least that's what he claimed, he picked up Aon on the street when she was trying to flee Moscow on her own. He promised to protect her from the Secret Police and other bounty hunters if she proved to be a useful member of his clan. However, his methods for testing her worth would put the young woman to the test.

Yakov

Yakov always had problems finding his place in the world. He grew up in St. Petersburg, studying or an education other than working in his father's car repair shop were never an option financially, but the young man always yearned for something greater than being stuck in the alleys and streets of his childhood. He decided to join the military when he was old enough, but was discharged immediately after basic training for insubordination and general unsuitability. What remained for him was to work in his father's garage until he died after a long illness. Yakov tried to keep the store running on his own for a while, but he found it difficult to do good business without proper management and eventually had to sell the store. This was followed by a relatively dark period. He saw himself as a failure, was unable to find a new job and drank away the money he had received for the workshop in the bars in his neighborhood. One evening, a man came into his local pub. His car had broken down outside, he wouldn't get any further that night and kept him company for a few hours. The next day, Yakov repaired his car for the man called Gan and left the town with him to live with the Tomobataar nomads.

Gregori

Gregori's mother, a singer from New York, came to the Russian capital for a gig and met a military officer there. The two got together and the result was little Greg. Shortly afterwards, however, the couple fell apart and she took her son back to America, where he spent most of his childhood and youth being raised by babysitters and nannies, while the singer preferred to spend her time on tour or in the recording studio. Gregori at least inherited much of her creativity, starting to make music himself at an early age and drawing a lot. Just what small children do when they need to keep themselves busy.

When he was 16 years old, his mother died of an overdose. As she never bothered to write down a testament or anything similar, her entire fortune goes to her greedy manager, who leaves Gregori penniless.

The boy, who has spent his whole life sheltered without much contact with the outside world, is left with nothing and doesn't know exactly what to do. So he scrapes together the last of his money and buys a ticket to Moscow, where he tries to find his father, but in vain. He quickly goes off the rails, barely speaks a word of Russian, is recruited by a gang and gets exploited. An arms deal with a group of nomads goes wrong, a shootout ensues and Gegori is the only one left of the gang because he hides instead of fighting. Yakov, who was on the other side of the deal, takes pity on him and eventually takes him to his new family where he tries to find his place within the group.

Anna

Anna grew up with the Tomobataar nomads from an early age. Her parents were killed in a botched mission when she was just four years old. Iron, who in a way blamed himself for this, took on a guardianship for her and looked after the little girl like the apple of his eye. As the years passed and Anna grew older, the relationship between her and her foster father changed. He became increasingly demanding, punished misbehavior and put the still young girl under pressure. Aon, who had already earned her place in the clan by this time, could not tolerate this behavior as she herself had grown up under similar circumstances. No one else in the clan interfered with Iron's "parenting methods", which is why she ended up doing it. Anna and Aon then became inseparable and she naturally followed her later when they left the clan along with many others.

Anatoly

Anatoly, or Tolik as Aon calls him, belongs to the Russian working class in Moscow and cannot claim to own much. As a boy, he dreamed of studying mechanical engineering in order to open his own workshop or business. A dream that his father would never have been able to afford in this life. So after school, Tolik started working at his father's scrap yard on the outskirts of Moscow, not an easy job. He regularly drives into the city to pick up old components and scrap metal from SovOil and other big corporations, where he meets Alyona one day. The two strike up a conversation, exchange banter and hit it off straight away, which over time develops into a teenage love story. Aon spends a lot of time with him at the scrapyard, where she can test and improve her skills on old machines and has a place to hide from her hated stepfather. He, in return, benefits from the knowledge she brings with her from university, and his dream of building his own big thing soon becomes her dream too. Together they consider leaving the city at some point and make plans for the future

unnamed_chromed_up_terrifying_SovOil_Secret_Police_agent

Yea well, I don't know yet how to call him. After Aon has fled Moscow, the officers of the normal police force give up the search for her, as it theoretically no longer falls within their area of responsibility. However, since Kristof claims that Aon stole the data he wanted to sell to Petrochem, SovOil is naturally very interested in finding her and the data chip. So they send a Secret Police agent after her, who, together with a small unit, tries to track her down. He actually already had a kind of "Easter Egg" appearance in my other AU. He would have been the agent sitting next to Kurt if he hadn't switched the cards on the table. Funny how differently things can go. Anyway, he doesn't really have much of a backstory other than he used to work for the KGB and is a bloodthirsty hound dog who chases Aon halfway across the country (spoiler: and finds her). If I were to compare him to another character from movies etc, he would probably have the closest vibe to Hans Landa from Inglourious Basterds. The character was very well written, even though I would probably make my namesless_pig a bit younger than him. But since he'll be pumped full of cyberware anyway, it probably doesn't matter much in the end. It's just supposed to be a fucking horrible character and Aon's nightmare.

Robert Walker

Robert is one of the key-characters in my main fanfiction. I haven't thought about him in depth yet, but the general concept is there. He's a British journalist and photographer who wanted to go high by exposing wrongdoings in society. For him, there is nothing more exciting than achieving "fame and notoriety" as a whistleblower. He's not necessarily stupid or doesn't know what he's doing, he's just unlucky. He gets into trouble with the wrong people and upsets the even worse ones, which is why he has to flee the UK and ends up in NC. There he tries to start over and stay out of trouble. However, he soon develops an "unhealthy" obsession with Kurt Hansen. He is incredibly fascinated by him and spends every free minute in Dogtown so that he can perhaps take a photo (or two, or ten) of his idol. At some point, he goes so far as to seek direct contact and wants to interview him. Kurt is flattered at first, but has little desire to reveal information about himself in some strange blog or gossip magazine. But that didn't stop Robert from continuing to stalk him and even trying to become a member of Barghest. At some point, Hansen got too pissed off and gave him the choice of leaving Dogtown or catching a bullet. Robbie chose the second option. After all, he hadn't forbid him to camp outside the gates of Dogtown, had he?

Technically I could tell something about Aon´s mom and her stepfather too, but I don´t have that much yet. So will keep em for the next WIP together with the other OCs for my main fic. There will be three more. A general, a corpo guy and the last is still up for discussion with my brain. Considering somekind of warlord or a netrunner.

Art

I tried to do something different than a full rendered piece of artwork. I am not yet confinced that I like it. I like, that it was finished really fast lmao but...I dunno.

Aon and Tolik - 2055

But happy that Aon is actually recognizable in the end. During the process she looked so much like So Mi at a point that my brain went: WHO ARE YOU GIRL. But I like the long hair. Will give it back to her in her 2078+ appearance. Not exactly like this, but longer than her normal style.

Not quite sure about Anatoly tho. I mean, he looks like this in my head, but I will reconsidere if he will get some cyberarms. He is poor like a mouse, so probably can´t afford expensive tech like this, but he feels kind of „empty“ without anything.

Congrats and huge thanks if you read this far. Brainrot stronk!

Tagging some ppl aswell. Everyone else is invited too to show off some awesome stuff ofc, no pressure as always!

@blackrevell @olath124 @cyberholic77 @cybervesna @pinkyjulien @theviridianbunny @therealnightcity @wanderingaldecaldo @miss--river @barghestapologist @kdval @streetkid-named-desire @aggravateddurian @androgymess

[elektrostantsiya]

'Lazy girl jobs' are often described as perfect and the ultimate goal of job search, but nobody seems to talk about, how a job, that is too easy and leaves too much free time within the working hours, can also be destructive for your mental health. I had a job, that could be called a 'lazy girl job' at the beginnig of my career. It was my first job after college (apart from the internship). It's not like I even wanted that kind of job, actually there was another job position on this company, that I considered my 'dream job' and hoped to get it later through internal recruitment. I don't want to disclose too many details about it here, but this 'lazy' job basically consisted mostly of sending e-mails and messages in some websites, and also a lot of Excel data entry, for example, to predict the power demand in the power transmission system, which, as serious as it sounds, was actually very easy, because it only required data input and the rest was done automatically. Most of these things had to be done at specific time, mostly in the morning, and within the rest of the day, plenty of free time was left. By plenty of time I mean literal hours of doing nothing, hours which I could use to do whatever I wanted: read books, watch YouTube videos, learn something, or just talk with my coworkers and drink tea. At the beginnig, I tried to do something useful in this time, but over time, as I tried to get this other job I wanted and failed, as I spent hours every day not knowing what to do, and even these tasks I had to do were way below my level of knowledge, skills and ambition, I eventually stopped even trying. Not only didn't I learn anything new and gain any experience, I realised after some time, that I even started forgetting what I used to know before, what I had learned in college and during the internship. The lack of progress and actually feeling like I was going backwards, combined with failure to get my 'dream job' and these long hours, when nothing really happened and nothing was to do, made me feel more and more frustrated and burnt out. Someone may ask, why didn't I use this free time to learn something interesting and useful, for example about electronics? Trust me, I tried, but at some point I wasn't even able to concentrate on anything anymore and didn't even feel competent enough and smart enough to do this. I felt like I was stupid and knew nothing. I know, many people would say 'your job doesn't define you', but being an engineer is an important part of my personal identity, and it does define me as a person, no matter, what anyone else says (which is something many engineers experience, I'm not an exception here). At this point I didn't even think I was suitable for being an engineer at all. I felt like an absolute failure, not only a failure at work, but failure as a human, not good enough for anything. I eventually left that company and got a new job, which was more challenging, compared to the previous one. I designed inverter and rectifier systems. Then I got bored with that, too, and found a new job again, this time in gas turbines industry and that's where I'm now and finally feel like this is where I'm supposed to be. I know, my example is quite specific, but the moral of the story is: 'lazy girl jobs' aren't the ultimate goal for everyone and while the idea of an easy but well-paid job can sound attractive, the reality of it may leave you frustrated, bored, burnt out and depressed.

[alphabetsoup-blogposts]

It doesn't add up

You say or imply, I think, that the "worst offenders" are convinced we are communicating in private or that there is some kind of transatlantic mind control in operation. That is silly enough to make them seem really quite, quite dense. And, I think you also say that there is this or that explanation about incompetence and a failure to realise and ... blah, blah, blah.

But that does not gel with my experience of things that were utterly inexplicable and oddly sophisticated (if impenetrable). One such, is the exercise in recruiting me to work from Chinese bank data, as I mentioned before, another was all the extraordinary ferrying around of moneys to pass them inexplicably through different bank accounts. I saw no skimming but it was utterly, utterly odd. Moneys had always to be moving and it was very perplexing and time consuming.

There is necessarily a great deal to that story but one is the way in which I was humiliated in various ways in October 2017 over a reconciliation exercise I undertook to check on all our outgoings and income, and to double check that all the moneys were where they should be. LT told the Board it was a "waste of time", "not to be done again" and invited them to chuckle at my... what? idiocy? pettiness? with him.

And then there was the extraordinary exercise of completing an exhausting amount of paperwork to open a new corporate bank account (in my notes I wrote "permitted to open..." but the correct word would be, of course "instructed to open...") which astonishingly (given the signatories to the paperwork) was 1) only available at one bank, and 2) then refused by that bank. I took the entire performative exercise—of which no one single part seemed to me to be credible or genuine (for reasons that are evidential but over long to go into)*—to be a punishment for... well, what new offence I knew not what. Everything was punishment at that time.

Here are extracts from some diary entries—I think there are probably more, too—you will detect a touch of paranoia and all I can say is that, even with the benefit of hindsight, I think paranoia was entirely justified.

And, no, I hear you, but stolen identity doesn't explain this... the signatories were The Six. I was just listed under "officers of the [entity]" and the humiliation and gaslighting lay partly in being stood down (as with the reconciliation) by the Chair and told not to pursue my enquiries about the outcome because it would be "a waste of time".

"Did I try to clear things up? Did I tell them how uncomfortable I was?" Oh FFFFFFFFFS. Firstly, when people are plaguing, gaslighting, threatening, punishing, humiliating and stressing an individual it is not her job to pipe up with "Excuse me, are you aware that this is very uncomfortable for me and that I'd much rather you treated me reasonably?" Secondly, YES!!! Whatever they say, as early as 2013 and 2015, I sat in cafés with both R and K saying that life was unmanageable, that I could barely cope in the present, let alone move forward or show ambition, that there were stressors that made it so and, in the case of R, that I was experiencing suicidal ideation. They may tell you differently but their saying something manifestly does not make it so. As for LT, well, you have already seen my plaintive email of resignation that I sent in 2017.... And, when I was going through all those extraordinary phone calls with DG in February 2021, I said "you never once tried to find out how I was..". Can you imagine? Eight years serving on a Board and you never once ask how the CEO is doing (beyond the usual passing "how de do?" in public)—or even how she is just surviving amid all that blatant eccentricity and gaslighting?

As for your suggestion that they were trying to get rid of me... sure, I was an obvious "stickler", certain directors wanted us to integrate a profitable conference subsidiary despite registration (others did not), some members wanted to grab more personal control of working groups, some wg members expected us to provide and expense a private education to develop their own saleable expertise, some members wanted us to facilitate back-channels to regulators and at least one of the regulators desperately wanted us to become a more efficient consultation-response factory. But, assuming that is the best explanation, why did they try so hard for a time to get me to stay? Simply for the court record—to ensure that it was a "resignation" rather than a "sacking"? And, if so, why did they then dramatically switch course and chuckle at the idea that they might have finessed a "ritual humiliation"? Perhaps you are right, but... *shrug*.

*At the time, I wrote that the rejection was "fake" but I've learned enough since that, if you kick the tyres on these things, there is a veneer of plausibility. Today, I would be more cautious and say "contrived". Either way, there was a widespread glittering trail of glaring contextual and documentary inconsistencies which—left to my own devices in even the slightest degree—I would have pursued.

[bitchesgetriches]

Am I a failure for taking a pay cut? I started going back to get my masters in library science this year, and I’ve been trying to find a job in the field. I make $19/hour now in the CSR position I hate. I’ve applied for 5 library jobs that pay ~$18/hour but I haven’t gotten any calls back. I think they want more experience. Now I’m starting to think I should get a roommate so I can take a lower paying ($13.50/hour) more entry level library job. That’s a big pay cut and I feel like I’m throwing away everything I’ve worked for in the 7 years since I joined the workforce and literally starting back at the pay I started at out of college. My hope is I could move to one of the $18/hour positions in a year or two once I have library experience. Is this plan dumb? I need guidance.

You are NOT a failure. How dare you talk about our baby like that! You are a wise and talented young human and we admire you.

If you hate your job, then you absolutely need a solution. Sounds like you can either wait for something with a similar compensation level to open up... or you can take a pay cut soonest. Weigh how much it's worth it to you to get out of this job you hate. If you decide that time is more important right now than money, then take the lower-paying gig. It'll give you another data point on your resume and get you out of a toxic work environment while you look for something that pays more.

Good luck, sweetheart. You're going to be ok.

Job Hopping vs. Career Loyalty by the Numbers 

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[quietlyblooms-gone]

she fills her paperwork. medical records, logs of treatment, data entries. she fills her paperwork. voice recordings, prewritten forms, autopsy records & signatures.

shoko does her job in the way that allows her cadence, in the way that allows her to keep momentum, to build efficiency in her work. her momentum & her success is the consequence of balance — carefully balanced, carefully regulated, carefully peaceful.

it is what it is. & it’s rare that she checks the forms she signs for the signature of the manager assigned to the case. but she sneaks outside the morgue for a smoke, she treasures its burn against her lungs, & she sees chiyoko in passing.

shoko uses her cigarette to point to chiyoko as she walks by. ‘ my recent case. the dead one. he’s one of yours, yeah ? ‘

unprompted | @pontevoix says something chiyo doesn't wanna hear!

she knew the sort of work she was getting into. it was the sort of work she wanted to get out of, once upon a time -- and sometimes still. it isn't just the politics or the monotony of paperwork or the driving all over creation. it isn't even the late hours because chiyo can handle that. she can handle a lot.

but chiyo's never been good with death.

oddly enough, it's kind of the reason she decided to become a manager rather than leave sorcery behind. just a student who had no hope of saving her teammate from their fate but wanted to try anyway ( desperately, recklessly ), it was chiyo's manager who pulled her back, who saved her from a meaningless death. she hated them for it at first, thought them cowardly, blamed them for her friend's death. they couldn't have known what would happen. maybe chiyo could have saved them. maybe...

there wasn't any " maybe, " and chiyo knew it from the start. she just didn't want to accept it. her manager made the tough decision, the right decision, and she saved chiyo's life. she couldn't stop thinking about it during graduation. still can't. she feels some sort of responsibility to be that person for the next generation, maybe even for her colleagues. chiyo can handle a lot. she can make the tough decisions.

but chiyo isn't good with death, and shoko is the last person she wants to see right now. the sting of failure still bites at her, and remorse rests heavily in her chest, constant reminders of her recent loss. she cared about the kid. she always cares despite knowing the kind of work they do is notorious for taking lives before they've even been lived. she can't help it, and she can't help the way she stiffens as shoko addresses her.

if it wasn't obvious that chiyo had seen and heard her, she would have kept walking. she doesn't want to talk about this.

" ah, yeah. he is. " she breaks eye contact, digs her thumbnail into her index finger. what else is she supposed to say? she doesn't want to talk about this. there's only one other thing chiyo can think of to say to shoko, and as she bows at the waist, she hopes the other woman will have mercy and leave the subject alone.

" thank you for taking care of him. "

[thessalian]

Thess vs Cauldron IOTA

Well. That was ... more than I was expecting it to be. I mean, the Cauldron too, but also just ... everything I ended up doing the last few hours. Sometimes Horizon Forbidden West is just ... chasing campfires is like chasing related links on Wikipedia - it never ends, and it takes you to places you don't necessarily expect.

Right. Big crevice through there, maybe that'll help. But I'll approach from above because something's going to be guarding...

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand you're all standing just out of view. Fine. I will jump into this bush and then I will quietly murder you.

Ah, here we go. Wow; this thing's a fair bit more heavily guarded than the last one. Maybe they used beasties to give us the problems instead of just ... accessibility?

Okay, they're using both, but this could be worse...

You want me to do WHAT?!?

First attempt: failure. THIS IS NOT MY FAULT I WAS PRESSING THE BUTTON AND ALOY WOULD NOT JUMP GAH I HATE THIS. Well, at least I didn't die-die. I guess those few Survivor passives I picked up were worth it.

Second attempt: Success! Okay, now can I finally go into the Cauldron? THANK you.

Right. What's going to come at me? Rollerback, if I remember right. What don't Rollerbacks like? Purgewater? Acid? I'll go for one of each. Why not? I craft traps; may as well use them.

Oh the traps were a good thing because that came out of nowhere so lemme just step out of the way so I can shoot when it's weakened from--

...Did ... did I just one-shot a Rollerback with an acid trap? I mean, okay, it was an advanced acid trap, but... Wow. I should set up trapped sniper's nests more often.

Right. It couldn't be that easy, could it. Now, how do I get down without dying? Okay, here we go.

Wait.

Waitwut.

Waitwutno.

AAAAAAAAAAAA!

Okay got through that first time! Great! Now ... onward to clearing ... debris ... off a Tallneck head.

Okay, so I am supposed to just jump on its head. Okay.

So I just ride this head to-- Oh, FUCK OFF!

First attempt: failure. And actual death because I didn't prioritise the one with the ranged concussive blasts that can knock me off the damn Tallneck head. AIM BETTER, IDIOT.

Second attempt: success! Managed to one-shot everything, so that's good.

Right. Compared to some of the jumping puzzle shit I've been doing, this is easy. And I actually get to climb the Tallneck this time! I used to get a bit stressed over those, but seriously - compared to some of this shit? EASY.

TALLNEEEEEEEECK! And that just ... unlocked ... everything I'd already unlocked through exploration anyway. But never mind!

Okay, collecting campfires I missed last time and I think there's some greenshine and a data entry around here somewhere--

Wait. Wut.

Where the fuck did this Thunderjaw come from, and why the fuck is it charging right for me when I wasn't anywhere near it?!?

...Wait. Does that say APEX?!?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Okay. Fine. That's done. Greenshine. Sommeliers complaining. Stuff.

GO AWAY YOU LUNATIC MACHINES I WAS ONLY TRYING TO HUNT OWLS.

Look, Chargers, stop staring at me; I was only trying to shoot the damn goose! Okay, fine, you die too.

There's a ... Tremortusk out there? I WANNA SEE-- Oh. They're saving that for boss battle or something, aren't they. Boo.

But at least there's greenshine behind some firegleam and... Wait. Did that just give me the option to catch the salmon? Like, with my hands or something? I may have preferred shooting them but this'll do! POUCH UPGRADES!

Right. Question mark over there and... Oh. Rebels. They're probably guarding a campfire or something; lemme just get those out of my way and--

Oh.

I just ... started ... a rebel camp side quest. By accident. Oh well; never leave a job half-finished!

I really love it when none of them get a shot off at me. More tags. I will figure out what those are for eventually. Maybe even without Googling it. (I lie - I will almost definitely Google it because the curiosity is killing me.)

Okay. Right. Yes. I really need to log off now. Just lemme get to a shelter and-- YES! POUCH UPGRADES! Fine, it's regular ammo only, but I'll find moonfish eventually. AND I got to upgrade my short-range combat bow, because one-shotted Rollerback!

So a day in which I got stuff done, virtually speaking. Hell, I got Motherfucking Adult Stuff done too; took out the garbage and cleaned out the fridge in preparation for the groceries arriving tomorrow. This month has some gloriousness; there's going to be roast chicken and roast pork, and I am going to boil the chicken bones for stock (with herbs out of my very own little balcony-and-windowsill garden), and the leftovers will probably go into a jambalaya-ish sort of thing, or maybe a couple of batches of risotto. And I have fixings for chilli, and for bolognaise sauce. Add some gluten-free breaded chicken fillets (for lazy chicken katsu curry) and some of the long-life usuals (tinned tuna and frozen broccoli for the tuna broccoli lemon pasta, stuff like that), and with the occasional stop for fresher ingredients, I will eat well this month, and possibly on into next month.

I also treated myself to some coffee ice cream and fixings for French toast, because Being A Motherfucking Adult means you can have treats if you want them. And it's been a hard week.

[mariacallous]

For 20 years, the only way to really communicate privately was to use a widely hated piece of software called Pretty Good Privacy. The software, known as PGP, aimed to make secure communication accessible to the lay user, but it was so poorly designed that even Edward Snowden messed up his first attempt to use PGP to email a friend of Laura Poitras. It also required its users to think like engineers, which included participating in exceptionally nerdy activities like attending real-life “key-signing parties” to verify your identity to other users. Though anyone could technically use PGP, the barrier to entry was so high that only about 50,000 people used it at its peak, meaning that privacy itself was out of reach for most.

These days, to talk to a friend securely, all you have to do is download a free app. For a certain set, that app will be Signal. Snowden and Elon Musk have recommended it; it’s been name-dropped on big-budget shows like House of Cards, Mr. Robot, and Euphoria, and its users include journalists, members of the White House, NBA players, Black Lives Matters activists, and celebrities trying to get their hands on Ozempic. Its founder has been profiled by The New Yorker and appeared on Joe Rogan’s podcast. A tiny organization with virtually no marketing budget has become synonymous with digital privacy in the public imagination.

Technology can be deeply shaped by the personal inclinations of a founder. Facebook’s light-fingeredness with user data is inseparable from its roots in Zuckerberg’s dorm room as an app for ranking women by their looks; Apple’s minimalist design was influenced by Jobs’ time spent practicing Zen Buddhism. Signal is no different. During its formative years, the charismatic face of Signal was Moxie Marlinspike, a dreadlocked anarchist who spent his time sailing around the world, living in punk houses, and serving free food to the unhoused. He led every aspect of Signal’s development for almost a decade, at one point complaining,  “I was writing all the Android code, was writing all of the server code, was the only person on call for the service, was facilitating all product development, and was managing everyone. I couldn’t ever leave cell service.”

In the field of cryptography, Marlinspike is considered the driving force behind bringing end-to-end encryption—the technology underlying Signal—to the real world. In 2017, Marlinspike and his collaborator, Trevor Perrin, received the Levchin Prize, a prominent prize for cryptographers, for their work on the Signal Protocol. Afterward, Dan Boneh, the Stanford professor who chaired the award committee, commented that he wasn’t sure that end-to-end encryption would have become widespread without Marlinspike’s work. At the very least, “it would have taken many more decades,” he said.

The motivations that led to end-to-end encryption going mainstream lie far out on the political fringe. The original impetus for Marlinspike’s entry into cryptography, around 2007, was to challenge existing power structures, particularly the injustice of how (as he put it) “Internet insecurity is used by people I don’t like against people I do: the government against the people.” But sticking to anarchism would imply an almost certain defeat. As Marlinspike once noted, the “trail of ideas that disappears into the horizon behind me is completely and utterly mined over with failures … Anarchists are best known for their failures.”

For an idealistic engineer to succeed, he will have to build something that is useful to many. So there has also been an unusually pragmatic bent to Signal’s approach. Indeed, in many interviews, Marlinspike has taken a mainstream stance, insisting that “Signal is just trying to bring normality to the internet.” Signal’s success depends on maintaining its principled anarchist commitments while finding a wide-ranging appeal to the masses, two goals that might seem at odds. Examining how the app navigates this tension can help us understand what might come next in Signal’s new quest to reach “everyone on the planet.”

Released after WhatsApp  set the standards for messaging, Signal’s problem has always been how to keep up with its competition—a fine dance between mimicry (so as to seem familiar to new users) and innovation (to poach users from its competitors). Signal started off by copying WhatsApp's user experience, while at the same time pioneering end-to-end encryption, a feature that WhatsApp turned around and copied from Signal. Throughout this evolutionary dance, Signal has managed to maintain an unusual focus on the autonomy of the individual, a wariness of state authority, and an aversion to making money, characteristics that are recognizably anarchist.

Because a small fringe of cypherpunks, Marlinspike included, came to see cryptography as a way to remedy the imbalance of power between the individual and the state, Signal focused on getting end-to-end encryption on messages and calls absolutely right. With Signal, no one can read your messages. Amazon can’t, the US government can’t, Signal can’t. The same is true for voice calls and metadata: A user’s address book and group chat titles are just as safe. Signal knows basically nothing about you, other than your phone number (which is not mapped to your username), the time you created your account, and the time you last used the app. Your data can’t be sold to others or cause ads to follow you around on the internet. Using Signal is just like talking with your friend in the kitchen.

Because Signal is committed to retaining as little metadata as possible, that makes it hard for it to implement new features that are standard to other apps. Signal is essentially footing the cost of this commitment in engineer-hours, since implementing popular features like group chats, address books, and stickers all required doing novel research in cryptography. That Signal built them anyway is a testament to its desire for mass appeal.

Signal also pioneered features that gave individuals more autonomy over their information, such as disappearing messages (which WhatsApp later adopted) and a feature that let users blur faces in a photo (which it rapidly rolled out to support the Black Lives Matter protests). At the same time, Signal has garnered users' trust because its code is open source, so that security researchers can verify that its end-to-end encryption is as strong as the organization claims.

For the ordinary user, though, individual autonomy and privacy may not be as important. On WhatsApp, users accept that it will be very hard to figure out what exactly the app knows about you and who it might be shared with. Users’ information is governed by an ever-shifting labyrinth of grudging caveats and clauses like “we will share your transaction data and IP address with Facebook” and “we can’t see your precise location, but we’ll still try to estimate it as best as we can” and “we will find out if you click on a WhatsApp share button on the web.” WhatsApp is also closed-source, so its code can’t be audited. If using Signal is like talking in a friend’s kitchen, using WhatsApp is like meeting at a very loud bar—your conversation is safe, but you’re exposed, and you’ll have to pay for your place.

If you’re not an anarchist, you may be less worried about a shadowy state and more worried about actual people you know. People in your community might be harassing you in a group chat, an abusive ex might be searching your chats for old photos to leak, or your child might have gotten access to your unlocked phone. WhatsApp’s features better support a threat model that is sensitive to interpersonal social dynamics: You can leave groups silently, block screenshots for view-once messages, and lock specific chats. WhatsApp can even view the text of end-to-end encrypted messages that have been reported by a user for moderation, whereas Signal has no moderation at all.

Idealists have called centralization one of the main ills of the internet because it locks users into walled gardens controlled by authoritarian companies. In a great stroke of pragmatism, Signal chose to be centralized anyway. Other encrypted-messaging apps like Matrix offer a federated model akin to email, in which users across different servers can still communicate through a shared protocol. (Someone on Gmail can still email someone on Yahoo, whereas someone on Facebook Messenger can’t contact someone on Signal.) This federated approach more closely mirrors anarchy; it could theoretically be better, because there would be no single point of failure and no single service provider for a government to pressure. But federated software creates a proliferation of different clients and servers for the same protocol, making it hard to upgrade. Users are already used to centralized apps that behave like Facebook or Twitter, and email has already become centralized into a few main service providers. It turns out that being authoritarian is important for maintaining a consistent user experience and a trusted brand, and for rolling out software updates quickly. Even anarchism has its limits.

What Signal has accomplished so far is impressive. But users famously judge software not on how much it can do, but on how much it can’t. In that spirit, it’s time to complain.

Because of Signal’s small team, limited funding, and the challenges of implementing features under end-to-end encryption, the app bafflingly lacks a number of important features. It doesn’t have encrypted backups for iOS; messages can only be transferred between phones. If you lose your iPhone, you lose all your Signal chat history.

Signal also doesn’t do a good job serving some of its core users. Activists and organizers deal with huge amounts of messages that involve many people and threads, but Signal’s interface lacks ways to organize all this information. These power users’ group chats become so unwieldy that they migrate to Slack, losing the end-to-end encryption that brought them to Signal in the first place. It’s common to try and make multiple group chats between the same people to manage all their threads. When users are hacking “desire paths” into your interface to create a new feature, or leaving because of the lack of the feature, that’s a strong hint that something is missing.

WhatsApp and Telegram, on the other hand, are leading the way on defining how group chats can scale up. WhatsApp “communities” gather different private group chats in one place, better mimicking the organization of a neighborhood or school that may be discussing several things at once. Telegram’s social media “channel” features are better for broadcasting info en masse, though Telegram’s lack of moderation has been blamed for attracting the kind of fringe crowd that has been banned from all other platforms.

It's no exaggeration to say that small features in a chat app encode different visions of how society should be organized. If the first reacji in the palette was a thumbs down rather than a heart, maybe we would all be more negative, cautious people. What kind of social vision did Signal arise from?

“Looking back, I and everyone I knew was looking for that secret world hidden in this one,” Marlinspike admitted in a 2016 interview. A key text in anarchist theory describes the idea of a “temporary autonomous zone,” a place of short-term freedom where people can experiment with new ways to live together outside the confines of current social norms. Originally coined to describe “pirate utopias” that may be apocryphal, the term has since been used to understand the life and afterlife of real-world DIY spaces like communes, raves, seasteads, and protests. And Signal is, unmistakably, a temporary autonomous zone that Marlinspike has spent almost a decade building.

Because temporary autonomous zones create spaces for the radical urges that society represses, they keep life in the daytime more stable. They can sometimes make money in the way that nightclubs and festivals do. But temporary autonomous zones are temporary for a reason. Over and over, zone denizens make the same mistake: They can’t figure out how to interact productively with the wider society. The zone often runs out of money because it exists in a world where people need to pay rent. Success is elusive; when a temporary autonomous zone becomes compelling enough to threaten daytime stability, it may be violently repressed. Or the attractive freedoms offered by the zone may be taken up in a milder form by the wider society, and eventually the zone ceases to exist because its existence has pressured wider society to be a little more like it. What kind of end might Signal come to?

There are reasons to think that Signal may not be around for very long. The nonprofit’s blog, meant to convince us of the elite nature of its engineers, has the unintentional effect of conveying the incredible difficulty of building any new software feature under end-to-end encryption. Its team numbers roughly 40; Marlinspike has just left the organization. Achieving impossible feats may be fun for a stunt hacker with something to prove, but competing with major tech companies’ engineering teams may not be sustainable for a small nonprofit with Marlinspike no longer at the helm.

Fittingly for an organization formerly led by an anarchist, Signal lacks a sustainable business model, to the point where you might almost call it anti-capitalist. It has survived so far in ways that don’t seem replicable, and that may alienate some users. Signal is largely funded by a big loan from a WhatsApp founder, and that loan has already grown to $100 million. It has also accepted funding from the US government through the Open Technology Fund. Because Signal can’t sell its users’ data, it has recently begun developing a business model based on directly providing services to users and encouraging them to donate to Signal in-app. But to get enough donations, the nonprofit must grow from 40 million users to 100 million. The company’s aggressive pursuit of growth, coupled with lack of moderation in the app, has already led Signal employees themselves to publicly question whether growth might come from abusive users, such as far-right groups using Signal to organize.

But there are also reasons for hope. So far, the most effective change that Signal has created is arguably not the existence of the app itself, but making it easy for WhatsApp to bring Signal-style end-to-end encryption to billions of users. Since WhatsApp’s adoption, Facebook Messenger, Google’s Android Messages, and Microsoft’s Skype have all adopted the open source Signal Protocol, though in milder forms, as the history of temporary autonomous zones would have us guess. Perhaps the existence of the Signal Protocol, coupled with demand from increasingly privacy-conscious users, will encourage better-funded messaging apps to compete against each other to be as encrypted as possible. Then Signal would no longer need to exist. (In fact, this resembles Signal’s original theory of change, before they decided they would rather compete with mainstream tech companies.)

Now, as the era of the global watercooler ends, small private group chats are becoming the future of social life on the internet. Signal started out a renegade, a pirate utopia encircled by cryptography, but the mainstream has become—alarmingly quickly—much closer to the vision Signal sought. In one form or another, its utopia just might last.

[goat-yells-at-everything]

So, today was pretty cool actually. After a rocky start we got in and set up and holy hell if it isn't my dream job.

People say I am so weird for enjoying data entry but I really do love it. Data entry is a nice relaxing mindlessness that I just sink into and forgot the world around me. It's a quiet calmness without politics or creativity.

"But Goat!" I hear you say, "Aren't you an artist???? How can you be happy in a field devoid of creativity????"

I'm creative with my art and writing. I'm creative with mod making and building things in games like Minecraft. And I'm not confined in that creativity like a job doing art would be. I'm happy to do commission work and all but to be free to be my own creative self then I just can't be creative for a full time job. I'd get too burnt out too quickly.

Putting earbuds in, ignoring the world around me and just sinking into the steady flow of claims and diagnosis codes is liberating in a way. It gives my brain the freedom to be subconsciously creative. I fleshed out several concepts for my hermitblr au today that I can't wait to work on.

Also, after this week I get to basically set my hours. This week it's 8-4:30 for the purpose of training but next week I can change it to anywhere between 6 and 6. So I think I'm gonna do a 7-3:30 shift so I can do things in the early evening. And we were basically told that, baring a major fuck up or failure to pass the cert exam, we have jobs lined up at this place at the end of the externship. And after 90 days in office we get to go remote 4 days a week. I hear it's not the best pay but it has one of the best health insurance plans in the area.

Also.

Everyone loves the dog. XD

So ya. All in all a pretty good first day.

[bhagyashri123]

Your Field Sales Team Is Flying Blind Without SFA: Here’s Why

Imagine sending your field sales team out every morning without a map, a plan, or real-time updates. That’s exactly what happens when companies don’t equip their teams with Sales Force Automation (SFA). Without SFA, field reps are flying blind—leading to missed opportunities, poor productivity, and a total lack of visibility into on-ground performance.

In today’s competitive landscape, manual methods and disconnected communication just won’t cut it. If you're still using spreadsheets, phone calls, and paperwork to manage sales operations, this article is your wake-up call.

What Does 'Flying Blind' Look Like?

Without an SFA system, field sales teams often face:

Unclear daily targets and routes

No access to customer or stock data

Missed follow-ups and delayed reporting

Zero visibility for managers

Manual order processing and paperwork errors

This creates confusion on the ground and frustration at the top. The result? Lost sales, inefficiency, and poor customer experiences.

How SFA Changes the Game

Sales Force Automation transforms chaotic field sales operations into streamlined, data-driven processes. Here’s how:

 Live Location Tracking & Route Planning

SFA apps allow managers to assign and monitor field routes in real-time. Reps follow pre-defined routes, optimizing fuel and time while ensuring better coverage.

Target & Performance Visibility

Each rep has a clear view of their daily, weekly, and monthly targets. Their real-time performance is visible to managers through dashboards, allowing proactive support or intervention.

On-Spot Order Booking

Reps can take orders directly from the app, with real-time stock visibility and discount schemes already applied. No need to call HO or rely on memory.

Real-Time Reporting

No end-of-day summaries or backdated entries. Every activity—visit, order, collection, feedback—is captured and updated live.

Customer Insights at Fingertips

Reps can access a customer’s previous order history, payment status, and complaints before visiting—leading to smarter conversations and better service.

Why Lack of SFA Hurts Your Business

No Data = No Decisions

Without SFA, management makes decisions based on guesswork or outdated reports. That’s a recipe for failure in today’s data-driven world.

Delayed Actions

By the time a manual report reaches the manager, the opportunity has often passed. Real-time alerts and reports from SFA enable swift action.

Low Accountability

Without GPS tracking, attendance logs, or visit records, there’s no way to ensure reps are truly covering their beats.

Demotivated Sales Team

Field reps crave tools that make their job easier. Manual systems frustrate them, lower morale, and reduce retention.

BETs SFA: Empowering Field Sales Teams Across Industries

BETs Sales Force Automation software is tailored for modern brands that sell through general trade. Key features include:

Target Allocation & Tracking

Secondary Order Booking

Go-to-Market Route Planning

Primary Distribution Integration

Goods Return Management

Attendance & Activity Logs

Mobile App with Offline Access

Dashboards for Smart Decisions

It’s more than an app—it’s a sales ecosystem.

Conclusion: Equip, Don’t Guess

In the field, uncertainty is your biggest enemy. A rep who doesn’t know what to sell, where to go, or how they’re performing is simply flying blind. And so is your business.

With SFA, you give your team a compass, a playbook, and a competitive edge.

So stop guessing. Start automating. Your field team—and your bottom line—will thank you.

To know more,

Visit Us : https://www.byteelephants.com/

[singhaniablogs]

Automation in Hotel Operations: How Smart Technology is Transforming Hospitality

The hospitality industry is experiencing a digital revolution, and at the heart of this transformation is automation. From self-check-ins to AI-powered guest services, smart technology is streamlining hotel operations, improving efficiency, and delivering exceptional guest experiences. For modern hotels, adopting automation isn’t just an upgrade—it’s a necessity to stay competitive in a fast-evolving landscape.

What is Hotel Automation?

Hotel automation refers to the integration of technology to manage routine operational tasks with minimal human intervention. It enhances productivity, reduces human error, and allows staff to focus on personalized guest engagement.

Key Benefits of Automation in Hotel Operations

1. Faster Check-in and Check-out

Automated kiosks, mobile apps, and digital key systems reduce wait times and provide guests with a hassle-free entry and exit experience.

2. Efficient Room Management

Smart thermostats, lighting, and occupancy sensors adjust automatically based on guest presence, helping reduce energy consumption and improving comfort.

3. Optimized Housekeeping

Automation tools notify housekeeping teams in real-time when a guest checks out or requests room service, streamlining task management.

4. Data-Driven Personalization

CRMs and AI tools analyze guest preferences, allowing hotels to tailor promotions, room features, and services to individual profiles.

5. Inventory and Maintenance Management

IoT sensors track equipment status, alerting teams before a failure occurs—minimizing downtime and reducing maintenance costs.

Popular Smart Technologies in Hotels

Mobile Apps for Booking & Room Control

Chatbots for 24/7 Guest Interaction

Voice-activated Assistants in Rooms

Self-Service Payment and Feedback Stations

AI-based Revenue Management Tools

Impact on Staff Roles and Responsibilities

Rather than replacing jobs, automation shifts staff responsibilities from manual tasks to guest-centric roles. For instance, front desk teams can focus more on hospitality than paperwork, and housekeeping can use tech for more efficient scheduling.

Education Meets Innovation

Modern hotel professionals are now expected to understand both guest service and technology tools. A Diploma in Hotel Management in Banswara prepares students with foundational hospitality knowledge and introduces them to current tech trends like automation, smart hotel systems, and digital marketing—creating future-ready leaders for the industry.

Challenges in Adopting Automation

High Initial Investment in smart systems

Staff Training to manage and operate new technology

Data Security concerns with guest information

Balancing Tech with Human Touch, especially in luxury or boutique setups

The Future of Hotel Automation

As technology evolves, we can expect:

Robotic Room Service

AI Concierge Recommendations

Biometric Access Control

Predictive Analytics for Guest Needs

The goal is not to replace hospitality with machines but to enhance it—making every stay seamless, personalized, and memorable.

Final Thoughts

Automation is reshaping the hospitality industry in remarkable ways. From simplifying hotel operations to offering guests more control and comfort, smart technology brings both efficiency and satisfaction under one roof. For hotel owners, managers, and aspiring professionals, embracing automation is no longer optional—it’s essential to stay ahead in the game.

[trackolap]

Missing Out on Sales? 5 Signs You Need Lead Management Software

Lead generation is crucial, but it is just one small step. The real challenge comes in managing and converting the generated leads. If you are using spreadsheets, random emails, or an unmanageable old CRM, you might just be losing a customer without knowing.

Whether building fast as a startup or scaling strong sales operations for an established company, Lead Management Software acts as a lead management weapon. Still unsure? Here are the five strong signs that this kind of software is outstanding for your business.

Sign #1: You're Losing Track of Leads

Has there ever been a situation where you reached out to a lead only to find out someone else had already called on them—worse still, nobody did? This is a classic mark for setting up a lead management system.

Without such options, leads slip through the cracks. There could be dozens of promising inquiries sitting in inboxes, DMs, or sticky notes that just never got communicated to your sales team.

With Lead Management Software:

All leads are in one repository.

Every lead has a status, history, and team member assigned.

No duplicates missed follow-ups, or confusion.

Sign #2: Your Sales Team Is Spending More Time on Admin Work Than Selling

To manually track, leads is not only inefficient but expensive. When your salespeople are busy updating spreadsheets instead of talking to prospects, you're wasting money—and lots of it!

Tasks like:

Data entry about lead info.

Sending follow-up emails one at a time.

Updating of status reports.

All these things can be automated with Lead Management Software. The cherry on top is that your outside team can update lead progression in real-time from their mobile devices if you also have field sales automation software. 

Benefits:

For every repetitive task, you can enforce automation.

Free the sales teams to focus on closing deals.

Monitor productivity and success with a sales tracking tool.

Pro Tip: Not only does automation quicken things, it also ensures accuracy. Typo? Forgetting to write down a note? Never again!

Sign #3: Your Lead Conversion Rate is Dropping

Generate lots of leads—but not all convert into actual customers.

Conversion rates have either reduced or even started to decline, which indicates that it is time to assess the lead journey. The most common reasons for conversion failure are:

Slow responses

Lack of proper consistency with leads

Lack of a solid nurturing process

Lead Management Software maps the journeys of each lead throughout the sales funnel, ensuring consistency in engagement. Reminders can be assigned, emails triggered automatically, and hot leads can be prioritized according to their behaviour or interest.

Quick Win: Lead scoring tells you which leads are warm and which ones need more nurturing.

Let your sales team focus on the hotter leads and not waste their time on cold ones.

Sign #4: Your Data Is Scattered and Reporting Is a Nightmare

If creating a sales report feels like a full-time job, that's a red flag. Not only does scattered data across spreadsheets, emails, and notebooks waste time, but it also disrupts to make any educated-informed decisions.

By using Lead Management Software, one can:

Get real-time access to performance dashboards

Get to know how many leads were generated, contacted, and converted 

Measure the performance of individuals and teams with a sales tracking tool 

All this ensures smarter business decisions backed by data instead of guesswork.

If you have a field sales team, integrating field sales automation software gives you live updates from on-ground activity, lead status, and client feedback.

Sign #5: You're Struggling to Scale Your Sales Process

Your business is growing-no doubt about it! If your process for selling has not grown with your business though, growth will reach a point where bad becomes worse. More leads mean more follow-ups, more task assignments, more data and hence more mistake possibilities.

Good Lead Management Software ensures that as your teams grow, your systems grow with you. This includes the standardization of workflows, automatic lead assignment, ensuring that no team member is either inundated with the tasks or left hanging. 

Simplifying Growth With Lead Management Software:

Customizable workflows for different teams or products 

Role-based access for better safety

Seamless integration with CRMs, marketing tools, and sales tracking tools

Excellent software makes scaling feel effortless rather than stressful.

Bonus: Real-Time Field Sales Insights

If your business is about ground sales reps going to the clients and prospects, field sales automation software should be on your priority li st. Field sales automation works in a team with the lead management tool and provides you with:

Location tracking

Meeting logs and outcomes

Instant lead updates in the field

Reduced reporting lag

The level of transparency introduced increases accountability and provides managers with a real-time sales progress view. 

No more guessing where your team is or what they are doing. Everything is logged and tracked effectively.

So, Do You Need Lead Management Software?

In summary; if you have witnessed any of the following:

Leads falling through the cracks

Sales reps buried in admin work

Dropping conversion rates

Reporting that takes hours

Chaos as your sales team grows

Then it's about time you considered getting some lead management software that is modern and easy to use.

Final Thoughts: Work Smarter, Not Harder

Work in today's time where speed and accuracy may be deciding factors in a sale; inefficient systems act as a liability to your business. Lead management software is not just putting your leads in order. It's upgrading your sales processes into a scalable intelligent engine for results. 

And if you're running on-the-ground teams, also seek the strength of field sales automation software and well-built sales tracking for better results and insights.

Searching for a solution that will enhance your sales process and conversions? Your answer lies with TrackOlap's Lead Management Software, an all-in-one solution that captures leads, ensures real-time tracking, and automates everything to allow businesses to sell smarter and faster.

Integrated with great functionalities like field sales automation and sales tracking, TrackOlap helps you stay one step ahead of your competition. Begin your growth adventure today at TrackOlap.