The Job Where I Was Terrible
Everyone hated me. They were right to.
For about four years, I was miserable at work.
And it was a dream job. The one I’d worked so hard to get, the one I’d studied five years and done an unpaid internship for. I was lucky to get it.
A well-paying position in government, as the person responsible for digital communication at the Ministry of Justice.
Technically, it was a job where I could do what I loved: write, edit, and at the same time act like I was an Important Person.
It was anh ideal job for the person I pretended to be. But it wasn’t for the person I really was, and it made me miserable.
And I made everyone miserable around me.
Don’t get me wrong, I was good at my job.
I’m fairly smart and a good writer, with a great eye for detail and the big picture. I also learned I have good common sense which, in politics, is rare. You’d be surprised.
For a while, I really believed in what I did. I believed I was working for people who were trying to do something right, and I was happy to be a part of it.
But when you’re working in politics in Argentina, you have to come to terms with some nasty truths.
