Human Behavioral Patterns: Washington D.C., The American Ego
I went to a meeting once. It was a meeting of gravity, a meeting of great importance. Important people were at the meeting, and the man at the front of the room was even more important than they or I. He was a director, slicked back hair, and a suit. I could tell he was a man of esteem, but little arrogance. Something of rare occasion to behold in Washington D.C. It was a doom and gloom meeting. One of many I’ve had the displeasure of attending.
“The sky is falling!” He went on, “we need to take this seriously!”
The people in the room were all ears, except for the veterans. They’d heard this story before. The sky was falling, yet no one was dead, and they knew a good few things about dead people.
“We all need to step it up, this is coming from the top!”
An old grizzly bear sitting towards the back of the room yawned while the mice at the front sat stiff at attention.
I sat there confused, taking in the scene. Minutes later, a tall man walked in the room. He was late, and defiant. For the moment he walked in, he interrupted the speaker and began peppering him with questions.
“Look, I need to know exactly what I need to communicate to my team. So I’m going to need an email from you explaining why this is urgent, and what we need to do.” The man said.
The speaker looked at him with puzzlement and annoyance. He didn’t recognize the man, so Mr. Jacobson refrained from giving him a snippy attitude.
“It’s urgent because it’s coming down from the top…”
“I already know that, but I need something in writing so that I can explain to my team what’s going on.”
“That’s what this whole brief is about, it’s about what’s going on.” The speaker explained.
“Exactly, that’s why I need it in writing. So I can discuss it with my team.” He said condescendingly.
Most of the room was cringing by this point. As the proud man who’d arrived late kept up his act of defiance.
Eventually, the meeting ended, and I left with new feelings of confusion. How does one show up late, and then berate the speaker? I thought quietly. My years of Zen training had not prepared me for this. However, my years of reading certainly did. Chapter eleven of a book called, “The Organization Man,” explained it well. Aptly named, “The Executive: Non-Well-Rounded Man,” the chapter essentially explained that executive management does not work hard out of necessity but mainly because of ego. Although this portion from the book goes over the subject of work and overwork in executive life, it serves to highlight in general how far Americans will go to preserve the integrity of their own egos at the expense of everything else, including their health:
“Here, in excerpt, is a vice-president of a big CIO union on the subject of workload;
I'm working harder than I ever have in my life, and I once was a cushion builder. The incentive isn't monetary gain. There is much more than that. There is never a dull moment in the labor movement. I feel I'm part of a crusade, making the world a better place in which to live. I like everything about my job.
My usual work week is seventy to eighty hours, I would say. I get to the office at 8:30 A.M. and usually am at my desk until 6:00 p.m.
There's usually a luncheon conference daily, and three nights a week I take home a briefcase with reading material and reports. I spend about two hours those nights on the reports.
Two nights a week is about the average for attending local union meetings that require my attention. Every Saturday and Sunday there is a membership conference, an executives' conference, a convention, or a union picnic.
Forty per cent of the time I'm on the road in top-lével negotiations, trouble-shooting, speaking of attending a CIO board meeting. Here is an example of out-of-town work: Last weekend a workshop conference was ending at Purdue University. I left Detroit at 3:05 P.M., flying to Indianapolis and taking a car from theré to Lafayette, Indiana. I spoke at 7:30 P.M., finished at 9:30, and then was in a conference until 11:15 P.M. I drove back to Indianapolis, left at 1:10 by plane and got home
Do I work too hard? My doctor and my wife think so, but I don't.
If I am, it's my own fault because I don't delegate enough work.
Service is not the basic motivation. In talking about why he works, the executive does not speak first of service, or of pressures from the organization; very rarely does he mention his family as a reason. He speaks of himself and the demon within him. He works because his ego demands it. ‘People are like springs,’ explains one company president.
‘The energy you have within you has to come out one way or another. I would really get in bad shape if I didn't work.’
‘It's like baseball,’ another president puts it. ‘A good player doesn't think of the contract when he is up to bat. He drives for the fences.’ Whatever the analogy, two presidents compare themselves to concert pianists; the theme is self-expression.
Work, then, is dominant. Everything else is subordinate, and the executive is unable to compartmentalize his life. Whatever the segment of it leisure, home, friends—he instinctively measures it in terms of how well it meshes with his work.” (Whyte, 1956, pg. 146-147)
The theory is that executives work hard because their ego demands it. I’d go as far as to say that most people on the East Coast fall into this same sort of trap. A trap that I’d call Egowork. Egowork is a disease, it is the inward drive for something to do. Meaningless as it might be, Americans do seem to find some meaning in working. Well, this isn’t my main point, but it’s part of the point. The disease of egowork manifests from the ego itself, and in Washington D.C., there is plenty of ego to go around. The man who walked into the room and berated Mr. Jacobson did it out of ego. His self-importance created a contest of wills between himself (being late), and the speaker, Mr. Jacobson. Let it be known that Mr. Jacobson had the advantage of protocol, while the man arriving late, had the distinct advantages of ignorance, ego, and blind contemptible will. This isn’t to say that Mr. Jacobson didn’t have an ego, however, his ego was asleep at the wheel. It was shrouded behind the need to maintain elegance and magnanimity. A decisive disadvantage against a maurauder. A man with neither tact, care, nor precision.
Such ego clashes are common on the East Coast. A man may squabble over many things, but more squabbles erupt over punctured egos than anything else. For example, in my own experience, lanyards are a big deal in government offices. For the logos upon one’s lanyard can determine a man’s place in the visual social hierarchy. Especially if a man has the audacity to wear their school. George Washington University, William and Mary, Middlebury, Virginia Tech, Georgetown, Notre Dame, and the University of Michigan, are just some of the various lanyards I’ve seen in the hallways. No one likes to be shown up, outclassed, snubbed, or glanced upon… an upturned nose can wreak havoc on a man’s day. An emblem of an elite university can make otherwise stonefaces melt with insecurity.
“He probably likes the sports team,” they’ll say to themselves, staring at the Michigan lanyard.
“Affirmative action,” they’ll inwardly mutter, glancing towards the Georgetown emblem.
Oh, no mam can outdo the D.C. man, no bird may fly higher than I. For ego is a way of life in the D.C. metro area. People get fired over ego, lose promotions, and shatter relationships over it. This beast is an infectious disease. An inflator of dreams amongst the most ambitious of Congressional motorpool chasers.
Ego is also responsible for the rampant bullying in the multitude of offices around the city. Yelling and screaming is a common mode of expression in these facilities. They’re high stress, and anti-competitive. Anti-competitive meaning that no one is fighting for a promotion necessarily, but for something far more valuable, a daily dose of status. Yes, the East Coast ego yearns to be seen, validated, flattered, and starstruck. No, they will not go quietly into that good night. They will rage, rage against the dying of the light (Dylan Thomas, 1957). Oh yes, for the D.C. mam, organizational status is all the rage. A manager will dangle it over a subordinate for the entirety of his life. Money is always out of the question, for the corporation is always struggling. They simply do not have pay raises in the budget this year, next year, or for the next ten years, but a title? That is something that the corporate apparatus may be able to conjure up. A worthless title promotion is always in the cards, for it costs nothing in the material reality of life.
“This contract isn’t making any money,” a program manager once told me, after I’d emailed the COO about the problems with the contract. I stated that I could do the extra work necessary to fix the contract for an increase in salary. He knew I possessed the skills, and explained to him that I could fix many of the documents necessary to resolve some of the items on the contract. The director of operations then sent me a nasty email explaining that I was to follow the, “chain of command,” and not email the COO, as he is a busy man. The COO was a busy man, so busy in fact, that he’d emailed the director of operations, telling him to email me. He was so busy, that for the first six months of the contract, he couldn’t be bothered to hire enough people to fulfill the contractual requirements set forth by the government. The COO, in truth, was a nepobaby inheriting his parents’ company. Something that is not uncommon in the D.C. Area. Afterwards however, about two weeks later, the program manager explained to me that they might be able to make me a “Mid-tier worker,” instead of a, “Junior worker.” I then explained to the program manager that, “you should never rely on other people to raise your social status.” The program manager was confused and frustrated at this remark, as how can you control a man’s emotional state, if he does not react to your offering of false rewards?
About a week later, the program manager explained to me that he could not grant me a title increase, because I did not meet the “certification requirements.” Which actually meant, “we don’t like that you’re not buying what we are selling, so we’re taking back the ‘promotion’ you declined.” A classic bureaucratic play, offer something, get rejected, and then reject the man who rejected you. A bandaid pasted over a narcissistic injury.
The D.C. Area in truth, is like a shady telecommunications company. It’s an organism filled to the brim with toxic waste. It is a cabal of salesmen offering government officials various services for high premiums. The government wants something done, and all sorts of anxious merchants fly in and offer things both reasonable and impossible. Take pity on these salesmen though, for the government is an erratic customer. He will demand nuclear fusion and railguns, while at the same time requesting that industry come in and fix fifty year old pipes for which are no longer manufactured, nor serviceable.
It is a case of the three stooges. The government, the contracting company, and the individual. One demands, the other directs, and the last labors. The one directing and the one laboring are both at odds with the government. However, the contracting company believes that he and the government are good friends. The government understands the arrangement, the company confuses the interaction, and the laborer just wants to do his job, free from the politics of their antics. The contracting company is a middleman. As the government does not want to take on the burden of extra labor, but does in fact need the labor. The contracting company then says, “I will take on the burden of labor, for a fee.” The government then agrees to the arrangement, as it costs him less paperwork and fewer legal constraints, while acquiring a boost in efficiency.
Contracting companies hire mercenaries, people with specialized skills in mundane tasks. They are bureaucratic agents, ex-government employees with no place to go and too many expenses. Desperate, borderline college educated, certified, and too weird for regular corporate life. They can’t handle Elon Musk’s demands, so they hide on the fringes of the economy. Tucked in deep to pseudo-government roles. They like the pay, but hate the bureaucracy. They like the government, but despise the hierarchy. They cling to the security they once had, while living in an illusion that it still exists. They are disposable laborers with no future. Few have a retirement plan, no rights to a pension, and the cost of living erodes their position day by day. They are confused hourly, and so is their government leadership. Their world is dynamic, and they don’t know how to stop it. It is out of control, yet they can’t hit the breaks. Everyday is a hellscape of anxiety, bills, and belligerence; bullying, tension, and coercion. They want to quit, they want to resign, but they cannot. For homelessness is their only option, their only savior. The one thing that will free them from the torment of office life. It will liberate them, cut clean their shackles of dispair, and transport them with grace onto a concrete slab. How merciful America is, how understanding. For to help the destroyed, it destroys them further. Humiliation and financial destitution are not enough, for only through enacting the complete and total annihilation of the individual can a man realize that the system is in fact not broken; he is broken. The system was and is working exactly as designed; he was just delusional, and in this delusion, he has found the peace he was seeking all along. A life on the street, a life outside, a life in a mechanized world.
Hello! We’re D.J. Hoskins
We are Davena and Jason Hoskins, co-authors of 40+ books and siblings who write under the pseudonym D.J. Hoskins. Three years apart and in our twenties, we have been fascinated by stories from a young age. Davena is a student attending Pembroke College, Cambridge, and Princeton University, and Jason attends Georgetown University.
