Reading about someone’s last day at work after being made redundant brought back memories of similar experiences in the tech industry. The familiar scene played out - the awkward HR meetings, fake sympathetic faces, and that strange liminal space between being employed and not.

The tech industry, particularly here in Australia, has seen its fair share of redundancy waves recently. Major players have been “restructuring” (corporate speak for showing people the door), often with very little warning. The story shared online today feels particularly relevant - that final walk through the office, the perfunctory HR meeting, and yes, the traditional raid of the stationery cupboard.

Reading about DOGE’s latest venture into developing software for automating government worker terminations sent a chill down my spine. Not just because of the cold efficiency it represents, but because it feels like we’re watching a particularly dark episode of Black Mirror unfold in real time.

The concept itself is disturbing enough, but what really gets under my skin is the cavalier approach to human employment. Picture receiving a termination notice generated by an AI system, probably with all the warmth and understanding of a parking ticket. My years in tech have taught me that even the most sophisticated systems can’t fully grasp the nuances of human employment situations.

The phrase “organisational restructure” has become an all-too-familiar part of our corporate vocabulary lately. While scrolling through various online discussions today, I noticed a disturbing pattern emerging in conversations about workplace stability - or rather, the growing lack of it.

Looking back to my early career days in the late 90s, redundancies were relatively rare events that made headlines. They were treated as serious corporate decisions that could damage a company’s reputation. These days, it seems like they’ve become just another routine business strategy, as casual as updating the office coffee machine.

Reading about someone’s decade-long mix-up between their Unique Student Identifier and Unique Superannuation Identifier struck a chord with me today. The story highlights how easy it is to get tangled up in Australia’s maze of administrative acronyms and identifiers.

The bureaucratic overlap between USI (Student) and USI (Super) is exactly the kind of system design that makes me want to bang my head against my standing desk. Why do we insist on using the same acronym for two completely different identifiers? It’s like naming two different Melbourne train lines “Western” - it’s just asking for confusion.

LinkedIn has evolved into something quite fascinating lately. What started as a professional networking platform has morphed into a peculiar mix of corporate theatrics, humble brags, and increasingly, brilliant satire. The platform’s transformation mirrors the absurdity of modern corporate culture itself.

Reading through discussions about Ken Cheng’s satirical LinkedIn posts, it’s both hilarious and slightly concerning how many people initially miss the satire. The lines between parody and reality have become so blurred that posts about “emotionally connecting” with potential hires or exploiting workers for “culture fit” could genuinely pass for authentic corporate content.

Looking out my office window in the Docklands, watching suited figures shuffle between glass towers, I’ve been thinking a lot about how corporate life shapes us. The discussion I stumbled upon recently about corporate personalities really struck a chord.

Remember that spark of enthusiasm we all had in our twenties? That genuine excitement about entering the workforce, making a difference, and climbing the corporate ladder? Fast forward fifteen years, and something fundamental has shifted. The enthusiasm has been replaced by a sort of programmed efficiency, and that sparkle in the eyes has dimmed considerably.

Reading through online discussions about corporate life lately has triggered some deep reflection about my own twenty-plus years in the tech industry. The recurring theme? We might all be faking it to some degree.

The tech world is particularly prone to this phenomenon. Job descriptions read like someone threw a technical dictionary at a wall and listed whatever stuck. Must have expertise in seventeen programming languages, four cloud platforms, quantum computing, and the ability to time travel? Sure, why not. These wishlists have become so detached from reality that they’re almost comical.

Looking for a new job has always been stressful, but recent developments in hiring practices are taking things to an unsettling new level. While scrolling through tech forums during my lunch break at a cafe near Flinders Street, I stumbled upon numerous discussions about HireVue, an AI-powered interview platform that’s becoming increasingly prevalent in government recruitment.

The concept is straightforward but troubling: instead of speaking with an actual human being, job candidates record themselves answering predetermined questions. The system then analyses everything from voice patterns to facial expressions, supposedly determining if you’re a “good fit” for the role. It’s like something straight out of Black Mirror, except it’s happening right now.

Reading through online discussions about workplace satisfaction feels like wading through an ocean of discontent. The prevailing narrative seems to be that everyone absolutely loathes their job, their boss is terrible, and corporate culture is soul-crushing. But is this really the complete picture?

Recently, someone started an interesting discussion by admitting they actually enjoyed their job in risk management. The responses were fascinating - a mix of skepticism, agreement, and everything in between. It reminded me of conversations I’ve had over coffee at Hardware Lane, where friends would look at me oddly when I mentioned not hating my work in tech publishing.