I Don’t Know About You . . .
Posted On May 7, 2021
I am an essential recently deemed not essential. I cannot state I crashed my ACLs into Mother Earth and exclaimed in a Nanny Kerrigan sort of way, Why?! I cannot state I hit the liquor store in town and proceeded to purchase the largest bottle of Proper 12.
What I can state is I was happy with my release. My happiness had zero to do with the asinine gloss of risking my well-being over some borderline, manufactured fear centered on a virus with a questionable genesis, to keep the economy going. My happiness had to do with the existential crisis that assaulted me last March and literally opened my eyes to something I had already known but never truly acknowledged. We have all been tricked into believing this is the way we are supposed to live. The trick? Dedicating the majority of our waking hours to our job.
This could not be more apparent before, during and after the flatten the curve and the numerous pauses that took place. I’m a half-assed gym rat as well as an early riser. Heading to the gym at 4-4:15am, I would see the essentials driving like their name is Gō Mifune. As these working class people raced 25-40mph plus past me, I wondered to myself, why the hurry? Why are these people driving so fast to a job they despise? And why are they dedicating roughly the majority of the day driving to work, being at work then driving from work? For many, we may be looking at a 12 plus hour day. The work/life balance is quite the joke. All the sing-songy catchphrases were quite the joke too. We’re all in this together. I can’t stay home, I’m essential. Only together we can flatten the curve. I’m doing my part. Wear the damn mask. The crème de la crème being, I’m a freakin’ moron to actually think, to actually believe for one solitary, single second my corporation/boss/entity/whatever with the assistance of human resources with their empty overtures of adulation, gives two drops of cat urine about my well-being. Full disclosure, the last phrase was not one of those brown-nosing catchphrases. Is this the opportunity I have been anticipating to insert the acronym for laugh out loud? Please don’t mind the misanthropic delivery.
Never was there a time where the aristocracy had to construct absolute bullshit to show their gratitude. I’m sure plenty of their top shelf booze was guzzled like they were channeling Frank The Tank. The Hollywood moments surged as spokespeople for these alleged blue bloods boasted of what they were doing for their essential workers. I would listen to the segments. I would watch the press releases. Corporate hypes patting themselves on the back like it was Daily Affirmations With Stuart Smalley. I’m good enough, I’m smart enough and goshdarnit! I care about my employees. But just for the interim. This was proven over time it was all a show.
It’s unfortunate many of us needed last year’s events to realize that true happiness has zero to do with us dragging our ass to work for upwards of 70 hours per week. Why? So we can front how big our home is? Or how pricey our sedan is? Or how expensive our getaway is? Or any nonsensical urination contest fodder involved with the materialistic world types? Our happiness has zero to do with slave owners printed on pieces of paper and what these pieces of paper can acquire for us. Our happiness has everything to do with the individual we see in the mirror every day. As the rapper Melachi the Nutcracker once said, No lie but before I say bye, you can’t take money witcha when you die.
Music: Sun Touch-Herbie Hancock