I
get out of bed at 4 AM each morning to perform a menial job rich in
stress, dissatisfaction, potential health risks and exposure to
liability. It is equally-poor in remuneration and benefits.
Owing
to a felony conviction for long-term unemployment, there is little
else.
This allows me to hold forth on the working poor at festive
occasions like birthdays, christenings and New Year's Eve parties.
(Yes, I receive a lot of invitations.)
As such, I am trying very hard to understand the dullards
fortunate-enough to win lotteries who see no other way forward than
to continue reporting to work.
If
we were speaking of concert pianists or successful filmmakers or
renowned brain surgeons, that would be one thing. But we're talking
about an employment strata decidedly less-elevated; one way, way downstream.
We're
talking store clerks, municipal laborers and in the case of one
recent winner—warehouse supervisors.
I
have worked in warehouses. They are ugly, dirty and drafty places
full of mice and mousetraps and unhappy people living on the
margins of solvency. Warehouses have lunch rooms with burned-out fluorescent lights, sagging paneling
and chipped Formica tables. Filthy microwaves and broken coffee-makers.
So
I'm wondering why, when opposed to a month in Spain or Italy or
overseeing the construction of a new dream home, someone would choose
to remain in one.
I mean, do you have nothing better to do than to get up and go to your dreary, dead-end job? No imagination that stretches beyond doing what you have always done?
I mean, do you have nothing better to do than to get up and go to your dreary, dead-end job? No imagination that stretches beyond doing what you have always done?
It is sad. Infinitely and inexplicably sad. Some combination of your
education and your parents have failed you, and I am sorry.
I
get three magazines, a daily newspaper, read books and am a voracious
consumer of movies and music. There aren't enough hours in the day to
read all that I want to read, see all that I want to see and hear all
that I want to hear.
I
won't even broach the ten years without a vacation which has left my thirst for travel parched and unrequited.
And
you can't think of anything to do but get up and go to work?
The only thing more remarkable than your short-sightedness is why, even with the likes of you about, scientists continue to develop robots and drones.
The only thing more remarkable than your short-sightedness is why, even with the likes of you about, scientists continue to develop robots and drones.
How
about volunteering with the Southern Poverty Law Center, the
Salvation Army, Habitat for Humanity or Doctors without Borders? Or
the local food pantry or children's hospital?
What
about building a new animal shelter, or a complex of affordable
apartments? Or buying that elderly widower down the block a new roof?
How
about getting really out there and turning your job over to
someone who—gasp—actually needs one?
Yes,
I am jealous. Hideously so.
But
whatever our respective fortunes, I at least am curious. And know how to remove my blinders.