Story 133: Life Grand Prix

            Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 83^rd Annual Eternal Insurance Life Grand Prix.  Excitement permeates the air as our two racers bring their vehicles to the starting line: each car is equipped with equal amounts of familial love, safety features, and money invested in them.  And now, here’s some background on the drivers before our race begins.

            Driver 1 is what I would like to call a real go-getter: always prepared, has goals and a variety of ways to achieve them, ensures proper nutrition is available for her car, and has backup-plan repair kits on stand-by.

            Driver 2 is just going to wing it.

           And the starting flag is raised – the engines of hopes and dreams are revving mightily – the flag lowers and they’re off!

            The first leg of the course is the good old “School Years”.  And this is promising – each driver navigates the obstacles in this section well.  Oops, watch out for that “Prom” snag, Driver 1!  Heh-heh, someone always trips up on that one.

         Now, here the course diverges into several sections that also loop back onto each other: “College,” “Career,” “Family,” “Undercover Government Agent,” and “Hardened Criminal.”  The sixth option of “Early Retirement” was permanently removed from the course back in `09 – we’ll be lucky if any of us can ever retire at this point, am I right?  [Pauses; listens] I’ve just been notified by my producer to refrain from political commentary, and he’s right, I’m not bitter at all, I love my job – would you look at that!  Both drivers chose “College”; I haven’t seen that happen in ages!

            They seem to be doing well on that part of the course: they are smoothly navigating through the rough terrain of “Registration”; now “Research”; ooh, “Football Games” – uh-oh!  Seems that Driver 2 is being led astray by the “School Projects” leg, which cleverly mimics “Research” except for the fact that the driver invests no meaning in the work outside of itself: a common pitfall to which nearly every driver caught up in it falls prey.  She’s slowed down a bit now that she is mired in the swamp of “Ouroboric Academia,” whereas Driver 1 has pulled ahead using the “Real World Experience” off-ramp.

            Oh no!  Driver 1 screeches to an almost-stop and is nearly derailed off the racecourse by the “Life Tragedy” obstacle!  Ooh, this is tricky – this obstacle has been known to completely finish racers off if they never recover.  OK, I see that Driver 1 has shifted gears, chosen a path different from the one she originally was set on, and yes!  She is back in the race and gaining speed yet again!  Boy, I’m always glad to see that kind of recovery when it happens – very inspirational.

            Let’s return to Driver 2 – oh my.  It seems that she has veered off course significantly through the “Bad Decisions” hazards, and she is now nowhere near where she needs to be if she has any hope of ever reaching the finish line.  Her only chance now is to do a complete about-face, frustratingly cover the same ground she just traveled, and re-enter the main course where she had left it – a very daunting route, and one that few take.

            While she is pondering this life-determining selection, let’s check back with Driver 1 – unbelievable!  Not only has she regained all the time and distance that she had previously lost from the “Life Tragedy,” but she then found an even better section of the course than if she had stayed on her original path!  She’s going for it – going for it – and she has reached the “Success and Contentment” finish line!  Amazing!  That was a rare treat to witness, let me tell you; I am moved to tears here by all that bravery, intelligence, and determination that was just displayed.

            I almost hate to do this, but let us return to Driver 2 one last time.  Oh dear – ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that Driver 2 has parked her vehicle, disembarked, and has since taken up residence in To-Heck-With-It-All-Ville.  Sad to see this, and difficult to fathom especially since she didn’t even have “Life Tragedy” to deal with.  Well, she has lots of company with the previous racers who had made the same choice, but her companions for the rest of her life will be that of fellow quitters.  Best not to think of her ever again.

            Well, that was a great race for Driver 1 – hard to top that, but I definitely will be following her career of future races and wins with interest.  For now, thank you again for joining us in the 83^rd Annual Eternal Insurance Life Grand Prix, and let me sign off by saying: when you’re in a race, at least try to finish it.

Story 132: Counter-Strike

            She could see them huddling again, but chose to ignore them: this report was not going to write itself, and it hadn’t been writing itself for three weeks now.

            She heard her name spoken in a hushed voice and she turned to see her co-worker standing behind her.  “It’s official,” he said.  “We’re going out tomorrow."

            “Ooh, on a date?”  It had been ages.

            “No!  On a strike!”  Frantic “Ssh!”s made him lower his voice again.  “The union let us know that it won't start until tomorrow morning, just in case our demands are met at the eleventh hour.  I highly doubt they will be.”

            “OK.”  He seemed to wait for her to say something more substantial.  “Yay?”

            “Good,” he said, adding over his shoulder as he moved on to the next employee, “we strike at 9 a.m. tomorrow .”

            “Thanks!”  Finally, some variety to her week.  Work was getting so boring lately.

            [9:30 a.m. the next day]

            She was comfortably ensconced in front of her TV, wearing her pajamas and eating kiddie cereal, when her phone rang.

            “Yelloo?”

            “Where are you?!”

            “Striking – where are you?”

            “Striking!  In front of work where everyone else is!  You were supposed to be here by 9:00!”

            “You said we were striking at 9; you didn’t say anything about showing up at work at 9.”

            “What do you think a strike means?!”

            “Not working?”  Did someone forget to tell her that this was Opposite Day?

            “Yeah, and you’re supposed to be on the picket line with the rest of us!”

            “Oh.  No, sorry, I didn’t sign up for anything like that.”

            “You did too when you joined the union!  Get over here right now or else you’re out!”  The call disconnected abruptly: this sounded serious.

            She drove up to the building, parked in her normal spot on the grass, and took a moment to watch her co-workers marching in endless circles as they wore or held large signs.  “Urgh,” she mused to herself as she walked up to meet her union leader.

            “It’s about time!  What are you wearing?!”  He got right down to business.

           She was not about to apologize for refusing to change out of her pajamas for this farce, although she had to concede that the wet pavement proved the slippers to be a poor choice.  “There’s so many people here – no one would notice that I’m missing!”  She accurately observed instead. 

           He responded by shoving a sandwich board over her head and shouting “March!” at everybody.

            “I don’t see how me walking around with a sign hurts the company any more than if I had just stayed at home – both are equally non-productive.”  She was on fire today with her solid arguments.

            “We have to have visibility!  They must meet our demands!”

            “All I know is, they’re nice and warm inside, and we’re cold and freezing outside, plus we’re wasting a perfectly good free day.”  She would have won this debate if he had not taken the coward’s way out by turning his back on her and walking over to the infinity circle.

            It was 35°F, and she had forgotten to bring gloves.  Cars would drive by and honk their horns to show their support, and one stopped next to her.

            “What’s the strike for?”  The driver asked.

            She had no idea.  “Down with The Man?”  It sounded about right.

            “Yeah!  Down with The Man!”  The driver cheered and tooted his horn all the way down the street.

            After an hour, when she had been splashed by mud from passing cars for the fifth time, she flung the sandwich board onto the ground.  “That’s it!  I refuse to endure these conditions a moment longer!”  She marched ironically toward her car.

          “Hey!  Where do you think you’re going?!”  The union leader shouted at her through a bullhorn.

            “I’m striking this strike!”  She appreciated the resulting gasps of horror from her co-workers.

            “You can’t do that!”  He yelled, still through the bullhorn.  “It’s against the union rules!”

            “The union’s run by a bunch of fascists!”

            Louder gasps and even murmurs rippled down the picket line.  The local news reporter and camera crew ran over to the confrontation.

            “There seems to be a new wrinkle to the ongoing labor issues here,” the reporter said to the camera on her way over.  “Tell us, miss, what are your complaints against the union, of which you appear to be an involuntary member?”

            “Well Jade,” everyone in town could recognize Jade from The Morning Posse, “it’s about time that someone spoke out against unfair striking conditions, against the non-existent pay for work that is equivalent to what was done on the job, and against the pain and suffering endured during these pointless perambulations.”

            “She doesn’t speak for the union!”  He chimed in.

            “I will no longer be silenced!”

            She picked up the sandwich board and threw it at him; he ducked it and tackled her.  The other strikers surrounded the combatants, waving their signs as they cheered the fighters on.

            Jade and the camera approached a woman in a suit who was watching all this off to the side.

            “And ma’am, which side in this off-shoot strike are you taking?”

           “Well Jade, considering that I’m the company’s president, my official stance is that I take neither side in any internal conflict.”

            “Do you have any comment on this new development?”

            “Only that I think this bodes very well for our future negotiations with the union.”

            “I’ll say.”

Story 131: The Tyrant Whom Nobody Obeyed

             Everywhere I go, I am surrounded by insolence.

            No one respects my authority; no one fears my wrath.  I demand to be served as is my right and their duty, yet they have the unmitigated gall to laugh in my face.  Actually, they laugh down at my face since they are two feet taller and decades older than I am.

            “Tell me a story!”  My demands are reasonable, I would like to think.

           “Not now – finish what’s on your plate,” is the typical response.  Since I am in constant hunger, I acquiesce simply for survival and most assuredly not to please their whims.

            “Listen to me!”  Why must I constantly demand to be heard?  Aside from the fact that I have far more interesting things to say than whatever it is they are always prattling on about, I should not face a struggle for their attention every time I would like to speak.  Do they know not who I am?!

            “What is it?”

           “Umm… you’re pretty.”  The trauma of that ordeal completely drove away the important matter that I was about to communicate, and I am forced to spew out drivel in an attempt to overcome my humiliation.  Oh, the indignities I must always endure!  What trials I have suffered during the long five years of my reign!

“Play with me!” I instruct my people.  They are here for my amusement, are they not?

            “We’re in the middle of bailing out the basement, honey, you can start without us.”  Is there no end to their defiance?  I will not be ignored by my own subjects!

            “What did you do?!”  They impotently rage as they behold what I hath wrought.  My artwork is sublime and brightens up the otherwise drab walls of my palace.

            “Crayons!”  I graciously hold up my instruments as an explanation they neither deserve nor appreciate.  I then find myself escorted to my chambers in what they claim is punishment – the nerve of these peasants!  You cannot punish your leader!  The mere notion is absurd.  However, since I appear to be deserted by any sort of army that could fight on my behalf, I am left at the mercy of my serfs.  Very well: I will simply withhold affection from them at bedtime.

            That’ll show them who’s in charge around here.